It kills her. She loves it, though.

What does it mean to "act?" Is it to pretend? To fake? To lie? To conceal, and to disguise the fragmented and ugly scaffolding that hides beneath?


Her parents couldn’t stop her.

They didn't want to. Everybody wants their kid to grow up into "something great," and her parents were no different. They're too high on the scent of wheat and manure to look past the fantasies for what they are: meaningless words infused into meaningless stories; nothing but another collection of random symbols in old sheepskin.