In the quiet sanctuary of the night, my bedroom cloaked in the gentle hush of darkness, I nestled into the pod of my bed. The soft caress of the duvet cradled me, a haven of warmth that sheltered me in a serene embrace. Moonlight, a gentle intruder through the curtains, cast a mosaic of shadows on my room, creating a dreamscape where reality and imagination blurred.
As the nocturnal symphony played, a subliminal shift in the air signaled an intrusion, an uninvited but comforting presence on the edge of my bed. A weight settled, a sensation that stirred me from the edges of slumber. The atmosphere became charged with an energy unfamiliar, an ethereal occurrence that defied the logic of waking life.
With cautious curiosity, I lifted the duvet, unveiling the mystery that lingered in the midnight air. To my astonishment, a figure took shape in the dimness—a paternal silhouette, bathed in a soft glow. My father, with eyes that mirrored the moonlit night, sat there with a smile that painted the room with a luminous tenderness.
As my father smiled, his cheeks lifted, crinkling at the edges of his eyes. His eyes sparkled with warmth and his mouth curved into a broad grin. His shoulders relaxed, and a feeling of contentment spread throughout his body. The smile was full of joy, love, and pride, and it lit up his whole face. He looked at me, his daughter, and knew that I was the source of all that happiness, and he couldn't imagine life without me. His smile was a reflection of the love and gratitude he felt for me.
"Dad?" I asked, my voice tremulous.
"Hi, sweetheart", he said.
I felt a wave of warmth wash over me.
"What are you doing here, Dad?" I whispered, the words hanging in the air like a secret shared in the stillness. His response, a gentle melody of paternal love, resonated through the shadows. "I came to visit my precious daughter," he replied, the words wrapped in a paternal warmth that transcended the boundaries of dreams.
A dialogue unfolded in the quietude, a conversation that traversed the realms of the subconscious. "I'm fulfilling our dreams, Dad," I shared, a beam of determination illuminating my face. His response, an emotional echo, carried the weight of a thousand whispered affirmations. "I'm proud of you, my child," he declared, the words laden with the profound pride that only a father's heart could bear.
A hushed tenderness lingered in the air as he extended his arms, encircling me, his daughter, in an embrace that whispered of protection and pride. The bed dipped slightly beneath the shared weight, an inconspicuous acknowledgment of the emotional gravity of the moment.
My father's touch, calloused yet gentle, conveyed a lifetime of care and commitment. It was a tactile affirmation of the unspoken words that hung between us—an unbreakable connection forged through shared moments, tears, and the quiet triumphs of life.
I, still enveloped in the warmth of the embrace, felt the beating rhythm of my father's heart. It echoed like a reassuring melody, a lullaby that spoke of unwavering support and unconditional love.
Amidst the silence, he uttered words that became a soothing symphony in the room. "I'm always rooting for your success, Alex, don't let me down," he said, the sentiment carried by the timbre of his voice. "I'm proud of you". He added.
I, wrapped in the safety of his arms, absorbed the affirmation like a gentle rain showering parched soil.
And then, as dreams often do, reality interjected. I, now awake in the quiet reality of my room, carried the residual warmth of the dream. A smile graced my lips as I succumbed once more to the gentle pull of slumber, the ephemeral visitation leaving behind a sense of comfort and an ethereal connection to the dreamscape that had briefly intertwined with my reality.
I stirred from my slumber as the tentative knocks rapped on my bedroom door. A languid stretch reached from the tips of my toes to the tousled waves of my morning hair. My room, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, whispered of a night's rest gently spent.
With each knock, my consciousness surfaced like a dormant sea creature gradually awakening to the rhythm of the ocean's call. A yawn, a proof of sleep relinquishing its hold, echoed in the quiet expanse of my room. The knocks persisted, a persistent overture to the day that beckoned me to the realm of wakefulness.
My sister's voice, a herald of the impending day, filtered through the door in a cascade of urgency.
"Wake up, sleepy head!" She yelled outside the bedroom door.
Her voice reached me, wrapped in the lullaby of sleep, stirring me to action. Lazily, I extricate myself from the warm nest of my bed, the sheets clinging like a second skin reluctant to release its hold.
As I approached the door, the knocks ceased, and with a creak, it swung open to reveal my elder sister, an embodiment of morning vitality. My sister, mid-sentence, was caught in the act of delivering a wake-up call that straddled the line between urgency and amusement. "Get dressed; you'll be late for..." she began, her words like an arrow released mid-flight.
At that moment, realization dawned on my early morning face, a sudden comprehension that jolted me into the present. Lisa's sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as the truth unfolded—today is the day for my audition.
I had overslept, the alarm's shrill cry silenced in the oblivion of my dreams. A surge of adrenaline replaced the residual grogginess, and with a swift pivot, I hurried towards the bathroom.
My sister, a witness to the whirlwind of realization, couldn't contain a burst of laughter. It bubbled up from the depths, a melodic accompaniment to my hastened steps.
In the room, Lisa, with a seasoned ease, began to tidy up the remnants of the morning chaos. The bed received a meticulous arrangement, an orchestra of folded sheets and fluffed pillows, while clothes were laid out in anticipation of the impending rush.
The sleek car glided to a halt in front of the audition center, a metallic beacon amidst the bustling cityscape. I, a rising star, wrapped in anticipation, emerged into a whirlwind of activity. The car door opened like a curtain revealing a star stepping onto the grand stage. My elder sister, a guardian in the realm of fame, accompanied me, our bond a silent overture to the spectacle that awaited.
The moment our feet stepped onto the red carpet lay by the adoring asphalt, an orchestra of camera shutters erupted. Flashbulbs flickered like a celestial display, each pop capturing a frame of this cinematic arrival. Journalists, like paparazzi drawn to the allure of stardom, descended upon us with questions poised like arrows.
"What do you want to achieve today?" The question hung in the air, an invisible challenge echoing against the facade of the audition center. I, a portrait of poised determination, inhaled the energy of the moment. My eyes met with the journalist's gaze. My eyes, pools of determination, reflected the myriad dreams I carried within.
My response, a measured exhale, resonated with a purpose beyond the superficial glitz of the industry. "I just want to make a difference," I declared, my words a manifesto etched against the palette of expectation.
As we navigated the sea of flashing lights toward the entrance, the auditorium loomed large, a coliseum where dreams would be weighed against the measure of talent. The crowds, an ocean of faces, were already seated in silent anticipation. The air buzzed with the hum of whispered hopes and unspoken critiques, a symphony of expectation that serenaded the approaching young actress, Alexandra Finnman.
My sister, Lisa, a steadfast ally in this odyssey, left me at the precipice of the audition room, our parting a quiet acknowledgment of the solitary nature of the artistic journey. A wish for success lingered in the air as Lisa retreated into the background. I turned, met the gaze of my sibling, and with a soft smile, I uttered a simple "thank you."
Alone yet emboldened, I stepped through the portal of possibility. Today, I vowed silently, was the day I would reclaim my crown. The echoes of my sister's departing wish resonated in my heart, fortifying my resolve. The spotlight awaited, and nothing, I affirmed with unwavering determination, would stand between me and the triumph I envisioned.
In the expansive auditorium, the judges took their positions like royalty at a grand banquet. A long table stretched before them, adorned with polished name tags, each bearing the weight of their distinguished identities. The seats, arranged in a crescent, formed a semi-circle of discerning gazes that surveyed the stage set for destinies to unfold.
The crowds, a mosaic of faces, filled the seats in a murmuring anticipation that swirled like an ocean breeze through the vast hall. Celebrities, draped in the glamor of stardom, added a sprinkling of stardust to the sea of eager spectators. The atmosphere hummed with the electricity of expectation, a charged ambiance fit for the theatrical spectacle about to commence.
Three vacant thrones awaited the triumphant auditionees—the lead actor, the supporting actor, and the antagonist. The stakes were high, and the auditionees knew that the echoes of their performances would resonate long after the curtains fell. Excellence alone would be the currency that could unlock the gateway to the coveted roles.
In the waiting room, I, preparing for the lead role, sat in quiet contemplation. Cheers and applause reverberated through the walls as auditionees for the supporting and antagonist roles took center stage, their performances weaving a tapestry of anticipation.
I, patient and poised, felt the pulse of the room through the walls. The echoes of success and the reverberations of challenges intermingled, creating a play that underscored the gravity of the moment. In a hushed corner, away from the spotlight, I reached into my bag and retrieved my phone.
With a swipe, I entered the realm of Instagram—a sanctuary where my fans, like digital guardians, poured their support and well-wishes. The screen illuminated with a cascade of love, a digital embrace that wrapped around me like a warm shawl. A smile, born of the knowledge that I wasn't alone in this journey, graced my lips.
Returning my phone to the bag, I pivoted to the mirror, a surface that awaited my artistic touch. Makeup emerged like strokes of a painter's brush, each dab and sweep a ritual of preparation. The transformation wasn't just physical; it was a symbolic gesture—a quiet proclamation that I was ready to step into the spotlight and command the stage.
The applause from the auditorium filtered through the walls, a reminder that destiny was inching closer. I, adorned with resilience and fueled by the love of my supporters, rose from my seat. The waiting room, a haven of anticipation, released me into the limelight.
As I stepped toward the stage, the echoes of my fans' cheers resonated in my heart, a chorus of encouragement that harmonized with the rhythm of my footsteps. Today, I vowed to weave a performance that would etch my name among the stars, and nothing could dim the radiance of my aspirations—I affirmed once more.
In the spotlight's glow, I stood, a singular figure on the grand stage. I introduced myself with a voice that echoed with confidence, and as my introduction reached its conclusion, my gaze swept across the sea of expectant faces. Among the myriad expressions, I found my anchor—my parents. Leaning on each other, they sat in the audience, smiles sketched like a shared secret. I, locking eyes with them, felt a surge of warmth. In that fleeting connection, smiles were exchanged. When I blinked my eyes to look at my parents for the last time, they weren't there anymore. They vanished.
With a deep breath, I commenced my performance, enthusiasm radiating from my every movement. The stage became a medium for my emotions, a space where passion flowed through my veins. Every line delivered, every gesture made, was a brushstroke in the painting of my narrative. The auditorium transformed into an arena of emotions, and I, Alexandra Finnman was its fearless gladiator, battling with the intensity of my craft.
As the final note of my performance lingered in the air, the audience erupted into a thunderous standing ovation. Cheers and applause surged like a tidal wave, a symphony of appreciation echoing through the hallowed space. Shouts of my name reverberated, a chorus of adulation that enveloped me in a cocoon of triumph.
The jubilant cacophony, however, morphed into an anticipatory hush as the judges, the arbiters of destiny, took center stage. The first group summoned to the forefront were those auditioning for the antagonist role. The announcement of winners for this category rippled through the auditorium, met with applause and cheers as the deserving victors were celebrated.
The pattern repeated for the supporting roles, the crowd acknowledging excellence with fervent claps. Finally, the moment of truth arrived—the auditionees for the lead role. Hearts pounded in collective suspense, and the auditorium was awash with nervous energy.
The judge's voice cut through the tension, declaring Chloe Simon as the winner of the lead role.
Amidst the jubilation, I who had poured my soul into the performance felt a bitter cocktail of disappointment and sorrow. Tears welled in my eyes as the reality of defeat settled in.
In the quiet aftermath of the announcement, I joined my hands together in an almost prayer-like gesture. Silent tears streamed down my face as I wept, the dream of reclaiming stardom slipping through my fingers like sand.
Shadows danced across my tear-streaked face, my silent sobs echoing in the hushed auditorium. The weight of disappointment draped over me like a heavy curtain as I stood alone, unnoticed and uncelebrated.
Amidst the heavy atmosphere, a sudden, unexpected sound sliced through the quietude – the judges' laughter. It was a discordant melody, a sharp contrast to the melancholy that had settled in the room. I turned, my eyes swollen, trying to discern the source of this unusual disruption.
"I am sorry for the joke. That's my name," a judge declared, the words cutting through the stillness like a dagger. I blinked, confusion etched across my tear-stained face. The audience's gaze shifted, the collective attention now diverted towards the unfolding drama.
"The winner for the lead role is..." the judge teased, letting the words linger in the air, the pregnant pause amplifying the tension. A drum roll, a theatrical heartbeat, resonated through the auditorium, heightening the suspense. My heart pounded in my chest, unsure whether to hope or despair.
Finally, the revelation hung in the air, silence stretching like an endless chasm. And then, a name pierced through the quiet, shattering the stillness – "Alexandra Finnman!" The crowd erupted into a cacophony of exuberance, shouts, cheers, and thunderous applause reverberating through the space.
Stunned, I wiped away my tears, a disbelieving smile playing on my lips. I stepped forward, a reluctant but radiant heroine, and the stage transformed into a sea of blinding camera flashes. The clicking of camera shutters resonated like a chorus, freezing moments of triumph in pixels.
"Congratulations, Alexandra Finnman," a judge congratulated the words a sweet melody amidst the orchestra of adulation. I, now a victor, held my trophy with a mixture of humility and pride, the weight of the honor sinking in.
In the spotlight, I, the winner of the lead role in a movie, delivered a short motivational speech, with gratitude woven into every word. "I thank you all for the love and support. It means so much to me. To my sister, Lisa, I dedicate this to you." I uttered, my voice carrying the echoes of my silent struggles.
"There's something I do say every day. 'Today will be better'. But what if it's not? Then I say it again tomorrow. Because it might be. I never know, right? At some point, tomorrow will be better. It is never luck, it is always God. Just start! You will get clarity on the way. Wake up every morning and chase your dreams. Stop sleeping! God bless you all".
The applause swelled once more, a thunderstorm of approval for the actress who had weathered the storm of disappointment to stand triumphant in the spotlight of success.
***
On nights like this one, I won't let myself cry to sleep because God came through for me. Every struggle leads to progress. I don't run from my adversaries, I stand firm and face it and I make sure I overcome it. There's no success without failure.
I am an addict, I'm addicted to success. Thankfully, there's no rehabilitation center for success. My name is Alexandra, no version two.
The End.