Curtains at 10pm

It’s almost time for me. The audience waits, tense in anticipation. Relax, guys, it’s not the first show. Sure, it’s my first show but the guy before me did the exact same performance. Sure, you called him a mistake at first but didn’t you grow to love him?
It’s almost time but it’s dark and I don’t know if I am ready. You think this time you are ready. Can you ever be really ready? Ready or not you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Not now. You purchased the tickets, now you damn well stay for the show.
It’s dark and when I make my appearance the light will blind me. I hesitate. But I am being pushed and pulled. Any time now. Hold your applause.
When I make my appearance I will be covered in blood. Maybe you didn’t expect so much of it. It’s not mine of course. No matter. Blood is not for the squeamish. I am glad you are not. At least not this time.
I am covered in blood and I am crying. What a pitiful sight. Like they say it’s all in the eyes of the beholder and for some reason you think it’s a beautiful sight.
I cry but I am actually relieved. Relieved to feel warm gloved hands cradling me. Relieved to finally be cleansed. You cry. And you too are actually relieved. Relieved that the second act went smoothly.
Are you now ready for the sleepless nights? Ready for selflessly attending to someone else twenty four seven? Ready to not panic for every insignificant cough? Ready to look past broken china, torn books and keys hidden in shoes? That’s act three, ladies and gentlemen and I have yet to script it.


About fictionfuture

An experiment in minimalist fiction View all posts by fictionfuture

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