Theater

"Play," the prompter urged, emphasizing his words with a sweeping movement of his hand. "Play. They can't wait... You have to go on stage. Play."

I timidly emerged from behind the curtain and looked at the audience. The hall was packed. For now, they sat quietly, their faces expressionless. Whether they left the hall satisfied or not depended solely on me, and others like me.

"Play," the prompter repeated. A flush appeared on his old face. He must have been very excited. And nervous, too. "Play, damn it!"

Those last words were so loud that those in the front rows sank into their seats and stared at the empty stage with disapproval.

I swallowed hard and crossed myself. I was, in fact, a believer, though not particularly religious... And I was an actor. And apparently, an actor is the same as an atheist...

I burst out onto the stage. Just like that, pushed out by the man behind me, who couldn't wait for his role. A fool. He didn't know how this play ended...

The prompter scowled at me, cursed vilely, and began fidgeting with his hands. I looked stupidly at the audience, swallowed again.

It's starting, I thought.

How stupid I must have looked then. Standing there, in the spotlight, in that black robe, with a stupid grimace on my face, staring at the audience... Yes, my moment of fame had arrived. But I guess I wasn't ready for it yet.

I saw impatience on their faces. Yes, they must have been nervous already. The play was delayed. And they didn't like that...

"Play," whispered the prompter. He swung his hand as if to throw something at me, but stopped himself. "Play, please, play..."

Life is a stage, the world is a theater. Everyone must play their part. My time has come. So I'll play...

I twirled in the middle of the stage, just as I'd been practicing for a month. I bowed to them, taking off my top hat and rolling it across the floor a few times.

"Welcome," I said finally, returning to a standing position. "Welcome. This is my moment of fame, isn't it? My five minutes in the spotlight, isn't it? So let it be. This will be a story about life, about truth, about faith. About love, about suffering. About feelings. This will be a game. Like life..."

A few of them applauded. I don't know where I suddenly found so much courage, but I said the second line confidently, too confidently, as it later turned out...

"The world's a stage, life's a theater. Everyone must play their part. So I play. So I play for you. You paid, you have the right to demand..."

That stupid bow again, the top hat returned to my head. I slowly moved off the stage. Let the others make fools of themselves now. Let them curse, devour, hate each other. They paid, let them have their fun. What kind of script is this? I'm an actor, not a monster. I think they've got the wrong idea...

* * *

Acting... Acting. God... What have I gotten myself into? What kind of stage am I playing on?! God! Get me out of here!

I was pushed again by some... inept actor. A monster, not a human being...

Only my innate grace allowed me to avoid tripping over a corpse lying on the ground. The actress... She played her best. She went on stage and got herself killed. It was the best rape and murder scene I've ever seen. It's a shame it was so real...

Ten stabs in the torso. Monsters. Monsters. No, sorry, actors... The audience wanted her dead, so why not? All for fame.

The prompter showed that if I didn't act, he'd kill me. I wonder why I didn't feel a thrill...

"You want a game," I said, embracing the audience with a wide gesture. While dodging, my top hat fell over my eyes, and I couldn't see much... But oh well, they paid. Let them have their fun. I'm just announcing..." "You want a game." You want feelings. You want joy. You want sadness. You want blood. We'll give it to you. We're actors. And you're the audience. You paid. You have the right to demand. You have the right to judge, you have the right to kill

... Those last words were no longer in the script, so two actors, pretending it was supposed to be that way, threw me backstage. I breathed a sigh of relief. Just to the end. From there, it's all downhill from there...

As long as I can stand it...

* * *

"Death. Murder. Conflagration. We'll give you that," it said on the poster. Damn, why didn't I believe it then... Why the hell?!

More corpses. More death scenes that thrilled them incredibly. The audience, for seven sorrows... Only killing is on their minds. But oh well, anything for fame. Even my soul. Even my life...

This time I went on stage of my own free will. Again that stupid bow, again that idiotic expression. I glanced at the girl sitting in the fourth row. She was maybe five years old. She was very excited. Clearly, early education. Theater. But why this one? Why?

Oh no. This time I won't be a mindless puppet. In this act, I won't be an actor. I'll be a human being. A human being. With a capital C.

I slowly descended the steps from the stage, ignoring the prompter's curses. Let him get himself killed. I say enough. I've seen enough. Enough...

Life is a stage, the world is a theater. Everyone has to play their part...

Life is shit, that's the truth. If this is what life is supposed to be like, then I say no...

As long as it lasts. As long as it lasts. After that, it'll be all downhill... As long as I can stand it...

"You want a game, right?" I asked, slowly untying my black cape, which I then abandoned on the ground. "You want a game? No, my dears," my voice dripped with sarcasm, "you want blood. Your beauty is only in killing. A bloodbath." So I'll give it to you, damn it!

I grabbed one of the audience members, pulled the knife from my belt (the murder weapon, ACT V, The Death of Mauricio), and put it to his throat. I wasn't kidding. Let them know what pain is. Let them know that death hurts. All for fame, right?

"You want him dead, I ask?" I shouted. I knew how they would react. Unfortunately, I wasn't mistaken. Why wasn't I mistaken? Why?

They nodded, clapped their hands. They whispered to each other. "A good actor," I heard. "Very good."

I dropped the knife and picked up my cape. It's not worth it. His death will only be an interlude anyway. Better to get back on stage. Play. Maybe they'll spare me, maybe they'll let me play next time.

Maybe yes, maybe no...

"The show must go on," I whispered, disappearing behind the curtain. "So go on. Let it go on.

" * * *

Blow, block, dodge, thrust... And again. And so it goes on and on. That's what's written in the script. So it has to be... It has to be. Beautiful costumes, perfectly reflecting the realities of the "Enlightenment" era. Excellent actors. Professional fencers. It's a shame that only one of them will leave the stage. And one costume will be soaked in blood.

It's a shame. There was so much acting before them...

* * *

They paid. Let them have fun. Let them laugh, let them cry.

Life is theater, the world is a stage. Everyone must play their part. I don't care what others think of my acting. This is my moment of glory. My five minutes in the spotlight. Mine.

I'm an actor. A puppet. It's art. It's a game. I have no feelings. I'm an actor. I act.

Let them laugh. They paid. They have the right to demand.

Humiliation. Pain. Laughter. Everything for the audience.

Everything...

I'm an actor. I act. The audience demanded my attention. My time has come. I have to act, so I act. The game is everything to me.

The world is a stage. Everyone must play their part. Everyone must hide behind a mask.

Our very existence depends on it. The audience demands entertainment. So I act.

I am an actor. And this is my five minutes on the stage of life...

To leave the stage is to fade into oblivion. To die. The game. That's all they want. The game.

I am an actor. I act. For them. For myself. This is my moment...

My dance...

Honesty... Dead. Everything is dead. There is only the stage. There is only the game. They paid. Let them have their fun...

Life is theater. The world is a stage. I am an actor. My existence is a game. I act. I let myself be carried away by the music. In this play, there are no lines, no prompters. There is a game. And I am me...

Someone wrote the script. A long time ago. Someone ordered us to act. We act, entertaining the audience. They paid. They have the right to want to act...

To demand beauty...

I act. I have come to know us as we are. We are ghosts, fleeting memories. We learn about feelings to perfect our acting. And then we disappear. That's our role. The game.

All that's left is the game...

Just the game...

Beautiful, isn't it? I wrote it during one of the scenes where... they were killing each other. In a refined way. Very refined. A beautiful display of Eastern martial arts. It's a shame only one master left the stage on his own. They carried the other one out...

The world is a stage, life is a theater... I wish things were different...

I wish...

* * *

"You'll play," whispered one of the actors, dressed in an Italian mafioso outfit, in my ear. Act IV, I remembered. A shootout in a bar. A really good scene. The scriptwriter was a genius. Too bad the director is crazy.

And the audience is sick...

"You'll play," he repeated. He wasn't tall, maybe six feet. You could tell he liked to eat. A regular godfather. The casting director was brilliant too... Congratulations..." "You'll play," he snapped me out of my reverie with a sharp tap on the shoulder. "Ever since that stunt with that mad actor. They love you. They want you to act. They say you're wasting yourself as a narrator... You know, I think so too."

"Fine," I replied. "Better to die now than wait for this moment forever..." "But on one condition.

" "I'm listening," he asked, scratching at his gelled hair. "What do you want? What could anyone want besides fame?

" "Your life. You'll leave this theater. You'll walk off this stage and simply disappear. They'll kill you...

" "I know, that's my role. I'm an actor," he replied so easily that I was speechless. Damn it, in what world have I woken up, Lord? What have you condemned me to? What?..."

I fell silent. And he was gone. Just like that. He was gone. To learn the role. To repeat to myself how he's going to fall face down in his own blood...

Life is theater, the world is a stage. Everyone has to play their part. But why me too?

* * *

They gave me the text. They gave me the role. They pushed me onto the stage. They ordered me to act. They ordered me to kill. Opposite me was a friend. A friend from the playground, a friend from across the street. It was nothing. The audience demanded beauty. It demanded blood. His blood.

A change of scenery. A sacrificial altar, and on it was him, a friend. A buddy from the army, a buddy from college. It was nothing, it was just a game...

They gave me a dagger. "Stab straight through the heart," they advised. And nothing more. "Play," they said as I left. "Play"...

A long, white robe trailing behind me like daylight. Long, white sleeves. White gloves. A dagger. The murder weapon. That's what the script said. Exactly.

A final look. A look into my eyes. Beautiful, deep, blue. He was afraid. He was terrified. The audience. Curious, excited. They told them he was... that he was my friend... They said. Monsters. They were toying with me. They were toying with my life. My game...

"Do it," he whispers. Eyes expressing fear, hands shaking. "Do it."

Dagger raised, then lowered.

A moan. A scream. Applause.

Beautiful eyes, now only empty beads.

A tear. One tear. My tear. Pain.

And then emptiness. And silence...

* * *

I don't know what I'm writing. Tears obscure my vision. I've ceased to be human. I've become what they are. A monster, a monstrosity.

Those eyes... They will haunt me in my dreams.

If I ever get to sleep again... ACT V is approaching. Mauricio's death. My death. Soon. The narrator, too, must pay this ultimate price. Because they paid for the ticket. And they have the right to demand beauty.

They have the right...

* * *

Everything we had has been taken from us. Dignity, honor, finally humanity. We have become animals. We have to play because they want us to. Because they paid for the ticket. And they look just like us, though they came from the stars. Because we sold our souls. To the devils. To the audience. Bloodthirsty... Bloodthirsty...

* * *

-ACT V, "The Death of Mauricio," my successor announced. He spoke slowly, barely understandable. I didn't care anymore. My moment of glory had arrived. My true five minutes.

My death.

The short one, they shot six times. He fell to the ground, knocking over the table set up on stage. It was a truly well-acted death. Too bad it was insignificant. Too bad it was real. A real shame. His name was Antonio Armani. He had a wife, a son. Now he has fame... Eternal fame...

-ACT V—the prompter urged. He must have really disliked me. I almost "spoiled" the "performance." Well, honestly, I don't give a damn about him.

The world is a stage. Everyone has to play their part. I don't care what others think of my acting. Especially that fat old man...

I walked out on stage proud, greeted with applause. Tearful. Seeing those eyes before me... They truly loved me. And that's why they wanted to see me die. They paid. Let them have their fun. I'll give them what they want...

A blue costume, a la 13th-century Venice. This is the costume they chose for me, they chose for me. In this costume, I will achieve glory...

I stood center stage, bowed. I showed the dagger, the same one with which I killed Him, my friend. The same one with which I wanted to take the life of the viewer. The same. Exactly. They pressed it into my hand. They didn't even wipe the blood off it. As they say, to live, not to die. And to play? To be dead at the start?

I knelt down and looked the prompter straight in the eyes. They were as if dead, monotonous, black. He loved it too. He loved our game too.

So we have to play... We have to play...

I stared at the girl sitting in the fourth row. She was clutching an old teddy bear, missing one eye. Her face said, "What are you waiting for?" Poor child. She no longer has a future. Just like us... Just like us... People...

"Silence," I growled, shifting my gaze from one spectator to the next. A band of soulless monsters. Machines. "Death. Do you even know what death is? Do you know how much it hurts? No, do you?" Several of them nodded, a few staring at me with terrible, unearthly eyes. "Well, I'll give it to you. I'll show you what death looks like, and how much it hurts. I'll show you because that's my role. I'm an actor, after all. An actor..."

A moment of silence. A moment of blissful silence. The one who said silence is golden was also a genius...

"I'll show you what death is," I repeated, holding the dagger out in front of me. "But regret it, because you'll never know what life is. You only know the game. Only the game..."

I took a deep breath, glanced at the weapon. At the blood.

"All that's left for you is the game," I said slowly, carefully emphasizing each word. – all that's left for you is the game. And for me, only death...

Only death...

The knife plunged into my flesh.

First there was pain. And a strange warmth. And then...

Then there was only darkness...

And silence...

* * *

They came from the stars. Thirsty for blood, thirsty for our feelings. Especially pain, suffering, dilemma. Our task is to give it to them. We are actors. And they paid for their ticket. They paid, repaying a debt to all humanity...

Perhaps, when they finally learn our game, they will understand what it means to live. Because for now, they have only known the game.

And our death...