After narrating the prurient travails of three generations of a fictional family, and fifteen years of intense prayer on part of the executives, the soap opera finally came to life, an incarnation of pure television. It was around the same point that the writers were all fired, and the characters started dying at an alarming rate.
It became a self-perpetuating organism that spit out actors by the score. Each of these ended up either coke-addled or broken down. Some drifted into pornography, some into crime, some became hermits, while some committed suicide. When they were leaving, you could look into their eyes and see they no longer lived in the same world as you.
I was brought in as casting director a few months after the transubstantiation. I have been here for the last five years, worshipping the series, getting more and more attuned to its needs, and more indispensable by the month. I scour the streets for would-be actors with dreams in their eyes and desperation in their hearts. They don’t need to know the deal. They wouldn’t want to.
Once in a while, just for delicacies, I invite a star in. These stars also help to spread the disease to more vaunted environs. Soon, Hollywood, then the world.