Around the block, a line of people stood outside the theater. All ages show, teens, twenties and thirties stood next to each other. No crowd rushed the door for better seats. Admission was free leaving balcony and floor each the same price. No radio or TV advertising announced the show. A handful of mentions on underground blogs discussing alternative lifestyles were the only known sources.
Single file the crowd calmly entered through the two sets of double doors. No valet parking limousines or usher guiding to reserved positions of importance. Every seat filled, the gathering held silent. No cough or sneeze to be heard. No idle chatter of gossip between seat neighbors. Every pair of eyes trained on the microphone placed on the center stage floor.
From the evening’s onset, the theater lights slowly dimmed until powering off completely leaving darkness to settle over every available space. The process, having taken nearly an hour to complete, each audience member had grown accustomed to the decreasing illumination retaining their ability to see the entire hall clearly.
With no announcement or fanfare, two spotlights burst to life forming oblong circles over the microphone. Slow footsteps approached from somewhere behind the stage. “Kop-kack…Kop-kack…” Stiff soled shoes on the hard wood floor boards. “Kop-kack…Kop-kack…” Unrushed. Patient. Determined. Their pace slow and irreversible.
He stopped at the edge of the light. His indiscriminate suit seemed tailor made for a person of his stature. Tall, but only centimeters over what might be described as “average” height. His hair cut above the shoulders in a shade somewhere evenly between blond and brown. More than enough beard to pass beyond stubble covering his thin chin and angular cheeks.
Lips moved at the microphone’s metallic mesh now held in front of his face by a dull gloved hand. Stacks of speakers informed the audience of his words at a volume able to reach the final rows but not a sound exited beyond the double doored lobby.
At one point of his performance, each audience member produced a burlap sack either from within a purse or deep inside a pants pocket. No one came without one. In unison, each sack lifted over head and cinched comfortably around the neck. Not so tight as to choke, certainly not loose enough to be removed.
The speaker paused. Gazed over his audience. He whispered a breath into the microphone. Before it could reach the back wall in front of him, each seat stared blank and empty at the spotlight. Motes of dust calmly swirling to the floor the only remaining theater residents.
the Key to everything
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A Chorus of Wolves
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Single file the crowd calmly entered through the two sets of double doors. No valet parking limousines or usher guiding to reserved positions of importance. Every seat filled, the gathering held silent. No cough or sneeze to be heard. No idle chatter of gossip between seat neighbors. Every pair of eyes trained on the microphone placed on the center stage floor.
From the evening’s onset, the theater lights slowly dimmed until powering off completely leaving darkness to settle over every available space. The process, having taken nearly an hour to complete, each audience member had grown accustomed to the decreasing illumination retaining their ability to see the entire hall clearly.
With no announcement or fanfare, two spotlights burst to life forming oblong circles over the microphone. Slow footsteps approached from somewhere behind the stage. “Kop-kack…Kop-kack…” Stiff soled shoes on the hard wood floor boards. “Kop-kack…Kop-kack…” Unrushed. Patient. Determined. Their pace slow and irreversible.
He stopped at the edge of the light. His indiscriminate suit seemed tailor made for a person of his stature. Tall, but only centimeters over what might be described as “average” height. His hair cut above the shoulders in a shade somewhere evenly between blond and brown. More than enough beard to pass beyond stubble covering his thin chin and angular cheeks.
Lips moved at the microphone’s metallic mesh now held in front of his face by a dull gloved hand. Stacks of speakers informed the audience of his words at a volume able to reach the final rows but not a sound exited beyond the double doored lobby.
At one point of his performance, each audience member produced a burlap sack either from within a purse or deep inside a pants pocket. No one came without one. In unison, each sack lifted over head and cinched comfortably around the neck. Not so tight as to choke, certainly not loose enough to be removed.
The speaker paused. Gazed over his audience. He whispered a breath into the microphone. Before it could reach the back wall in front of him, each seat stared blank and empty at the spotlight. Motes of dust calmly swirling to the floor the only remaining theater residents.
the Key to everything
+
A Chorus of Wolves
+
+
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