Jason's walk back to his apartment felt longer than usual, his mind weighed down with thoughts of failure. The streets of Los Angeles were alive with the hum of the evening crowd, people chatting, laughing, and filling the air with their excitement. To Jason, it all felt like background noise, a reminder of the life he wasn't living.
He passed by posters plastered on the sides of buildings, advertisements for movies and TV shows. Faces he recognized. Faces of people who were once like him—hopeful actors starting out, trying to break into the industry. The difference was they had made it. Jason hadn't.
By the time he reached the old brick building that housed his apartment, the energy in the streets had died down, replaced by the faint sound of passing cars and distant music. Jason climbed the stairs to the third floor, feeling the familiar creak of each step beneath his feet. His apartment was quiet when he unlocked the door, the familiar scent of stale air greeting him as he stepped inside.
He tossed his jacket onto the couch, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach. His phone buzzed in his pocket again, but this time he didn't bother checking it. He knew it wasn't anything good. It never was. Instead, he walked into the small kitchen and opened the fridge. The shelves were mostly empty, save for a few cans of soda and some leftover takeout from days ago. He grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, staring at the chipped paint on the walls.
His landlord had left another notice on his door the day before, reminding him that rent was due in a week. Jason wasn't sure how he was going to make it this time. The shifts at the diner barely covered his food, let alone his rent. Every month felt like a losing battle, a game he wasn't equipped to win.
He turned the bottle of water in his hands, his thoughts drifting to the conversation he'd had with an old friend just a few weeks ago. Eric had been in the same acting classes as Jason years ago. They had auditioned for the same roles, shared the same frustrations, and spent countless nights talking about their big dreams. Now, Eric was living in a high-rise downtown, his face on billboards, and his name in the credits of a hit TV show.
Jason had been happy for him—at least, he wanted to be. But when they met for drinks, all he could feel was the ever-growing chasm between them. Eric had spent most of the night talking about his projects, his connections, and the opportunities that seemed to come effortlessly to him. Jason had smiled, nodded, and pretended to be interested, but inside, all he could think about was how far behind he had fallen.
"You just have to keep grinding, man," Eric had said, sipping his cocktail with a grin. "It'll happen for you, too. It's all about being in the right place at the right time."
Right place. Right time. Jason had heard those words more times than he could count, but they were meaningless now. No matter how hard he worked or how many auditions he went to, the doors stayed firmly shut. Eric had made it. Jason hadn't. And the more time passed, the more he realized that maybe he never would.
Jason closed the fridge and walked over to the small table in the corner of the room, cluttered with old headshots and a stack of bills he'd been avoiding. His eyes landed on an envelope marked *Final Notice*—the electricity bill. He hadn't paid it in two months, and the last thing he needed was for the lights to go out. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.
Maybe it was time to face the reality he'd been avoiding. He couldn't keep this up forever. His parents had been right all along. They had never said it outright, but he knew they were waiting for him to come to his senses, to give up on this impossible dream and return home to Idaho. Settle down. Get a real job.
Jason had resisted for years, but now, with every rejection and unpaid bill, the idea didn't seem so far-fetched. He could go back, live with his parents for a while, maybe find some small-town job that didn't crush his soul. He could quit chasing a dream that had long since turned into a nightmare.
But even as he thought it, Jason felt a knot of resistance in his chest. Giving up meant admitting he had wasted the last decade of his life. It meant telling everyone who had ever believed in him, however briefly, that they had been wrong. Most of all, it meant accepting that he wasn't good enough—that he never had been.
The thought stung.
Jason slumped into the chair at the table, his hands gripping the edge of the wood as he stared at the bills scattered in front of him. He had always believed that if you worked hard enough, you'd eventually get a break. That's how it was supposed to work, wasn't it? But now, he wasn't so sure.
The weight of desperation hung over him like a cloud, suffocating him with the pressure to keep going, to hold on just a little longer. But how long was too long? How many more rejection emails could he read before he broke? How many more auditions could he attend before he finally gave up?
Jason buried his face in his hands, the familiar ache in his chest growing stronger. For years, he had told himself that he wasn't a quitter, that he would make it no matter what. But here he was, on the verge of losing everything—the dream, the apartment, the little dignity he had left.
A knock on the door startled him. Jason looked up, his heart skipping a beat. His landlord? No, not this late. He stood slowly and walked over to the door, peering through the peephole. To his relief, it wasn't the landlord. It was his neighbor, an elderly woman who lived down the hall.
"Jason? Are you home?" she called softly through the door.
He opened the door just a crack, leaning against the frame. "Yeah, Mrs. Franklin. What's up?"
She smiled, her wrinkled face full of kindness. "I made too much stew again. Thought you might want some. It's cold out, and you look like you could use a good meal."
Jason blinked, the warmth in her voice catching him off guard. "Uh, thanks. You didn't have to."
"Don't be silly. I always make too much." She handed him a small container wrapped in a kitchen towel. "Eat up, dear. You need your strength."
Jason took the container, offering her a weak smile. "Thanks, Mrs. Franklin. I appreciate it."
She patted his arm gently. "Hang in there, Jason. You'll find your way."
He nodded, though he wasn't sure he believed her. As she shuffled back down the hall, Jason closed the door and leaned against it, clutching the container of stew. It was a small gesture, but it reminded him that, despite everything, he wasn't completely alone.
But that didn't change the fact that time was running out. And if he didn't figure something out soon, his dream wasn't the only thing he was going to lose.