The audience sat, breath bated, for the curtain to lift. Only shadows nodded.
In the third row, someone pressed pause—an epoch mistake.
Silence draped heavier than a lead balloon. Expectations plummeted.
“Next scene,” whispered the stage manager, but the script eroded.
Mute chaos ensued, the actors mimicking lucky escapes.
A door creaked. Alas, it led nowhere.
The teleprompter flickered: "THIS IS NOT A DRILL".
Laughter, a distant echo from a parallel universe.