I don't own Shock Treatment or any of the characters mentioned. I am merely elaborating.

X.x.x.x.X

"Struthers."

The blonde walked in, showing off her perfected skill of strutting in four-inch heels. Into the Audition Room, through the door that made her quiver and shiver. There was only one woman left besides her. She was different from the rest, if barely. A brightly colored suit, yes, but the skirt was hiked up to leave little to the imagination. Her legs were crossed, and she leafed through the script, a catty look in her smile and eyes.

The script. She hadn't even touched it. "DENTONVALE" screamed out at her, but she was too busy sedating herself. A finger curled around long brown hair, subconsciously, a nervous habit she could never seem to break. It wasn't until a loose knot was caught that she jerked her hand downward, tapping fingers against the script pages. She should open it, she knew that. But it was still so vertigo, drawing further into the new world could prove hazardous.

She missed Sydney. Australia was truly sunny, and fun, beaches that went on forever, and a nightlife she was also a wallflower to. Denton, USA was culture shock. No beaches, no wild clubs with tacky, yet endearing names like "Turpentine," and strange addiction to the local television station, DTV.

She was at the DTV studio now. Her mother had persuaded her to do it; going on endlessly about how wonderful she was in all those high school productions. Only a mother could love her strange, squeak of a voice, she had decided that years ago. 'It'd be nice, it'd be like being on stage again-you always had such presence,' were some of her mother's favorite terms of endearment. Trying to get her to like moving halfway around the world for her father's business. 'Twenty-four years old, and I still haven't a clue what dear old Daddy does,' she noted wryly, trying to think of why not. 'Something with a lot of numbers…and fruit.' That was all she got before her brain fogged up, and she blinked a few times to clear her mind.

Squeaky voice or not, she still was in a shell. She really only had own boyfriend her whole life, it ended when she left the country. He was lovely, he was perfection, he was…routine. That was the odd thing about theatre and her: She preferred it to her real life. Even with a script, her role was more exciting than herself. She was shy, and predictable. The characters she played had such life, such emotion. They were more than a sweet, practical girl. She wanted to be those characters.

Her whole life, everything was dull, she was a wallflower. Even the sex was routine, with staged breathing, and time released orgasms. Always on a bed, always at night. 'Such a shame…such a waste!' She chided herself, remembering the beach that was just a block away from her house. It was the same thing every time; they'd get caught up in each other, and promise the same thing-last time until they got married. She always felt in a way she was saving herself. Or at least, she had saved herself for him, and only time. And now, he was half way across the world, and everything was fruitless.

"Habschatt."

The woman walked in, patting at her hair as if it was validation. She slipped through the door, into oblivion. Onto center stage. Oh, she had missed center stage. The hot lights, and the ill-fitting costumes. But most of all, she missed people acknowledging her for being unconventional, and wild. They'd always come up to her after the show and gush about how they didn't know she could act like that. Act. She didn't want it to be acting anymore; she wanted the real thing. She wanted to see life from center stage, without playing it as a character.

She lacked self-confidence. That had been apparent since she was born. And after sitting in a room with beautiful women preening themselves, and wearing stilettos and lipstick, she felt like a misfit. Lip gloss, with a tint of pink, and mules, a pair she took with her from Australia. They all had a hungry, intimidating look on their face, and every one of them had a Barbie Doll body, accentuated by the low cut blouses, and skirts. 'They all kind of look like hookers with class,' she mused bitterly; glad nobody else could hear her thoughts. Remember how "Struthers" had unbuttoned her shirt to show off her cleavage, she sighed. 'Some with more class than others.'

The script still lay in her lap, being tapped on by fingers. They were well manicured, and not claw-like, subtle pink, and modest. 'I look like I belong in a detergent ad from the 50s!' Light pink dress, coming down to her knees, and with sleeves. She had found it in a thrift store, despite it being made about a year before. Dressing up like anyone of those women would be like Halloween, one she could maybe even enjoy. Her face was growing hot, she felt like she was thinking bad things. She always felt like she stood out like a sore thumb, could she ever wear feels and miniskirts without feeling cheap?

The suit-wearing woman came out, looking pleased. She patted her hair again, as if getting approval. Now she was alone. The room was white. The chairs were, the floor was, the walls. It was a nervous feeling, as if being trapped in a box with no way out. Of course, there were two ways out. Through to the Audition Room, or to leave, and go back to Denton, USA. She didn't even want the job as much as she just wanted to break out of her mundane, obvious life. New continent, new job, it could work.

Adrenaline kicked in. She didn't remember it being this strong; she never did. Her foot tapped anxiously, and her hair was curled around and around her finger. This could be her chance to being something other than ordinary. 'I just need anything but ordinary. Now.' She felt a little dizzy, was about to get some water from the cooler outside, when they called her name.

"Ansalongovitch."

She walked in.

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I think this version sucks less. What do you think? Review and cookies!