From every corner of the city they came. People stood in the aisles. No room to sit, they stood on the seats and in the rows between. The balcony groaned populated far beyond the posted safety limits at the door. The infirm were pushed in their rolling chairs to the front along with the children so they were able to see. No one pushed or fought each other for space. They pressed shoulder to shoulder and back to front, feet shuffling inches forward at a time. The hand printed advertisements were posted throughout the city. Brushes dipped in ancient glue, the photograph marked telephone poles, walls and storefront windows. Not a cough or sneeze disturbed the eerie silence of the crowd. Over time their breathing became as one. Dry air pulled in to the enormous collection of lungs. The theater motionless. Still as a windless summer midnight with no moon or stars. The breath out shivered the burgundy curtains from floor to ceiling. Lights did not dim, they blacked out. Immobile and invisible, the throng of lifelikes held their places patiently. Her dress thin and transparent white outlined an emaciated body of a malnourished adolescent. Her ribcage clearly visible through the ghostly fabric. She slipped front stage center, head facing directly ahead eyes half closed. The crowd inhaled pulling the dress from her body revealing murky skin an unnatural hue of mazarine outlined around the edges in fallow yellow. Small fingers pointed to the side, the throng blew. Venomous spittle raised blisters over her thin lips. Eyes retreated inward leaving deep pits of dark, hollowness. The people blew. Her skin ripped in shredding holes waving hideous flags in the wind. The gusts continued unabated. Skeletal arms lifted to shoulder height, skin pulling away from bone, useless tattered vellum. To begin, a small boy leaned forward, his dirty blond hair quivering in the torrent came away from his small scalp. As the first strand entered the woman’s open mouth, the boy’s head stretched. Oblong, it thinned. Reaching across the powerless floodlights he lengthened. Thin as his hair he became for the woman to swallow. An old man, hunched and decrepit in his wheelchair lifted to the air. He spun from head to foot winding to a yarn of man knitting down the woman’s throat. The wind blew one. The wind blew all. The woman stood the lone town occupant front center stage. Her ribcage pulsed. She inhaled herself. The lights crackled to life. An empty spotlight front center stage.
amk
4.7.15
amk
4.7.15