Categories > Theatre > Rent > Cutting Room Floor
AN: As per usual, RENT isn't mine. Everything is Jonathan Larson's.
Why did it always come down to this? Just Mark and his films. It seemed like every time he started to connect to something, someone, anyone... it was all taken away.
At least there was one thing that couldn't abandon him. One certainty that he could lean on. The camera told no lies. And it would never leave him alone.
Things had been so great on New Year's Day. Everyone was gathered for the group shot. He looked at that enlarged single frame even now with fondness that could only come from the feeling of being accepted.
There, by the door, was Maureen in her black spandex jumpsuit and, near her, Joanne. He grinned as he noticed, not for the first time, that she was still on that cell phone of hers.
Angel and Collins sat on the sofa, holding hands and grinning at one another for all they were worth. To think, they'd only met a week before! You'd hardly be able to tell, they were so into each other.
In the center of the shot sat Roger, the Fender in his hands, playing something for Mimi, who stood against the wall beside him.
Even Benny was there, off to one side, snacking on Maureen's bag of chips and listening to Roger's music.
Everyone had been there. But, looking at the still frame, something wasn't right.
Where am I?
Behind the camera, obviously.
And that's when it hit him. They didn't need him. The scene would've looked the same whether he'd been there or not.
Tears that he didn't dare to cry stung behind his eyes. To ease the pain, he stood, slung the picture against the wall of his film room. With a satisfying crash, the glass shattered and rained down onto the otherwise-immaculate floor.
He picked up the portrait from the debris and took another look at it.
Even without the glass panel, it hadn't changed. Without the man behind the lens, events would have been no different.
No one will notice, Mark thought, letting the picture slip from his hands and flutter back to the floor. Then he took a seat in the corner, pulled his knees in and buried his face.
Nobody notices when I smile, so nobody will see when I cry.
Why did it always come down to this? Just Mark and his films. It seemed like every time he started to connect to something, someone, anyone... it was all taken away.
At least there was one thing that couldn't abandon him. One certainty that he could lean on. The camera told no lies. And it would never leave him alone.
Things had been so great on New Year's Day. Everyone was gathered for the group shot. He looked at that enlarged single frame even now with fondness that could only come from the feeling of being accepted.
There, by the door, was Maureen in her black spandex jumpsuit and, near her, Joanne. He grinned as he noticed, not for the first time, that she was still on that cell phone of hers.
Angel and Collins sat on the sofa, holding hands and grinning at one another for all they were worth. To think, they'd only met a week before! You'd hardly be able to tell, they were so into each other.
In the center of the shot sat Roger, the Fender in his hands, playing something for Mimi, who stood against the wall beside him.
Even Benny was there, off to one side, snacking on Maureen's bag of chips and listening to Roger's music.
Everyone had been there. But, looking at the still frame, something wasn't right.
Where am I?
Behind the camera, obviously.
And that's when it hit him. They didn't need him. The scene would've looked the same whether he'd been there or not.
Tears that he didn't dare to cry stung behind his eyes. To ease the pain, he stood, slung the picture against the wall of his film room. With a satisfying crash, the glass shattered and rained down onto the otherwise-immaculate floor.
He picked up the portrait from the debris and took another look at it.
Even without the glass panel, it hadn't changed. Without the man behind the lens, events would have been no different.
No one will notice, Mark thought, letting the picture slip from his hands and flutter back to the floor. Then he took a seat in the corner, pulled his knees in and buried his face.
Nobody notices when I smile, so nobody will see when I cry.
Sign up to rate and review this story