It feels so good to be back in a theatre. Far too many years have passed.
Maybe you remember me?
I’d often starred in London’s West End. It is true that I could be hard to work with. I’m a perfectionist, you see, and I cannot abide bad acting. It actually drove me mad.
It is a crime caper I am in – not the best of openings for my relaunched career, I must admit – and the other actors are terrible.
My cue comes.
I stand.
I approach the worst of the actors. My hands encircle his neck. The audience gasps. I squeeze.
I take my bow.
I’d escaped from the hospital yesterday and the world is now my stage. I move to the next theatre and sit in the stalls, awaiting my cue.

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