On the Stage

Being on stage is amazing.
Before a show, you can feel the buzz in the air. Backstage is absolute chaos. Girls are putting the last touches on their ridiculous stage makeup, boys are wrestling to get their nerves out, and the manager is about to have a heart attack. Props are flying every which way, and your stomach is about to rupture.
It's fantastic.
You take one last glance at your costume to make sure you have all the parts on correctly. You run your sweaty hands through your hair as you peek out from behind the curtain and see the incredibly large crowd waiting in the audience. You quickly swallow the bile rising in your throat and close the curtain when the stage manager yells at you. You being whispering comforts to yourself. The excitement in the air is tangible, and you almost choke on it.
Your friend approaches you. Their face is beaming as they tell you how nervous they are. You agree wholeheartedly. You shake your hands to release the tingles going up your spine. Your throat is dry as the manager announces that you have five minutes to stage time. Everyone bustles behind the curtain to get to their starting positions. You are shoved every which way, and you wish that you could run away and go home. You finally reach your position as the lights dim.
Suddenly, everything is put in perspective. The narrator announces the show as the audience begins clapping. You are stuck in place on stage, your feet planted on the ground beneath you. Your eyes are staring into the vast darkness, because you know they will all be staring at you. You swallow one more time before the prelude music starts. And then, you are on.
The spotlights blind you, but you perform to the best of your capability. You are shaking, but you carry your props and walk calmly to your places. Suddenly the stage feels giant. You are under the impression everyone is looking at you, not the lead singer. You can read the other cast member's faces: unsure, sweaty, terror-stricken. Yet you all work together to create a show worth watching. The lights seem artificial as they shine down. Really, everything seems artificial. You're floating on a cloud and you have an out-of-body sensation, like you're watching yourself perform. Everything is a daze. You say and dance your many-times-rehearsed lines until it's a second nature. You're hardly thinking, just feeling.
And suddenly, the play is over. You've taken your bows and the audience is standing, congratulating you on surviving yet another night. Your face lights up in a grin as you are rushed with the sudden happiness of completing your work. Your friends gather for a group hug, and you rush out to the commons to meet and greet the audience members. As they praise you for your work, you realise the nervousness and work actually meant something, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the amazing feeling that you never gave up, and that you worked through it all. You're congratulating yourself now, though correcting the past mistakes you made on the stage. But overall, you feel great about your performance.
And then you realize you're doing it tomorrow too.