Bodies slam against each other as the people rush for their props. I am pushed against a wall as chairs soar overhead. Yes, backstage is chaotic. The star is fussing with her dress as the boys attempt to maneuver a bench through the wings. The lights are out. The only way of sight comes from the soft glow of the stage. A prop is missing. Whispers of panic fill the silent void as we all join the hunt. Looking for the prop is searching the room of requirement for the lost diadem. Behind the scenes resembles a hoarder's bedroom. Nothing is ever thrown out. The walls, now black, show of a past where the building’s owner aimed to brighten the area with a sickly green. The stank of must and old rubber, mingling with wood and ancient sweat that has
