It was dark. Pitch black, in fact. The panel wasn't made for comfort but purely for stealth, like one might expect a secret panel to be. However, the problem with being concealed is that very often the concealment in itself is a barrier to the outside world. Without a doubt, at this precise moment, I was concealed. All I had to do was wait for my cue, grapple for the safety handles in the dark and somersault my way onto the stage; brilliant! This was one of many performances and while the nerves were ever present, i had a certain reassurance in the familiarity of such an odd situation.
Minutes passed...
Better not to let my mind wander for fear of missing my grand entrance.
Minutes passed...
Too many minutes...
Straining to hear what was going on I suddenly became acutely aware that people were speaking, but not saying anything that I was expecting. In fact, people seemed to have increased in volume and quantity. That's when the stark reality hit me and the sound of the fire alarm came flooding in.
Best not to panic.
Do not panic.
The tears dripped down the sides of my face and my heart beat so fast inside my chest that I thought I might combust. My worst fear in the whole wide world - fire! But I could never break my cover....I had to remain secret. So I stayed where I was.
In what seemed like an age the voices started to fade and be replaced only by the incessant wail of my alleged rescuer. Yet I was frozen. It seemed very obvious that by now people had gone. Using every bit of courage I steeled myself against the sides of the panel and eased myself around to face the opposite way. Then there they were; heroic arms, rescuing arms, lifting me, pulling me into the bright stage lights and tossing me over a friendly shoulder.
Then there I was on the pavement in the rain. Ice cold and shaken, but alive just the same. A survivor of my own biggest phobia. What very bad timing for a fire on the week I was acting stunt woman...not something anyone is ever likely to forget!
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