Fantom chapter 1, part 1.

1. Saddled and hampered and addled.

  “After a moment Patrick joined in, and they continued to sing as they headed down the hill to join the others, as the lights of their rescuers drew nearer and the watchfire still flickered on the hilltop.”
  Ruth sighed and clicked save.  The story was finished.  She could edit it tomorrow.  She felt a little sad about that ending, it was always difficult to kill off a character, even when they weren’t based on one of her best friends.  But however full her stories were of a close-knit group of friends, she couldn’t make her thoughts a reality.  Not that any of them would have read her stories anyway.  They wouldn’t care what she thought.  
 Another thing she couldn’t make a reality was an interesting life.  Her own was a dull, seemingly endless shuffle, earning just enough money to pay the bills, and finding other things to do to distract herself from how hopeless it all seemed.  That was the reality of life in recession-hit, cuts-stricken, jobless, uncaring Britain.  That was what her stories were, escapism.  Dreams of being a hero, of not being who she was.  She felt as if she were standing in a fog-filled room, unable to see but dreaming that what was out there was so much more exciting than the few inches of dull greyness that filled her eyes and lungs, holding her in place.  
 Her characters weren’t real people, but they still bore traces of the people they had been based on.  Ruth wished she could give the real people happy endings, but she didn’t see how.  There certainly didn’t seem to be a happy ending for herself.
  She switched tabs to check her emails, and felt a sudden twist in her stomach as she saw that the audition results had arrived.  Without much hope she opened the message and scanned the list of names.  She hadn’t got anything.  She had known beforehand that she wouldn’t get anything, that the competition would be too high- and yet there was always the sick feeling of disappointment when it was confirmed.  
  She looked up as Patrick entered the room.  “Results are out,” she said, and passed him her laptop with the opened email.  He looked down the list.  
  He would be more disappointed than her, she knew.  There were fewer men, and- in her opinion- he was better than at least a couple of those who had got parts.  But he had got nothing.  She tried angrily to repress the thought that ability mattered less than how friendly you were with the directors or their partners.  
  “I’m sorry,” she said as he looked up.  He shrugged.  “Tea?” he asked, getting up to put the kettle on.  “Please,” she replied.  It was always horrible going into auditions knowing that however well she did- even if she gave the best performance of her life- she would still not be able to beat certain other people.  She wondered sometimes why she still bothered.  Partly it was a sense of fairness, she disliked the fact that there were men no better than her- indeed, not as good, she allowed herself to think in moments of less self-loathing- who regularly got parts because there were fewer men and more parts.  
  “Are you still going to do chorus?” she asked Patrick as he poured the tea.  “Oh yes,” he said.  “Are you?”
  “Yes,” she said.  “Ruddigore’s the last G&S I haven’t done,” she said.  “I want my full set.  And I’m not going to miss performing at the Festival!”  And they know that, don’t they.  They know we’ll keep turning up, whatever happens.  They don’t need to give us parts just to persuade us to stay.  But if I left, no one would miss me.  
  She had tried to leave- the main show they’d just done had been going to be her last.  Then they’d announced that the society had got the chance to perform at the International Gilbert & Sullivan Festival at Buxton that summer.  Ruth had been to see shows at the Festival several times, and she wasn’t going to miss a chance to perform.  
  But this is the last one, she thought to herself.  She had had enough of the politics and the egos.  

The story continues...