Chris: A Dream

In the audience, and yet somehow I am backstage and props are thrust into my hands and I am implored to go on.

I refuse. I'm not an understudy. I'm not part of this play. I'm only part of the audience. I don't know the lines!

And then, I am chastised for being backstage.

He appears. He's very tall, thin and blonde. And is it love? Perhaps it is, he is a bit older than I am, but it doesn't matter.

He has finally come.

And I am tortured. Who is he? Where did he come from?

And will there be cake?

Tune in next time-and know: there will always be cake!

I remain,

Hilda Stinson