Personal Narrative: All The World's A Stage

All The Worlds a Stage
When someone says, "I'm going home," where do they go? Most mean the physical home that they live in. For me, it is a bit different. For me, home is the high school theater. Four years and hundreds of hours have been spent there. Home is a place that comforts and makes a person joyful. No matter how crazy, bad, or stressful my life becomes, walking into the theater always takes the negativity away. There is a quote from Shakespeare that say, "All the world's a stage.", but this stage is my whole world.
Walking down the locker lined hallway after a long day, I mentally prepare myself for rehearsal. I've had a bad day and I don't want to go and work on a play for two and a half hours. Stepping through the backstage doors

The dark cinderblock hall is painted black and lined with wooden shelves. The shelves are filled to the brim with objects. Bundles of bound books, creaky copper cages, and festoons of flowers lay in piles along the shelves. Sparkling glass bottles in every shape and size are lined up in uneven rows. A fake human skull is propped in the corner. Even a realistic fake chainsaw sits among all these strange props. As I run my hand over the shelves, a small cloud of dirt and grit rises into the air. The stirring of the dust stirs a memory. It's my junior year and I'm digging through all these props trying to find the perfect handbag. Piles of purses surround my feet yet I can't find what I'm looking for. Reaching for the last one in the bin, I am met with the feel of soft leather. Pulling out a cream colored, faux leather clutch, I know I've found what I came for. The dust settles and so does the memory. The prop hall is the equivalent of my bedroom at home. I keep all my important and sometimes interesting objects there. It's where I go to just hang out. During rehearsals, if I need a break, I will come to the prop hall. There is never a shortage of objects to look at or play with.
Walking away from the shelving units, I reach the end of the hall. Turning right and walking through a door brings me to the light booth. A small, wood paneled room, the light booth is like the kitchen of the house. Countless hours are

The stage is my destination. Strolling past the dark green, heavy velvet curtains, my feet find the black wood floor. Reaching center stage, I turn and face the auditorium. Rows of black seats face me, lined up like a legion of soldiers. Soon these seats will be filled with multitudes of people eager to see a show, but for now, they remain empty. Turning in a slow circle, I look around the stage. The sides of the stage loom on either side of me, ready to receive the comings and goings of actors. Above my head, lights shine down warming the air and making me sweat. The stage is like a living room. This is where people meet and gather. It is the most important room of the house.
After two and a half hours of rehearsal, I head toward the backstage doors ready to leave and go back to real life. As I walk toward the double doors, I realized my bad mood from before is gone. Doing what I love in the place that I love most has taken away the negativity. A home does not have to be a physical home where you eat and sleep. A home is what you make it to be. This theater is my whole world and the home inside my