“Cut! No! No! No! The dress is all off Chantel! The black and white plaid isn’t doing anything for this scene! Wouldn’t one think he needs a big winter coat? We are trying to make the viewer imagine cold, Chantel! Brrrrr… Cold!” He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me close as if he were warmth itself. The smell of his stale cologne gagged me. I ducked downwards to get out from under his grip. A piece of my hair got caught on his Casio watch band. “Ouch!” I said in a whisper hoping he didn’t hear me. He was one of the greatest producers in Hollywood. I knew I was lucky to work for him.
“What is this? What is this?” He stormed over to the rock wall that held up part of the bridge. All of the crew stood there puzzled, unsure of what his new problem was. He reached his hand under the first stone. “This was not supposed to be anywhere in this film!” He held up a slimy, spotted, tan colored serpent. It moved sluggishly from the cold. I shivered from fright, stuttering to find the words to tell him it wasn’t a prop. The Cast members watched in amazement, I even heard a snicker or two. The snake reared his head back and struck. I was beyond sick of Lucifer and the way he treated people. My troubles disappeared with the Cobra’s bite.
Screaming in agony, the producers eyes turned fire red, he tumbled down the ravine into the pits of hell. I was jarred back to the moment when I heard the clapperboard. . . “Yes, Sir. I will try my best to make everything perfect. I’ll do better.” I drug out my words and then curtsied as I walked off. After all, can’t a girl dream? Maybe one day, I will write my own film.
Leesa Writes 