Those were words she had never heard from him. He looked old; there as a wetness in his eyes, a crumpled defeat in his face, that made him look older. She wanted to ask him why he had said that, what he meant, but she didn’t and she was not sure who fell asleep first. The next morning, she woke up too early, smelling her own bad breath and feeling a sad and unsettling peace.
‘What if she’s slated by the critics? dismissed with a consensus of one-star reviews, what was the great National thinking allowing this rubbishy imposter into the building?
of course she knows she’s not an imposter, she’s written fifteen plays and directed over forty, and as a critic once wrote, Amma Bonsu is a safe pair of hands who’s known to pull off risks
what if the preview audiences who gave standing ovations were just being kind?
oh shut up, Amma, you’re a veteran battle-axe, remember?’
Molly Elizabeth Marcelle Books 