The Actor


Moments of distress had lead to this final moment of peace. He was free. He had been traveling a lot for a while but couldn't see places. Beaches, Lakes, Falls. Every place was scenic. But he was hung over long scripts, monologues, new roles, new films. He looked up.
8 years.
He had been acting for 8 years. Its a long time, but it seemed to have flown past with the time he had spent pretending to be different characters and personalities. Some were easy. He was able to relate to the character. All he would need to do is improvise and the lines would flow. But some were difficult. And he would work day and night trying to understand the character, imagining them, their gait.

Sigh.

It has been a tough journey. But, an eventful one.
But for some reason he was distraught for a while. Now, he was free. The whole world seemed to be open in front of him. He looked down at the falls. A cascade, rather. it was a perfect setting for one of those long drawn monologues. The ones which start without much intensity but slowly build momentum leaving the audience baffled.
He rehearsed his lines " Why has imagination become a synonym of style?"
Has it? May be not, everyone is free to imagine. And the perception of the imagination has always varied. Its stupidity to generalize.
"Did the line fit the context?", he wondered.
He was happy, there was a great waterfall and this line dint seem to match.
May be it was not a cascade. It dint matter.
The lines again " The imagination is not our escape. On the contrary, the imagination what we are trying to get to."
He flushed.
Zipped up.
Walked out.