"Break A Leg"

Portland, Maine

The crowds poured out of 'The Foy', a small but respectable theatre in downtown Portland. It was no longer in the Foy family, but carried on its tradition of Shakespearean theatre. The audience that night had just enjoyed Richard Emerson's production of 'King Lear', starring his own daughter, Sherry. She now sat in the dressing room, scribbling in her diary and rubbing at her watery eyes. It should have been a night to celebrate. Critics were hailing her as one of the best actresses to tread the boards, that night especially. They said Cordelia was the role she was born to play. She would have basked in the praise a bit more were it not for the more pressing matters on her mind. Things had gotten increasingly worse between her and Evan, her indecisive boyfriend.

She sniffed and continued to write.

'I don't know what to do. Sometimes he swears he's in love with me... close to obsessed! Even my friends say so. But then other times... I honestly don't know. It seemed like things were getting serious, then he started to rant about how he hated marriage and left. I have no idea what to do...'

She stopped writing and glanced at the door. "Someone there?"

She waited for a response, but there was none. She was about to speak again when she heard the same sound, this time it was coming from the window. She turned towards it and listened closely. It sounded like the wind, but the window wasn't open. She shrugged and went back to writing.

'Everyone says I should leave him, but it mightn't be tha'

She dropped the pen onto the little book and turned to the window quickly. She moved towards it and tried to see through the lace curtain, squinting her eyes. The only thing she could make out was the brook that ran by the back of the theatre.

She rubbed her forehead and sighed, "I'm just tired..."

Returning to the dimly lit desk, she shut her diary and slid it into her bag. After she'd cleaned her face and given time for the redness in her eyes to subside, she headed downstairs to the cast and crew who were helping to clean up.

"Hey, guys," she smiled as she called.

A tall, older man rested his bag down on a chair and walked over to her. He placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her lightly on the forehead, "you were fantastic tonight. You should be very proud."

She gazed up at him and smiled with her crimson painted lips. "Thanks, Dad."

"We're just heading out to celebrate closing night. Are you coming with us?"

Sherry made a face as she though. "Umm... I'm not in the bar mood lately. I think I'll just make for home."

Richard, her father, looked at her with his weary eyes. He still appeared young for his age but the eyes gave away the stressful years he'd spent in theatres. Not to mention the hassle of bringing up a rambunctious daughter alone after her mother walked out on them. She'd always been prone to dramatics. He was just happy she found a way to vent that unruly energy.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

She widened her already too-big-to-be-real-smile and gave a short, quiet laugh. "Yeah, Dad. I'm fine."

"Hey, you ready?" called a female's voice from near the door.

Sherry gave her father a hug and told him to go on ahead, promising she'd be okay.

They all cleared out, even the owner, Desmond Cale who lived there. He trusted Sherry to lock up when she left. She decided to get a head start on learning her next script, 'Hamlet'. Portland were having a Shakespearean festival and The Foy was set on performing a play a week for its duration. It was an old tradition of the theatre, one that hadn't been practiced for a long time. Not since the early 1910s when the place was closed. Cale had purchased it just the previous year and had been working up to a grand opening. What better opening than the Shakespeare festival? 'King Lear' was the first production in the season.

Sherry had already read 'Hamlet' at least thirty times over. She just couldn't wait to get on the stage and become Ophelia. It would be such a great role for her. As she weaved between the seats and up the centre aisle, she read aloud. She continued to read as she made her way onto the stage to really get a feel of the part. She couldn't wait to see the reviews after her next performance. These thoughts lifted her heavy heart for a short time. She kept reading, skipping ahead to her lines of dialogue.

As she strolled across the stage and back she got more and more into the part. She felt herself totally being given over to the character. She couldn't believe how far she'd come in the theatre world. She was proud.

Her reading grew more intense, she even felt as though she could hear the other actors respond. She didn't feel as if she was rehearsing alone, or that she was rehearsing at all.

The more passionate the words became the more she began to think about her life. It seemed as though she could finally see her life clearly when she was feeling the most detached.

She stopped pacing and lowered the script. She hung her head and rubbed the back of her neck. "Oh, God..." she muttered. The last thing she wanted to think about when she was happy was Evan.

She sighed. "...Evan..." Why was he acting the way he was? She couldn't wrap her head around it. It made her angry just thinking about it, angry and confused. It was rising in her, all the emotions she had suppressed. The ones she could only show when she was on stage. The tears began to flow but they didn't offer the release she hoped they would. She felt like she was going mad. Evan was driving her crazy.

She threw the book to the ground and made her was towards the back exit.

"Air."

After struggling with the lock, the door swung open and she stepped out into the cool breeze that fluttered her long coppery blonde hair. She wiped at her eyes and moved closer to a wispy tree that stretched out over the brook. She remembered her happy childhood days when she'd climb trees and get into all kinds of scrapes. She was such a tomboy. A little smile appeared on her fair face as she reached up and grabbed onto a branch. Sniffing back the tears that kept coming, she pulled herself up and found a comfortable place on a thick branch.

No point stopping now.

Sherry kept on climbing until she was over the gently running water. When she stopped to look down, she thought she seen something below. She reached to rub her eyes in an effort to clear her vision, but in doing so she lost her grip on the smooth branch. She let out a short, sharp scream before hitting the bottom of the brook with a cold, heavy splash.