The Script has...

The annoying Sam-sang ringtone played, as Liam jolted awake, his heart racing.

Squinting at the clock on his bedside table, the glowing numbers read 3:02 AM. He rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep, and reached for his phone to turn off the alarm.

Unlocking it, he tapped on his email app with some anticipation.

The screen slowly loaded, and his inbox appeared.

> 0 New messages received.

It was as devoid of messages as a desert was devoid of water. Even spammers avoided his email because he always trolled them.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Still not here, huh?" he muttered groggily, slumping back onto his pillow. His head barely hit the cushion before he was out cold again.

Two hours later, the soft glow of dawn began to seep through his window, waking him up again.

He rolled over, instinctively grabbing his phone and checking his email.

Nothing.

"Why are they taking so long?" he grumbled, his voice raspy with sleep. He placed the phone on the nightstand, closed his eyes, and tried to drift back to sleep. It was too early to do anything.

By 7:00 AM, Liam's internal alarm clock dragged him out of sleep for the third time.

His first instinct, as usual, was to check his email.

He sat up, his movements sluggish, and refreshed the email app.

Still nothing.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "This Paul guy is so lazy," he muttered to himself, glaring at the screen.

"He said tomorrow morning. It's been morning since 5 AM! Where's my damn script?"

Slumping back against his pillow, he exhaled dramatically. "He's torturing me," he added under his breath, before finally pushing himself out of bed as he felt the dream world's clutches wrap around his eyes.

Liam walked to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to shake off his grogginess.

After brushing his teeth with a laziness born of impatience, he wandered into the kitchen.

He opened the fridge scratching his belly, as he pulled out a block of cheese and some bread, and slapped together a quick sandwich.

Chewing loudly, he stared at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands. "Soon," he mumbled around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"I'll be able to eat something else. Lobster, steak… whatever fancy actors eat." He took another bite.

Finishing his modest breakfast that had been haunting him for the past year or so, Liam grabbed a glass of water, downed it in one go, and checked his email again, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

Still no email.

"Unbelievable," he groaned, setting his phone down. His leg bounced as he sat there, staring at the screen.

After another thirty minutes of futile refreshing, he sighed and stood up. "I can't just sit here. I'll go crazy."

Liam dug through his closet and pulled out a pair of trainers and an old hoodie.

"I need to work on my stamina anyway," he muttered as he laced up his sneakers. "Probably gonna need it for some of the roles. Can't risk fatiguing halfway through an action scene."

He stepped out into the cold morning air, stretching his arms over his head before starting a light jog.

The neighbourhood was quiet, the streets mostly empty, except for a few early risers walking their dogs or watering their plants.

"Alright," Liam said to himself, picking up the pace. "Let's do this."

Five minutes later, his lungs felt like they were on fire.

He stumbled to a stop near a streetlamp, leaning against it as he panted heavily. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

"What the hell…" he gasped, clutching his side. "My stamina is so weak! It's good that I don't have a wife, otherwise, I don't know where I could hide my shame."

He bent over, hands on his knees, waiting for his breathing to steady.

A woman walking her golden retriever gave him a concerned glance as she passed by. "You alright there?" she asked.

"Yeah, just… just taking a break," Liam wheezed, forcing a smile.

She raised an eyebrow but nodded, continuing on her way.

"Let's go Liam," The woman said, to her ugly dog.

Liam's expression darkened, as he heard his name being called to that abomination.

"Damn it, was that on purpose? How could she call that a Liam... more like like a Phlegm," Liam muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as he tried not to glare at the oblivious woman. 

The dog, as if sensing his disdain, let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Its matted fur clung to its misshapen body, and its beady eyes darted toward Liam with an almost smug glint.

"Seriously," he hissed to himself, "Of all the names in the world, why mine? That thing looks like it crawled out of a trash compactor."

But the woman, seemingly delighted by her grotesque pet, cooed, "Such a good boy, Liam! Who's a handsome little guy?"

Liam still panting, clenched his palms into fists. 'Handsome? This must be playing a cruel joke.'

...

"That's enough for now," he muttered, standing up straight. "I'll do more later. No point killing myself on day one."

As he walked back to his apartment, he caught sight of his reflection in a store window. His hair was a mess, his hoodie soaked with sweat.

He chuckled to himself. "Hollywood's future star, everyone," he said, gesturing dramatically at his reflection.

Back at his apartment, he collapsed onto the couch, grabbing his phone again. His thumb hovered over the refresh button, and he sighed. "If that email's not here when I check, I swear I'll—"

He stopped himself, laughing softly. "Okay, Liam, chill. You've got this. Paul's just… taking his sweet time." Still, he tapped the refresh button once more.

Nothing.

"Great," he muttered, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside him. "Guess I'll just wait. Again."