New Act 3
A curtain falls around the stage closing around me. A song emerges from a single voice – a song that captivates the audience with a soaring melodious tune. It is distinctively disturbing – but enchanting none the less. As the song continues, the curtain remains. The audience sees no activity but remains patient – though they do notice the dark clouds moving in — no sign of moisture – just a cold breeze.
The song ends, and the curtain slowly rises. The audience sees my feet are not touching the ground. When my wrists appear, they show dripping blood. As my neck emerges, the rope is seen. As my head appears, my face is gone – just a huge hole through my skull leering at the audience. Suicide – the source of the singing – stands next to me holding the shotgun – standing firm and with conviction.
I finally found the strength – the strength to do what I should have done decades ago. All companions vanquished – for I am vanquished.
There is no shock in the audience – they just get up and leave – happy this fucking show is over.