Personal Writing #5: Murmel

“Who IS Lucas Murmel?”

“MurMEL! The emphasis is on the second syllable! It’s FRENCH!”. Lucas slammed his script down on the table, equally upsetting a paper cup of coffee, and a fragile looking production assistant. 

The cast and crew were accustomed to Lucas’ fiery temper, but today was a bad day. Even for him. They looked around uneasily, trying not to stare at the bulging vein, threatening to burst, on their director’s scarlet forehead. 

Opening night for the play was fast approaching. Lucas Murmel’s autobiographical play, The Cashmere Vitruvian, was the talk of town. Anyone who was anyone would attend. The glitterati of the West End would not miss this event. 

Lucas had long been an enigmatic figure in the theatre world. Equally known for his string of hit plays as he was for his sequestered lifestyle, Lucas Murmel was an extremely private man. Yet, in two night’s time, this elusive individual would be (literally) drawing back the curtains, and letting the public have a peek in.

“I am not a compulsive liar. I did not cry yesterday. I do not feel a gripping sense of sadness and despair”, Lucas muttered to himself. 

Tension was palpable, no one knew quite where to look. Everyone pretended not to notice. Their esteemed director was moaning in a crumpled, soggy heap on centre stage.

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