Author: Oscar Finch

A single champagne glass tips in slow motion. Your set is glowing. Performers move through fog and projected light. Guests are barefoot on your carefully painted floor. Then someone trips…

The house is empty now. The ghost light hums in the center of the stage, throwing a thin pool of yellow across tape marks and scuffed paint. The air still…

The room hums before anyone speaks. Cutlery rests in perfect formation, a silver forest under candlelight. A blood-red runner slices the length of the table. In the corner, an empty…