SOAP OPERA – Chapter 13: The Lone Fall
The Literature Theatre was alive with whispers, shuffling feet, and nervous glances. After the shocking elimination of Mary and Martha, every remaining contestant knew the stakes had grown even higher. Johnson, Raphael, Gift, Ella, and Praise sat in their assigned seats, eyes darting nervously across the stage, feeling the invisible weight of expectation pressing down on them.
The previous round's drama had left scars. Johnson's comeback was a constant topic among murmuring students, Raphael remained calm yet calculating, Ella carried the aura of quiet brilliance, Gift's eyes burned with determination, and Praise… Praise seemed on edge, as if he could sense the storm approaching.
The judges entered. Professor Nwagu, clipboard in hand, walked slowly to the podium, his expression unreadable. The entire theatre went silent. Even the audience seemed to hold its collective breath.
"This round," he began, voice low and deliberate, "tested more than skill. It tested your vision, your consistency, and your ability to execute under pressure. Every piece carries consequences—sometimes unexpected."
Praise shifted in his seat. Something about the phrasing made his chest tighten.
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The Tension Builds
The contestants were called to present their pieces one by one. Gift's story was strong, technically flawless, yet lacking a certain emotional punch. Johnson's submission was thoughtful, showing both skill and creativity, but a few reviewers had whispered about minor flaws. Ella, calm as ever, delivered a piece that radiated mastery and subtlety, earning quiet nods from the judges.
Finally, it was Praise's turn. His fingers trembled slightly as he unfolded his pages, his voice wavering in the early lines. For all his confidence, the pressure of the moment weighed heavily on him. He finished with a flourish, hoping his charisma would compensate for the minor inconsistencies in his writing. The audience clapped politely, but the tension was palpable.
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The Judges' Deliberation
The theatre went dark while the judges huddled backstage. Whispers of criticism and praise filtered through the cracks of the closed doors. Everyone speculated: "Will Johnson be safe?" "Could Ella falter after last round?" "Praise looks uneasy… maybe it's his turn?"
Minutes felt like hours. Contestants fidgeted, adjusted their notebooks, and exchanged nervous glances. Every heartbeat sounded like a drum echoing through the empty theatre aisles.
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The Shock
Professor Nwagu returned to the stage. The hush was deafening.
"The judges have made their decision," he said. His eyes swept over the contestants, lingering briefly on Praise. "The contestant leaving this round is… Praise."
A collective gasp swept through the room. Praise's mouth opened, then closed. He blinked rapidly, struggling to process the words.
"I… I don't understand," he stammered, voice cracking. "My story… it was—"
Johnson's hand twitched unconsciously. He had expected a tough round, but Praise's elimination had taken everyone by surprise, even Raphael, who allowed the smallest flicker of shock to pass across his calm expression. Gift's jaw tightened. Ella's eyes softened—not out of pity, but recognition of the cruel, unpredictable nature of competition.
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The Twist
What made this elimination shocking wasn't just that Praise was sent home—it was how it happened. Subtle flaws that seemed insignificant to everyone else had been magnified by the judges: overlooked plot inconsistencies, an emotional connection that faltered at crucial points, and a final line that didn't resonate as intended. His confidence had been his undoing; his oversight, his downfall.
As he walked past the stunned contestants, the theatre's murmurs swelled. Some whispered admiration for his talent, others muttered disbelief, and a few exchanged knowing looks—understanding that in this competition, no one was untouchable.
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The Aftermath
Johnson exhaled slowly, relief mixing with anxiety. He knew now that every round would demand perfection, and even a single misstep could send him home. Raphael's calm demeanor returned, but the tension in his eyes betrayed the pressure he felt. Ella adjusted her notebook, the victory of winning this round tempered by the knowledge that the next could bring her downfall. Gift sat silently, mentally preparing strategies to avoid the same fate.
Praise, leaving the stage, cast a lingering glance at his competitors. A mix of regret, defiance, and a promise of redemption shone in his eyes. "I'll be back," he whispered, though no one could hear.
The theatre erupted into applause, but the sound did little to ease the tight knot of fear and anticipation gripping the remaining contestants. The first elimination of this round had shown them all one undeniable truth: no one was safe, and the next fall could be anyone.
Johnson's gaze met Raphael's across the room. A silent battle had begun—not just of words and talent, but of nerves, strategy, and willpower.
The competition was far from over. And as the lights dimmed, one thought burned in every contestant's mind:
"Who will survive next?"