RGS The Annual 2019
The Audition Ollie Billingham
A
s Rick Shaw stepped off the gondola the sights and sounds of Venice swarmed around him: the overcrowded restaurants, the softly lapping water and the jumbled side-streets. Quickly, Rick checked
“Winners never cheat, cheaters never win,” read the inscription. “Have you cheated anything recently?” asked his hooded guide. Rick didn’t have time to answer. Wax masks of screaming faces stared
his audition letter. It had arrived just after a heart attack had almost
directly into his soul.
robbed the dark haired, middle-aged actor of his life. Death still clung
“Does that look like me?” he thought.
to him like cobwebs. He was ready for a fresh start. He arrived at the theatre well past five o’clock. Shadows were eddying around Teatro Oscura but lights shone a dim welcome as Rick mounted ebony black steps, his feet drumming like heart beats, gradually slowing as he reached the summit. Automatically, he
A door swung open. A feeling of familiarity washed over him: an audition room. As he walked inside Rick could see no director, but a maggot of a niggling thought told him someone was there. “Let’s charge again! Let’s give him everything!” Dread crept up Rick’s
clutched his chest.
spine. This was no Shakespearian audition script. This was his life;
A shrill voice echoed down over blood red carpet towards him.
hospital. His voice faltered. He couldn’t recite it. He couldn’t relive it.
the words the very ones spoken around him as he lay dying in the
“Rick Shaw, your turn.”
He shook his head. The audition was over.
A deadly cold feeling froze his body as a hand grabbed his arm. Rick
Leaning back against his hotel room door, the sweat already dried
looked around and then down. His heart missed a beat. The person
to salt on his forehead, Rick chuckled to himself. What a fool he
whose grip on Rick’s arm was slowly tightening was half Rick’s size,
was! Glancing out of the window, he saw a coffin sitting on a black
darkly hooded and staring straight ahead.
gondola. He squinted. He could make out the name. Could it be? The
“Good luck!” Rick blinked towards another voice. The person looked familiar. Where had Rick seen him before? It had been at the hospital,
words ‘good luck’ rang again in his ears. No, it couldn’t be him, his fellow survivor. Rick slapped himself. He needed a drink.
in intensive care. How could that be? Rick opened his mouth but the
Ice clinking in his glass, Rick opened the envelope given to him at
hand pulled him on.
the theatre.
As the Renaissance interior began to lift his spirits, abruptly Rick
“Audition failed,” was all the letter said.
stumbled. He glanced down and gasped. A sculpture of a man lying
The next morning Rick Shaw was found dead in his room.
on the floor entwined his feet. The man was dead,
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