The Art of Acting
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The Art of Acting

A fatal play portrayed by encapsulated souls

11
The Art of Acting

"To all, I ensure you, it is but a game. A game of fun. Perhaps, you enjoy plays."

*The bitter man leads his testimonies of future grief for all misfits, and they follow. *

Gullible this mass was, they followed underneath this man's tethered and sorrow-filled wing. They look to the stage and witness a gleam in several eye of men's loosely stitched pupil. For these men and women were only slaves to society's torture. If only they knew the several dimensions of darkness and terror they were to unravel.

Up to the stage, they stumbled onto the crooked, knotty pine boards of unstable floor. They gasped at the cracks in the glass that they were to pursue. The windows. They speak of belittlement the acrimonious past times were to only bring. The windows sang in broken melody, desperate to a kind ear. How sharp the glass must be? For one shall only dream of the pain it can cause to a skin of premature tear done by the loving heathens of faith and rapture.

I stood where the director showed me.

I swung and I swayed in untimely procedures.

The audience gawked at me through thin button-laced eyes.

My mind screamed of the torture this was only to cause.

A play could not possibly be so ominous.

This man promised expressive positivity. This man promised a broken prophecy. Now I wanted to meet the sharpened glass with my worrying eyes. I wanted the shards of glass to poke and poke, until I could no longer see this horrible perception. This man must be of the horned god. His eyes glisten in the air of choking melancholy.

But I swung, more, and more, as to please this disgraced crowd. For I was only a prop to this deceitful play. Oh, how I wished it will bring this horned god of misery to sob with several realms of fulfillment. The lights began to fade in the mere haze.

He whispers in shrill satisfaction. "The play is to start my dear ones of love."

Tied with stable strings, I galloped from my marked spot, to yet another. And soon the play was lively. But I pondered upon the liveliness of such a deadly play. The vast destination of a crumbling galaxy us misfits were captured in begins to inherit the atmosphere. And as the vast themes of a somber play

shifted, we prepared our lines of suffering through a begging voice. In the carnival setting of the play we trembled in traumatic response to such torture.

Perhaps we did not realize what this play was to present. Our lives parading on a crooked dance floor, soon to be raided by a brief circumstance of rebellion. Our parts drug on as the clowns of bitter representation were let out to face us. They greeted us with brief description of future anguish, and they carried on. These men, painted in makeup, dressed in clothing of a century filled with lack of knowledge, could not know of the future times to come. These human creatures of a parallel universe were to make the children laugh, to express joy, but now it seems as if tears fill with deep anguish to know of future parish to come.

Irony struck as I compared these two irrelevant topics of a moving environment.

These men were to bring future.

As I wish of the carnival scene to dissipate, my hopes were drained by cruel humanity. More spots were filled, and as irreplaceable as we seemed, that was nothing but of a joke. The horned god of naught faith treasured all of his sick patients under the same umbrella of ridicule. Every ride we rode in this horrid scene shook my unsettled stomach with toxic fire stolen from a man of bad seed.

This ride, it strode back and forth like a pendulum of shallow leaps of hope. I just waited, and waited for the ride to lose control, and fall off the hinges that hold everything short of human inside. My brain then started to feel queasy at the thought. We were no longer in reality's jar of pathetic perception. The ride should've brought moments of shock and joy, but only brought torture, sheer torture.

All we were able to see as we were brought back to the stage was several skeletons adrift. These skeletons circled from afar, and near, bottled in perception's glorious potion. They were packaged in fine glass, and used as miraculous décor for wandering peers. Our minds were baffled with unpleasant thought, and the horned creature began to acknowledge, and study our confusion as an unprepared experiment inside his ominous head. His eyes, reflecting on our petrified soul's, trapped in human less bodies, his gaze began to turn into insanity. His kind, and stoic smile then changed to eradicate all feeling of faint hope.

Flashing back to unique and fond memories of faith, and how I dreamed of being a lovely actor of the sort. But being an actor filled with hopes and dreams, was soon eliminated to oblivion. Most actors would look down on such a sinful profession that this creature has acquired. Many would scowl and stifle and pray from the tears trapped in their bleeding throats. This was a monotonous dream of little meaning to man.

In our next segments, the man forced us to act out our worst fears, and embrace it as our greatest faith. The evil man jostled us, and treated us like decaying maggots of a brutalized skeleton. If this man were to only loath us more, then we would have nothing else to give, no future to live. The bones of those past lives, adrift in our minds, beginning to renter in a presence of shame. Décor? Décor of a man less willing to please others of energy that is rather positive to the soul? A man not willing to respect that hearts have their own respective souls? A foolish man.

If this is purgatory, I want to know what hell's like, I want to know what the aroma of hell makes me feel. If we are withstanding purgatory at such miserable rates, why can't we overpower more pity brought on by sin of man? The air began to taste of lost wishes.

I acted in a sense of past time, that was stored in lost segments of my head. But this malicious being of parched organism directed his finest disease. He inhaled the decaying air with pleasure, and watched my eyes pant and plead for the darkness to dissipate. As I acted such brutal scenes, exerting all useless energy in the drama scene being acted, I screamed, and dropped to the floor in psychotic fits of rage. For the horned creature imagined I was drained from his awful doings, but little did he know, I had exhausted myself with all disappointment I led on by myself. So, perhaps in every way possible, this man did get his way.

But this fight would not be conquered by me engaging in different emotions, but by acknowledging what must happen in this moment of finest terror. I despised the man, and had to kill him, but the acting had me trapped. In all thoughts inside my mind, the actions were cancelled. For I could not act on my plans, I was engaged, and trapped by the art of acting. A spell this charade must be. If only a sheer puff of concocting magic could set me free, I would pledge to his non-degrading majesty. The man with deep perception of insanity was also very keen to the universe.

I tried to empower the charade, and embrace this fowl emotion of despair by acting my parts as given. By doing just better than the man had expected, by being the actress I had always fancied to be. This pure fantasy was disturbed by sickened corruption of a dreary man that wears a black satin suit. He stared into my dreamy eyes as to gouge. The sun appeared through the dampened, gray cloud to reveal that its majesty was not yet captured by greed of a sinister man.

"Go on, and do your play of useless motions that strain my eyes of disgusted content. Sicken me more, and more until my weary eyes cannot speak."

His words grasped my heart in a dragging hold. I longed to taste the rain on my fading tongue. I obeyed the man and acted out the most difficult scene given to me, first by the director of life itself. The traumatic heads hung upside down in my evil vision of impromptu flashback. Skeletons crowded my brain, and the looks became insane. The queen of the graveyard lay sobbing at my motionless feet. The princess, the fairy, the goddess of all plays, sad? For this cannot be. She loved the art of acting and entertainment to one's greedy soul.

I admired the woman, her art was well. It motioned the mind into several great regards of prosperity.

"Lady of life's splendid entertainment, please speak to me. Us humans, we need you."

But there was no reply, the man had stitched her motionless lips with his daunting eyes of instability.

"No woman, you cannot speak, you will not set my people free. Go on, leave, and take your eternal shedding tears with you. Your existence was a monotonous expression to our unsoothing souls, for your plays cannot free us."

She then left, took her final tears with her, like a stone to carry, but instead, the stone was the suitcase in which she carried life. She looked back at me, one final suppliant glance that drifted as a dazed sigh in her sad eyes. I wished, and praised the hope of carrying her weakened soul in a soft hug that could possibly make her breaking life better. Her breath was melting in somber figments of lost passion, as she could breathe no more. Her tear was wiped by the horned man.

"Get in the play, you inoperable piece of human flesh. Your work is no good here, no good! So to that, I applaud you, and will assure you that you are to be directed in my plays as I please!"

If he could vanish her begging soul into oblivion an abandoned hope, then he would.

One day I will devour this malicious entertainment; disintegrate it into fine dust, fine dust that humans will someday walk over to stroll into a lovely garden. For they will not know of what the existence the dust was of before, their minds with small distinctive thoughts could not perceive such a play. Humans are dwellers of a hopeless journey, guided by fading atmosphere that cries to see people's paining eyes. I cried, envisioning the sky that I may never see again.

If I could just look up into the beautiful sky, filled with gloom, and several fragments of remorse, I would let my soul ascent to freedom. I longed to see the glistening pair of sapphire eyes through the opening of the clouds. They would never blink, just subtly view our presence as distant organisms. The eyes were not visible from such a view I stood. In my mind I pleaded that the spirits would set me free.

The creature of darkened atmosphere looked at me with sharp, menacing eyes of a ruby haze.

"Damn your very being, for you hold no piece of good. Beings of the Earth are weak. I acknowledged of your melancholy face with continuous wallows of sap, that you reminisce, that you miss the world of a glorious infinity, don't you?"

I heard the slight concern in his voice, as he established some form of emotion that stumbled in his frightened eyes. Though he was still angered about how humans adjust to unique atmospheres of fright.

I screamed as if to yearning to tear out my tongue with my eyes of a bland razor blade. I wanted my tongue to vanish so that I could scream no more. My eyes. They were not human. The man. The very man that stands in satin black. He replaced my grand eyes of gray with a new shade, that would match that of a spoon. Pure torture had to be of this.

I loathed the man's silence as I screamed. For he was very comfortable in his tongue that only made noise of insanity to one's ear of slackened innocence. He giggled. And as the sound did not tame my ears, I was to be set free that very night. I organized my scattered thoughts in several crates of wisdom, stored in my shuffling head. I was sensing night was on its way, for I could not see; all I could do was sense. My eyes were disposed of all well-being.

The night tapped on the single panes of glass with a fuse that was rather short. I leaped off of my makeshift bed that was set behind the stage. I glanced to the area we acted our most traumatic events. My bed was nothing but of a sheet on the hard wood floor, with a pillow of vacant stone. But that is what the man of dark mystery wanted; his slaves to be in eternal pain. So we suffered for his own gratification.

The air, passing colder, and colder through my lungs was beginning to numb my senses. Perhaps anxiety was getting the best of me, or perhaps, the man worked his dark magic well. But my mind is thorough, and I must complete a mission as soon as it is conceived to the brain. So I continued walking the short path of unease. It was dark, and the lost souls were all resting back stage. Not a wandering human left inside. With skeletons at my side, I dug deeper through the graying walls to see what damage I could create.

I dreamed that the walls would do as I command, but I am in no fantasy land. Unless this was all some horrible play the man had organized for his fowl contentment. And if it was so, then it was a world of a fantasy. For he can command his thoughts, and make beings accomplish the tasks that he continues to ask. In short, everything follows what he orders. Our acting becomes reality, and our biggest fears are only silenced by the shallow screaming of distant skeletons that cascade over the marble floors.

I must've lost all the sense I had left. I could not control dreams; I did not have the power. Only the disgraceful man in the black cloak could do such a thing. I, of little power could not acquire such a maddening trait. So the walls stay solid, and unharmed. And I do not come back looking for material of danger, because I do not want sound to appear in the unwakened air.My mind began whispering to me in small talks of astonishment.

"Escape the evil man, and his power of control."

"Leave Monday morning, and go get dressed."

"Break the window pains, and find your eyes."

"Set the horrid building on fire."

"Beatrice, you are going insane, you mustn't leave. I have countless reasons as if to why you should stay."

And as I heard those strange words arranged in such a way, I figured it must be him trying to gain control. But the voice felt genuine, like the voice of an angel's grace, like that of a girlfriend I had once longed for. This woman was speaking to me. This woman may've wanted me to save her. But why would she want me to stay here? I could not guide her to the fruitful light of freedom by staying here.

She began giving explanations in several forms of conspiracy for me to take caution of my own life. Her voice of enchantment charmed me with hypnosis of erotic beauty. Her lips caressing my skin, dampened by soft rain fall began to serenade through my sad head. But it was all just a sweet vision. I was going to save her, as well as saving me. As I freed her from this hellish charade, it would also free me. Perhaps we can live happier from now on, as my mission is soon to be complete. I waited for the eyes to peer through the sky, but they were never visible from where this horrid fantasy land is to stand.

I waited to acknowledge the sensation of sun's awakening.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.

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