Okay, so, I'm not super happy with what I made. I might go back and change it. I think it's a little lame.
When they were lowering my casket into the ground, I was already gone, being lifted high above a thousand tiny lights. I couldn't see but one clearly, but I could hear their screams. Hear their shrieks and cries and see their hands lifted up towards the black sky. Shifting shapes and colors danced behind me on a towering wall and a group of ten men and ten women swirled below, synchronized with the sounds going on around them.
I didn't force anything. The movements came naturally. Somehow, I knew all the words. I knew each step I was supposed to take and each spot to land on. I knew that in the third act, I had to clap three times before the second chorus. I knew that nothing would make sense if I didn't scream "Come on people, let me hear you sing!" during the break. And if I wasn't behind the fourth screen to the right when the fifth song started, everything would look off-balance.
Down below, beneath the crowd and beneath my stage, a man lacing up my boots asked me, "Are you tired yet? You've got a lot more to go."
"No, no, I'm fine. You know me."
I'm never short for breath, and I've completely forgotten what it's like to sweat. No matter how many hip thrusts or front flips I do in a row, I'm always back on my feet and ready for more, craving the attention and carrying on another song to hear my name praised.
"Keep going! Just one more song!" I walk up and down a long, black catwalk and the screams get louder. I'm not doing anything special, but the lights seem to get hotter. If something reaches the outside of my stage, I never see it again. I once tossed a hat overboard and it was devoured by the hungry voices. I can't always hear them clearly, and even though I feed from their loyalty, I'm not sure I'd ever want to be with one up close.
I am still looking out into the ocean that cries out my name. I am still waiting for the music stop. I'm constantly afraid that soon the sounds will stop. Or that I'll lose my voice. Or that the curtain will finally drop. If the Sword of Damocles above my head ever falls, it better be for good reason.
3 comments:
Well, I don't know why you're not happy with this, because I really liked it! I loved the whole concept of your afterlife, especially the ambiguity of the fans and the building anxiety over what exists beyond the stage, so that the lines between heaven and, uh, something less than heavenly start to blur. Coooool.
I also enjoyed the narrative voice in this piece, as well as your ability to work with it. Each element of the plot seemed to flow organically from the one before it, and I didn't once question why any of this was happening - it all seemed to make sense somehow.
There was one place where the phrasing got a bit clunky - "I couldn't see but one clearly." That (briefly) threw me out of the story. Also, I was a little confused by your description "beneath the crowd and beneath my stage" - are they backstage? In the orchestra pit? Doesn't that area technically exist beyond the stage, which your character describes as a void where things disappear? How long of an intermission can those fan-voice-things tolerate before they become not-so-nice?
Overall, like I said, this was very enjoyable, and not lame in the slightest.
Once again this is me assuming that my reader can see what I see, like that idiot student who writes his book report as if the teacher has already the book.
When "I'm" beneath the stage, it's supposed to be during an interlude, but not specifically an intermission. There's still something happening above. It's, say, a costume change. :P But I agree, I could have explained that a little better.
And I totally again with "I could see blah blah." I had nooo clue how to phrase that. :)
Thanks for the critique, hon!
Beyond what Jill said (as far as negatives), I have none. It's certainly a unique idea of the afterlife. The empty bliss of the traditional heaven is exchanged with something that seems much more rewarding as there's the constant risk of it being taken away. Kudos to you.
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