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a performance to rue
The stage is set.
The band is ready.
The audience is alight with anticipation.
A girl walks on to the stage. She is nervous, but not a single soul can tell, her mouth stretched into a polite smile that feels all too forced for it's size. The dress she wears is too tight, yet fits like a glove, the same going for her shoes. Each step feels wrong, as it is not her who is taking them, but nonetheless they are taken.
The room is silent, not a pin dropping, as the crowd waits for the show to start. The only sounds is the sharp 'tap, tap, tap' of the woman's wrong heels. She has reached the microphone. It is old, but fits with the decorations of the theatre, all too well placed yet distractingly strange. No matter, the woman has a performance to start. And start it she will.
A soft melody starts from the band, and almost as if in a trance the woman's body starts to sway. Her mouth starts to push and pull into formations that mimic a voice that is not hers coming from behind the curtain. Her body moves with the song, a soft ballad about love that she does not understand as her mind is focused on the crowd, who are all at the edge of their seats. Waiting for her to mess up.
'He holds her in his arms,
would you, would you?
He tells her of her charms,
would you,would you?
They met as you and I and they were only friends,
But before'
The lyrics come to her, but she does not care for them. Her defenses are risen and yet her body continues to sway and mouth along without her permission. The woman is slowly lulled into a false sense of safety as the performance continues, the audience rapt at attention. But it does not end all so gently.
A large bang. The curtain has fallen
This is a trap.
The woman has been set up, she realizes this now. The moment her body stepped into that stage, free will or no, this was to be her last performance. All she could do was keep singing, still not in control of her body, as the true voice taunted and drew nearer as the crowd closed in. Both delighted at the prospect of a ruined performance.
© count in the stars
The band is ready.
The audience is alight with anticipation.
A girl walks on to the stage. She is nervous, but not a single soul can tell, her mouth stretched into a polite smile that feels all too forced for it's size. The dress she wears is too tight, yet fits like a glove, the same going for her shoes. Each step feels wrong, as it is not her who is taking them, but nonetheless they are taken.
The room is silent, not a pin dropping, as the crowd waits for the show to start. The only sounds is the sharp 'tap, tap, tap' of the woman's wrong heels. She has reached the microphone. It is old, but fits with the decorations of the theatre, all too well placed yet distractingly strange. No matter, the woman has a performance to start. And start it she will.
A soft melody starts from the band, and almost as if in a trance the woman's body starts to sway. Her mouth starts to push and pull into formations that mimic a voice that is not hers coming from behind the curtain. Her body moves with the song, a soft ballad about love that she does not understand as her mind is focused on the crowd, who are all at the edge of their seats. Waiting for her to mess up.
'He holds her in his arms,
would you, would you?
He tells her of her charms,
would you,would you?
They met as you and I and they were only friends,
But before'
The lyrics come to her, but she does not care for them. Her defenses are risen and yet her body continues to sway and mouth along without her permission. The woman is slowly lulled into a false sense of safety as the performance continues, the audience rapt at attention. But it does not end all so gently.
A large bang. The curtain has fallen
This is a trap.
The woman has been set up, she realizes this now. The moment her body stepped into that stage, free will or no, this was to be her last performance. All she could do was keep singing, still not in control of her body, as the true voice taunted and drew nearer as the crowd closed in. Both delighted at the prospect of a ruined performance.
© count in the stars
