The director: Kara Tao

She sits in the shadows, capturing the actors’ every detail. Lights flash above, bouncing off the lines of nerve and stamina etched onto her forehead. Stagehands test each orb’s luminosity, draping the theater in a glow that only those present could ever truly appreciate.

Kara Tao was directing now, but this newfound power didn’t make her any less intimidated. Having played many different characters in her lifetime, most would think creating her own roles and world would be an easy feat. But Kara was concerned, not with the contents of her play that she had been assigned and certainly not with the lack of talented actors that encircled her director’s stand. She was anxious about the quality of her directing, the choices she would have to make and the people she couldn’t let down. 

She knew from a young age that her path was not laid out clearly for her. 

Choose this career. Apply to this school. Utilize this instrument.

She insisted on performing, despite the wishes of those around her. But even then, while embodying the roles of fairies or gibberish-speaking aliens, she had become a little too adept at taking others’ footsteps.

It was time to direct her own play. 

Soon, Kara would pace around the room on her own, movement and entries and exits still fresh in her mind. Soon, she would have to decide.

She would have to build a cast list, selecting the direction she wanted to go, the people she would take with her and those who would be left behind. 

Soon, she’d have the courage to make broad motions, to tell it as it is, to create distinct settings, and shout from behind the director’s chair.

Those around her line up to perform. They are nervous and smiling, giddy even. They look at her expectantly.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she said.