Theater

The curtain fell heavy, hiding them all from the eyes of the audience. The actors could hear the excited audience applauding them, showing their appreciation. The happy faces that were smiling just a second ago were now indifferent to everything. They were tired of traveling, of doing the same things every night, of dressing the same way for every performance, saying the same words, pretending to feel the same emotions over and over again, when they were empty inside.
Most actors were young people, who thought it’s an easy, fun job to do. Back when they signed up for drama school. You could tell by the disappointment in their covered in heavy make up eyes it was not as glamorous as they pictured it to be. With time, and each performance, their hate for the costumes and make up grew, made them bitter, taught them to wear their masks well and hide behind their characters. The actors had lost their souls after giving a piece of it to every character. They were soulless, empty creatures of habit – make up, costumes, a smile that touches your eyes – and on they went, to fool themselves, and the audience, that they were the character portrayed.

One man among them, an old man, whose face was painted in white with two bright red dots on his cheeks and black eyeliner, was smiling. His smile was touching not only his eyes, but his whole soul. Most actors loved to play tricks on the old man, but they all respected and resented him for keeping his soul for so long. His daughter was part of the theater and traveled with him, taking care of him and his costumes and most of the other actors thought she was holding his soul together, sowing it back together every night, once the costumes were peeled off and the pieces of soul with them.
The old man, quietly fidgeting in the corner of the stage, fixing his costume, felt a cold hand sliding on his shoulder. His smile widened, but he never looked up, nor stopped fixing the folds.
"Hello, dear friend," he said. "I have been expecting you."
He finished with his costume, a ridiculous mix of colors that added up to his artificial red cheeks and black eyes, then slowly turned around. There were just shadows, but he knew his old friend was there. He had seen him coming, he knew he was close. A step later, shadow engulfed him, hiding him from the actors, quieting down the silent hum of the actors preparing for curtain call.
"Before we go, do me a favor. Take me back to the first time I met Rosalind. Take me back to the twilight of the theater, to the night I met my life's greatest loves. Give me the happiness of the moment and I will go with you freely."
The shadows stirred and a quiet voice answered, sounding as if talking was more than painful.
"Give me your hand, friend. Do not fear me."
The man laughed and thought he had never feared Death, not a day in his life. A bony blue-white hand appeared from the shadows, the palm outstretched to the poor man. He closed his eyes and took the hand unhesitatingly, drawing a deep breath as pictures, memories and emotions flooded his fragile mind.

He blinked to the bright light he knew well from the stage and opened his eyes.
"Rosalind..." he whispered, looking at the big, luxurious theater. There were two people sitting in the middle of the theater, looking at each other as if nothing existed. Her blond hair was flowing down her shoulders and her blue eyes were glistening in happiness. The man next to her – instead of the comic bright red, his cheeks were a beautiful shade pink that darkened from time to time with the ever so slight embarrassment by the attention the woman was awarding him with – his eyes were deep brown, lively, smiling.
The man on the stage felt the known warm feeling of tears filling his eyes and the picture before him blurred. He sat on the edge of the stage, in his colorful suit, with his bright red cheeks and listened to the two people in the theater talking. He sat there for hours, sometimes smiling, sometimes crying at what they said to each other.

"Give me wings," he whispered. “Give me wings, like I had them then and let me fly. Let me fly..."
The cold blue-white skinned hand slid on his shoulder again.
"As you wish, my friend."

The man collapsed from the shadows on his back, his rings making a loud sound as his hands hit the wooden floor. All actors turned to the corner, their attention drawn by the sudden noise and they all gasped, emotion painting their faces in dark, sad shades – the man was lying dead on the ground, in his bright-colored suit, with his bright red cheeks and a smile, the most beautiful, sincere smile on his face.

21.03.2010
Replica