Wolf Play by Hai-Mo Hu, bitter coffee that burns

 By Hai-Mo Hu

Bitter coffee that burns

The familiar smell of the Buddhist incense drilled Colette’s nose. She dragged herself down the stairs in the audience and toward the stage. The yellow stage lights that used to send her warmth now appeared turbid.

“Ah! Here’s your famous alumni, Colette!” Mr. Lang’s voice remained gruff and confident.

“Please don’t.” Colette’s genuine plea was interpreted as humbleness. Mr. Lang’s hand reached for her shoulder. She dodged and trotted to the only other person she knew in the room, another alumni who was one year older than her.

“Hey, Marina,” said Colette.

“Oh my god, Colette, it’s been ages!” Marina waved so hard that the papers in her hands almost dropped to the ground. “Here, your script.”

“Thanks.” Colette flipped through the pages and saw her part. The lines on the script choked her breath.

“Mr. Lang, can I have a word with you?” Colette squeezed out the words, but her eyes stuck on the script.

“Sure, let’s talk at the back.” Mr. Lang jumped on the stage. “Keep rehearsing, y’all.” He instructed the student body on the stage and vanished behind the curtains.

“Is there something wrong?” Marina asked.

“Yeah, something’s a bit weird, for me.” Colette climbed the stairs at the side of the stage. “I’ll be right back.”

The backstage changed, compared to the rest of the performing centre. It was smaller than Colette remembered. Mountains of props piled everywhere.

“You know you can call me Hank,” said Mr. Lang.

“I’ve preferred not to for a long time.” Colette stared at the purple scar on Mr. Lang’s

leg.

He sighed. “What’s wrong? Anything wrong with the script?”

“Everything. You said cameo, not a fairy godmother who shows up and fixes

everything for the characters.” She bit her lips after the complaint so that they did not shiver before him.

“What’s wrong with that?” He took one step forward.

She took one step backward and looked up at his expression. He was genuine about the question. His smile was still up, and his frown was light.

“Cameos are not like that.” Her eyes went back to the scar. One look at his face and eyes turned her stomach upside down.

“Why did you agree to come, then?” He asked.

“Because I love theatre.” The script bent in her hands.

“Right. Not because you miss the stage? You miss being the star, and I know that.” His deep voice echoed in her ears.

Her heart was racing too fast. She could feel her veins throbbing and bulging in her temples, wrists, and calves. “Stop your bullshit.”

“You chose to come back.” “So?”

“Colette, I’m the one who can make you a star whenever you want to and however you like.” He reached for her arms.

She dodged again. “Quit this nonsense. Get away from me.”

Yes, why did I agree to come back? This place was full of trauma for me, and he was one of the sources.

Her back itched all of a sudden. So very uncomfortable and irresistible like when her eczema attacked, she reached under her shirt with one hand. There, on her already bumpy skin, were thin bushes of hair.

“Colette, are you okay?” He spotted her weird action.

“Change the script, or I’m outta here.” She felt the hair with her fingertips. They were like her puppy’s hair.

“I can’t. I need you to be that character.” He took another step forward. She took another step backward. “You ‘want,’ not need.”

He kept shaking his head.

Her gums bulged and throbbed, too. Her vision blurred even more in the dimness of the backstage.

“You belong up there, Colette. You belong to be that important role for the play.” “Stop it.” It became hard for her to talk. The pain in her mouth led her tongue to

search around. She grew out sharp canine teeth.

Mr. Lang was still yet to notice the dangerous conversion. “Take the role I wrote for you, Colette. Let me be back into your life, Colette.”

***

A loud thud rang from the backstage.

The second the giant black cloths pulled aside, shrieks filled the stage. Mr. Lang lay in a puddle of dark rouge with the palest face anyone in this room had ever seen. Before any student thought of calling for help, a wolf of pure white fur came into the light. It closed its mouth of clean fangs upon seeing Marina. It walked down the side stairs of the stage. With each quiet step, a fire-red print transferred from its paw to the stage floor.

About the author:

Hai-Mo Hu is a Creative Writing grad from Full Sail University. Her flash fiction “Private Funeral” was published in CafeLit Magazine, "Force to Chocolate" in The Raven Review, and "Ten Tea Bags" in CC&D Magazine. Growing up on the coast has greatly influenced her stories.