Purge, for lack of explanation

Lights dim, curtains open. We cut to the chase; a raw, mess of things. To the left are the amateurs who proceed to stutter their lines into nothings -one word is heard, the audience is left unfeeling, the others reeling. She pauses. "This can't be right"; a royal mess of things. The colors flicker before it's back to black and that infamous deadly silence. There are no lines, no cues, no songs on the old piano. It's that infamous deadly silence, cutting through her reserve and slicing into rehearsals. The lump in her throat tells her to shy away from the spotlight into a hard and fast exit, stage right.