There might be blood

Dark choices

In a darkened theatre where no audience sits a dark curtain slowly begins to rise. Never in the history of this theatre has the curtain been lifted, never have the lights illuminated the stage and there has never been a person to stand on the stage. This theatre has always been a decrepit place full of sorrow, tragedy and misery.  Except tonight things changed and it began with the rising of the tattered curtain. There was no one there to operate the curtain and there was no one waiting to watch what happens next. The curtain rises in an empty stage. There were no set pieces, no backdrop, no props but there did seem to be several large holes in the sage that led down into the darkness. The theatre was absolutely silent, there weren’t even sounds of mice or other vermin that often live in abandoned buildings.

Then from somewhere in the darkness that would normally be backstage there was movement. Nothing big but a definite slight movement that could have easily been missed, but there was no one watching. Whoever or whatever was doing the moving slowly and deliberately made its way to centre stage. Step by step and inch by inch it moved making only the slightest of sounds. When it reached centre stage one of the spotlights turned on making a racket as it did. There was no one there to operate the lights either.

The form standing on the stage was a girl. She was small and fragile looking. Everything about her was pale, her skin, her hair, her dress and even her eyes were white. She stood there and stared out at the non-existent audience. The girl began to pace the stage; well it would be pacing if the girl had feet. The girl floated across the stage gracefully. She glided with confidence and authority like she was accustomed to commanding the space. She paced back and forth seeming not to notice the time ticking by. It could have been hours that the girl paced or maybe days without stopping, as if the girl was waiting for something or someone.

After an undeterminable amount of time the girl stopped walking. She looked around and remembered the day when she died. When the girl was alive the theatre was a vibrant place. There were no holes in the stage, the paint was no longer peeling off the walls, there used to be a massive golden chandelier. Before the girl had died she was the star of the opening show. The girl was quite talented in acting, singing and even dance. The day she died was opening night she was all dressed up with her makeup done perfectly, she was ready to make her grand entrance as the star of her first show. The orchestra was tuned, the audience was seated, and the curtain was about to rise. She walked onstage, looked out at the audience, smiling to herself filled with pride, she opened her mouth as the beginning of the opening number. Her voice filled the chamber and the audience fell in love with the sound of the girl’s voice. She revelled in the adoration of the audience and imagined the level of fame she would get. However, the girl did not know that her jealous understudy was plotting to get rid of her. The understudy had arranged for the chandelier to fall and kill the girl. Once the chandelier fell the audience scattered and no one cared about the girl on stage. Her lifeless body was left in a hole in the stge.

The girl on stage paced back and forth waiting for an audience to finish her performance. She hovered in the middle of the stage again and just stared out at the empty audience, except that the audience wasn’t empty anymore there were two shadowy figures that weren’t there before. The girl stared at them and the figures stared back silently. “Sing,” one of the shadows said. Its voice was neither feminine nor masculine neither soothing or frightening. It was just an empty voice that carried in the empty theatre. The girl onstage nodded and prepared for her performance.

“Yes, sing for us,” the other figure said. Its voice had the same emptiness that the other one had and it did not show any type of emotion.

 The girl nodded again and the spotlight shone on the dead girl as she started to sing her song. Her song was sad and full of longing, and as she sang her body slowly began to disappear. The two shadows in the audience applauded as the last traces of the girl vanished.

   The End

Reviews

[Takinom]

Intriguing.
My enjoyment of this piece was progressive. The moment I got hooked on was the appearence and description of the girl, which was very nicely done.
The pace of the story is well, the way the story is unravelled doesn't feel sloppy, slow, or hurried, and the way in which you describe the movements of the character and the setting feels very natural. I was able to create the picture without any problem.
The abstract atmosphere it gives, oniric in some way, was very well crafted, accompanied by a slow, maybe sorrowful tone, that fits it greatly and makes the reader tense was what I liked the most.
The conclusion of the story felt very artistical and was somewhat unexpected, but maybe it lacked feeling. I can't say I was able to feel for the character.
Now, I am not the best when it comes to grammar, and I still have a lot to improve myself, but the thing that bugged me the most while reading this was, well, grammar and vocabulary. In many sentences, such as
"Her voice filled the chamber and the audience fell in love with the sound of the girl’s voice."
You use the word "voice" twice, when you could have chosen another word for it, or leave it at "girl", and make it sound nicer. There is also a coma missing there, it should be "Her voice filled the chamber, and the audience fell in love with the sound of the girl’s voice."
That's the thing I noticed you struggled the most with, punctuation, grammar and vocabulary.
Overall, an enjoyable piece. Very well crafter atmosphere, powered by a very fitting tone, telling a story that progressively gets better.
Nicely done, keep it up.

[nightshade]

Thank you so much for reviewing. I will admit that my grammar can suck, but I am so glad that you liked the rest of the story.

[JayG]

• In a darkened theatre where no audience sits a dark curtain slowly begins to rise.

When you wrote this you have a vision of the setting. You know where you are in time and space. You know why what happens matters. You have, in other words, context. But the reader has none of that and they can't see a damn thing.

So, does it matter to them if the curtain rises slowly or quickly? No. And does slowly mean it takes twenty seconds? Twenty minutes? No way to tell. So why mention it, given that The speed changes nothing about the story?

• Never in the history of this theatre has the curtain been lifted, never have the lights illuminated the stage and there has never been a person to stand on the stage. This theatre has always been a decrepit place full of sorrow, tragedy and misery.

So someone built a theater, fitted it out, and then abandoned it—but at the same time paid the rent and taxes so it couldn't be used for something else? Seriously? Your premise makes no sense because you're being dramatic for drama's sake. Yes, you might explain later, but will that retroactively remove the reader's reaction as they read it? No.

And the idea that because someone died on opening night they would abandon the theater doesn't work, because no one would—or could afford to.

I also have to comment that you've obviously looked at Phantom of the Opera one time too many. Theaters did not have chandeliers. By the mid 1850's they used gas lighting for footlight and sidelights, etc.

Here's the deal: At the moment you're thinking in terms of dramatic actions. But the reader isn't looking for the details of, "This happened...then that happened...and after that..." That's the format for a report, and every bit as interesting as any other report, because facts only inform, they don't entertain. Emotion entertains, and it's the emotion you induce in the reader that does it, not that which you talk about.

Story lies in the protagonist's response to the situation, and in their struggle to fix the problems they face. If this was a horror story the reader wouldn't want to know the protagonist is frightened. They want you to make THEM afraid to turn off the lights. And no way in hell can the nonfiction skills you learned in school do that.

You say you're planning on being a teacher. Here's something to think about:

Public schooling was established during the Industrial revolution to solve a problem employers faced: They were forced to train workers to read, write, and do simple math. But if the government trained the kids in the three R's BEFORE they joined the labor pool it solved two problems. First it provided a trained, and interchangeable labor force. And second, with the kids safely busy all day both parents could work.

That mission remains unchanged. which is why you wrote so many reports and essays—and will assign them to your students. But the skills of nonfiction are meant to inform and cannot be used for fiction.

So, a reading assignment: For the fastest way I know of bringing yourself up to speed, pick up a copy of Dwight Swain's, Techniques of the Selling Writer. You'll get a good grounding in the nuts and bolts issues. He won't make a pro of you, that's up to you. But he will give you the tools. You might also want to dig around in the writing articles in my blog, because they're primarily based on Swain's teaching.

And then, having traded the dray horse we're issued in school for Pegasus, perhaps you'll fly.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/