Strands of Fate

The Theatre

       Thirteen seats wait quietly in the darkness. Each one has been upholstered by hand in the thickest, richest red velvet. They sit facing a massive stage that is hidden from view by a curtain as decadent as a king's robe. These seats are not empty. Thick chains made entirely of polished silver are cinched tightly around warm bodies of various shapes and sizes that would fall to the floor without the support.

       These bodies belong to thirteen souls who blissfully continue their slumber, completely unaware.

        Earlier this evening, all thirteen left their weekly alcoholics anonymous meeting and, after some spirited conversation in the parking lot, walked two blocks to a local bar. They cannot recall who had originated the idea to celebrate their hard earned sobriety with 'just one' drink. In fact, after several toasts to their success, they could not recall much of anything.

        A spotlight cuts through the blackness. There is a general stirring in the audience as they begin to wake up. Muffled grumbles and a few groggy mutterings begin to stumble through the air with as much grace as a child taking its first steps.

        A soft clinking echos throughout the room. They are finally awake enough to discover their restraints.

       Tinny ragtime music begins to play as an impossibly thin man with a barbershop trim steps out from behind the curtain wearing an old tuxedo. He has deep circles under his eyes and his skin is so very pale. He's wearing a battered top hat that he takes off with a flourish as he bows before his captive audience.

        Most of them are stunned to silence, but a few of the members have started struggling against the chains which provides a nice percussive flair to the growing din of fear and confusion. As their protests escalate, the volume of the music increases to drown their whimpers and curses. It continues to get louder until everyone is pained into silence.

        The music stops.

        The man on the stage rises from his deep bow and smiles at the audience with unnaturally red lips. His skin is paper-thin and he doesn't appear to be much more than a walking skeleton with a whore's grin. His eyes, on the other hand, speak volumes. Twin pools so dark and fathomless, that staring into them, one may catch a glimpse of some distant underworld where the sun will never shine.

        He glances at each and every member of the audience. A few gasp as he silently takes their measure before continuing.

        "Thanks for being here tonight, folks! Have we got a show for you!" he announces.

       His words are warm, but those eyes are hungry.

      “You've each been brought here tonight by vice,“ he continues with a dramatic air. “Your pain draws you together, while your spirits will be the key to your salvation, or your undoing.“

        He pauses, waiting for them to digest this speech.

       “Then again,“ he says as he licks his lips and drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Fate does have a way of catching up with us all, in the end.“

        There is a collective intake of breath as the strange man takes a step back from center stage. They are all curious and terrified of what will come next, in equal measure. As they steal furtive glances towards each other, they find it harder to believe that all of this is only an alcoholic's nightmare. Each is sure they are about to witness a performance that will not soon be forgotten. No matter how hard they try.

        The curtain parts.....