Milosz by Cordelia Strube

so big he couldn’t walk.’ The other consumer pawns titter.
    â€˜It wasn’t in a classroom though,’ the boy in the hoodie, a future litigator, points out. ‘Which means they die anyway, even if they’re not in a classroom. You’ve got no proof they die sooner in a classroom.’
    â€˜As I said, it’s all online.’
    â€˜Don’t believe everything you read online,’ the litigator scoffs.
    â€˜Try to imagine,’ Milo says, ‘living in a small cage with nothing but wood shavings and dried seeds for company. Imagine it’s bedtime and you’re exhausted but you can’t turn the light out and you hear loud voices and chairs scraping and doors slamming. Imagine you’re finally about to doze off when a giant hand opens the cage and grabs you.’ Milo raises his hands, spreading his fingers to make them giant-like. ‘Suddenly you’re hoisted into the air and being passed around. Each time you try to escape, the giant hands grip you tighter,’ he tightens his fists, ‘so hard you can’t breathe and you feel your life being squeezed out of you.’ Some of the children’s mouths gape. ‘Imagine you’re blindfolded, because hamsters can’t see in daylight due to their large pupils. So there you are, a blinded hostage, suffocating, lost in space with no knowledge of when this torture will end. You wait for the giants to kill you, to squash you between their massive palms … ’
    â€˜I think you’ve made your point, Mr. Krupi,’ Mrs. Bulgobin interjects.
    â€˜And then what happens?’ Milo persists. ‘You get dropped back in the cage with nothing but wood shavings and dried seeds for company. And as much as you hate the loud, bright, noisy cage, you prefer it to being in the giants’ grip. You live in fear of the giant hands reaching in and grabbing you again and again, squeezing the breath out of you … ’
    â€˜That’s enough, Mr. Krupi.’
    â€˜And they do,’ Milo says, ‘day in and day out, they snatch you from the cage.’
    â€˜I’m calling Mr. Gedge,’ Bulgobin says.
    â€˜Let’s take a vote,’ Milo says. ‘Who thinks Puffy should be forced to live caged in the classroom forever?’
    The litigator raises his hand.
    â€˜That’s one vote for jailing Puffy for life,’ Milo says. ‘Hands up for those who think Puffy should be free?’
    Many hands shoot up.
    â€˜Case closed,’ Milo says. ‘I’ve made a donation to your school so you can either buy a snake or a lizard, or think of something fun to do like have a pizza lunch. Thank you so much for your time and co-­operation.’ He thinks he smiles warmly but respectfully at Mrs. Bulgobin before hastily bowing out.
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    â€˜We want raw emotion onstage,’ Geon Van Der Wyst advises Milo. ‘Don’t think stage .’ He makes air quotes with his fingers when he says stage . ‘Forget stage . There is no fourth wall. You and the audience are symbiotic. Your emotional reality and their emotional reality are one.’
    Milo avoided this kind of touchy-feely bilge when he knew how to act, but now he is desperate for a job and Geon Van Der Wyst is famous for acquiring grant funding for multimedia projects no one ever sees.
    â€˜It’s about trust,’ Geon emphasizes. ‘No trust, no raw emotion. Remove the barriers and it will come.’
    â€˜Is there a script?’ Milo asks.
    Geon Van Der Wyst looks wearily at his assistant, an emaciated woman named Hunter.
    â€˜No script,’ Hunter says. Her eyes are heavily lined with black pencil.
    â€˜I saw you in Godot ,’ Geon says. ‘I felt you pulling at the restraints.’ He mimes pulling at restraints. ‘I believe you have immense power. But you have to trust it.’
    Eleven other actors file into the room. Geon claps his hands twice. ‘Friends,