Jane: Solitude

I stood up in my small room, the only one I was able to afford. I'm on a ship in the middle of space; I remember when there were only ships in water. Yes, I was very young, but I remember.

The voices and footsteps of the tourists crowded around me, giving me a sense of claustrophobia. But at least I'm out here. Due to my lack of inspiration lately, I had to use my last savings to get onto this ship. I'm hoping that the vast reaches of the universe will give me some hope for the future.

The script crumpled between my clenched fingers as the familiar sinking feeling of worry took over my stomach. With a flourish of my arm, the words spilled from my mouth in a thick Italian accent:

"Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name!
Or, if thou wilst not, be but sworn my love,
I will no longer--"

I cut myself off, scribbling a couple of notes down on my script. "No, no, that's not right." My accent was German now; I don't know why, but that's one of my old habits. I speak in different accents at different times. Some call me insane, but I think of myself as a mad genius. Like Einstein or Leeuwenhoek.

I carefully lined the paper up next to my other scripts, and picked up the next.

"Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another--"

I sighed and sat down in the middle of the floor with a thump. "No, no. That's not right." I covered my face, then finally opened my eyes and scanned the script. "Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang..." I muttered. Laying down, different thoughts ran through my mind.

"To be or not to be, Mr. Darcy, every single man in possession of..." Another slap to my forehead. "Where did that come from, Jane? Pull yourself together!" I whispered, slowly getting up and placing my script on the table. Wandering over to my bed, I felt heavy and broken. No acting jobs had been offered for weeks now...or was it months? A lack of inspiration can be the death of me. I laid back on my pillow, trying to find that familiar burst of energy that I got when I thought of my bright future.
Or dark future, I guess.

I sighed again, getting off my bed and going back over to the table. I picked up the next script.

"Listen to them; children of the night. What sweet music they make." I smiled. Sweet music was what I needed. With a hop, I started to dance around my room, singing an old lullaby my mother had taught me.

"Creativity may not come easily..." I found a piece of paper and started to write. "A lot of times, it does fail me..."

Call me crazy, but my methods guarantee me a good future. I finally finished my sonnet and lifted my heavy eyelids, looking for human contact. It may give me my needed inspiration. My feet were surprisingly light as I opened my door and headed outside.

The End

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