"Are you alright? You haven't eaten since lunch," says Ellie. Lunch was only an hour ago, but she's right. This is abnormal for me. "You haven't even, like, tried to steal my chips." I shrug. "I dunno. Weird feeling in my stomach. Not sure if I can eat now," I mumble in a voice that sounds too weak to be my own. "You're going to be okay for tonight, right?" Ellie glances at the stage being set up, then back at me. I shrug again. "It's two lines. They can make Anya do it." "Yeah, Anya can memorize the lines, but she can't do the—the thing! Your thingy! The faces!" Ellie gestures wildly and screws her face up into a poor imitation of my oh-I-am-absolutely-too-good-for-this-and-you-are-doing-it-wrong-but-ugh-I-have-to-be-here face. "The 'thing,'" I say, deadpan. "It's an official professional term! And literally only you can do it!" "Ellie, the faces are not that important. I, like, don't even do anything." I grimace as the uncomfortable feeling in my chest area intensifies. "Yes they are!" Ellie yelps-screeches. "It is precisely BECAUSE your character has few appearances and few lines that the faces ARE important, because you need to EXPRESS that character IN those few appearances and the best way to do it IS through the SUBTLE MOVEMENTS OF THE FACE!" "Shut up, Ellie!" one of the violinists? violists? shouts from the cramped orchestra pit. "We're trying to tune!" I sigh. "I literally feel like I'm gonna die. Or barf. Or preferably barf, then die." "Come on, Cam, we /need/ you!" Ellie checks her watch. "Three and a half hours! You have to be alive by then, okay?" I groan. "Just make Anya do it." ········································································· Three hours pass. Nobody makes Anya do it. I'll just have to suffer, get on the stage, and try not to vomit. Great. The changing rooms backstage are a crowded, chaotic mess, like they always are before a performance. Jason has apparently taken someone's belt, but no one can seem to find Jason, which is a problem. I've broken three safety pins trying to get Ellie's dress to fit properly because someone has lost the sewing kit and I'm apparently too stupid to use safety pins correctly. I'm wearing a pair of boots from the Bin because I don't own any that are consistent with the rest of the costume, or something like that. The boots are clunky and a size too big and annoying as heck to walk in. Yup, this is the glory of low-budget middle-high school plays. Ellie finally snatches the box of safety pins from me and tells me she's going to find someone more competent. "By the way," she adds, "are you feeling any better?" I open my mouth to answer, but only a choking, hacking noise comes out. Something like mucus is crawling up my throat, tasting bitter and suspiciously not like bile. All the people in my immediate vicinity immediately clear out. "Cam's gonna barf!" someone shrieks. "Where's the barf bucket?!" someone else shouts. An orange Home Depot bucket is passed over and placed in front of me. I lean over. I'm sure it's not bile coming up now, because it's moving and flapping and crawling, ink-black but iridescent, in stark contrast to the bright orange container it's pouring into. Finally, I'm given a few last thumps on the back, just to make sure it's all out of me. The black stuff was butterflies, I realize. Already, some of them are shaking off their wings and fluttering away across the stage. I heave a sigh of relief, feeling much better now, and turn to Ellie. "Do you have any food?"
607 words! some theater kid crap, idk man. only about as bad as my usual SWC don't-die-on-me-Scratch-I-have-to-get-this-in-soon writing the stomach is not the intestines. the stomach is in the chest area. and i will die by this. i know it's below the ribcage. i know it's below the diaphragm. i do not care. the stomach is in the chest area.
