Text: an original contemporary feature-style practice extract.

Before the school play began, I was certain the rolling door would be the easiest part of the set. In rehearsal it crossed the stage with a quiet glide. I had polished its handle until it caught the light, and the stage manager had marked its stopping place with a strip of white tape.

On opening night, the door stopped halfway across. The actor behind it pushed once, then again. From the wings, I saw the handle tremble. The audience waited. Then the actor knocked on the stuck door as if someone were inside. A laugh travelled through the hall. She leaned close to listen, and the other actor answered from the wrong side with a knock of his own. For a few seconds, the scene belonged to the door instead of the script.

When the actors pulled it free, they carried on, but I watched the audience rather than the wheels. Their faces followed every turn of the handle. After the final bow, I rolled the door back to its mark. The strip of tape was still there, bright under the work lights, but it no longer looked like a promise that everything would go to plan. It looked like the place where the next scene could begin.