Source: Writing Prompt #95
I couldn’t tell if I was to trust his jester as one of a gentle man or one of malicious tempt. One thing was for sure it was a gesture of a man on a mission but what kind of person is the question that lingered over me.
“Shall we begin the show here?” his voice spoke clear and smooth like a man destined for greatness, but a voice alone can never tell you who a person truly is, as accents and impressions are so interchangeable like women with a shoe obsession. “I guess we could start here if you believe it’s the right place?” I await his response in hopes to discover his personal tastes. “What I believe will have no effect on what the show shall showcase.” He brushes me off quickly, and it assured me that he is a man of secrets. What was he hiding behind his captivating gaze?
The stage had been set, and the props began to flood the stage creating the atmosphere of a Shakespearian summery night. I can’t but stare in amazement at how a very desolate arena had now become flooded with overly lavished heads in search of entertainment. “Are you ready to start?” the stage head asks quietly. The lights flicker as I begin to take the stage to play out me overly dramatic romance story for an audience of false pretenders and wealthy dreamers.
The curtains drop and the once vibrant scene settles into silence as I begin to wipe away this character that was every man’s fantasy to the self-conscious being that carries my name. “That performance could have been better” I look to see him standing over the staircase blocking out the bright lights. “You shouldn’t be in here” his posture doesn’t flinch nor do his eyes blink. What does he want me to say? For one thing is for sure I won’t be apologizing for being truthful.
His gaze hovers over my underdress leaving me in a state of discomfort. “I may be a performer, but firstly I’m a woman who deserves respect and privacy!” I cover myself with a densely embodied blanket. He looked different as he gazed at me. I still don’t understand him nor trust his forever changing persona, like an actor unsure of his characters personality. He heads up the staircase leaving me in the cold dark wondering who he truly could be.
I stand out in the dark waiting to head home when his gentle hand brushes against my shoulder. “Tonight’s performance was beautiful.” I look at him perplexed. “You said I could have been better” he retracts himself from my presence and glares me down with an expression of confusion. Who was this man I thought I had known? Had I painted an illusion of him or did I never truly know him at all?
The night sky stares me down to reveal my complete isolation. Me standing in the empty arena alone with a vanished phantom of a man.