Soul

This is not my soul. People would think I was crazy if I told them about it… so it’s this white sheet of paper that I’ll bare myself onto. My soul is weak, it has been known to hide and sulk. My soul is wiry and ducks behind backyard fences to get away from bullies. My soul cries and understands the long-term benefits of self pity, and regret. My soul smiles and it nods agreeingly at injustices. My soul does not use my eyes to see, but rather to discern. My soul is logical, and employs reason and not passion. I do not know what a soul is, but this is not my soul. I know it with every fiber of who I am, because I felt it leave and I felt something new … and I felt full. I know because I’m not the same.
It was at the third callback. I always get calls backs, but I never get the part. I’m one of those guys who look like they would fit into the costume, or whatever persona they happen to be casting for that day. I look like every guy because I am every guy, but something is missing inside of me. No one tells me what it is, because no one knows. No one knows what makes people who they are, and who they aren’t. No one sees inside you. No one looks, so I would imagine the very simple act of taking a soul would go unnoticed, for everyone but the object, and I’d be right.
There were three people watching my every move this time; three eyeballs touching my face, two were resting on various parts of my body, and one I lost track of. I could feel every one of them. I stayed focused to maintain my breathing pattern to hide my racing heart rate, when they asked me the take off my clothes. This role, they explained, had a full frontal scene in it. My eyes fixated on the wall opposite me for what seemed like an eternity, because I knew this was my last audition. If I failed to get this job my agent will not send me out to sell myself again. I had never been asked to do this before, and to be honest, I didn’t want to. I don’t even like to be naked when I’m having sex, which is...