The lights dimmed and the chattering voices and clapping died as the theater emptied out. The cast ran to get their mics off to talk to the audience and crews ran to put away stuff and talk to their friends. In a few moments there was only one left on the stage. Not necessarily one person left, but instead a ghost, sitting center stage looking out at the empty seats and still wings. The only movement was a small gust if wind from the last person closing the door brushing along the curtains.

The ghost came out to sit every night. She was young, pale and wore a white dress which covered her legs that lay criss cross on the floor. She had long golden hair, but on top of her head a dent and blood, blood blood. It washed down the top of her head like a waterfall and stained into her hair and back of her dress.

The ghost sat waiting like she did every night hoping someone would come back to the stage and sing or dance with her, but this night was the same as every other. No one came and she was the only one on the stage.