She was ready for her closeup, groomed
to perfection, encased in velvet, highlights picked out in precious
gold. Although her glory days were behind her, a treasured lover
would tread the floorboards tonight, his rich voice reverberating and
calling forth the fluttering heat of her youth. There were many men,
once, clamoring for the opportunity for just one night; women too,
who dreamt of using her to launch their careers.
She could be a cruel mistress.
In the beginning, those who gave up
everything she embraced with heat and fervor, magnifying their
talents until the very heavens seemed to ring with applause. Then
age had crept upon her, cracking her facade, fading her glory, and
they had left her to die among the voiceless rabble; under the thin
veneer of glamour she was now rotten to the very core.
The orchestra began, he took the stage
to the thunder of hundreds who leapt to their feet, and the tidal
wave of loving hatred swelled until her heart burst, raining
destruction and debris on the audience. The night was spent
ministering to the wounded and praying over the dead, and in the
morning the old opera house, also among the dead, was a smoldering
ruin in the heart of the steel and glass canyon.
Did not see that coming. She was really bitter all right.
ReplyDeleteYour use of language really puts the reader into the story, it makes the experience really vivid once you get into it.
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