The Stage & Me

ONE—

They’re still talking – house lights aren’t off yet. Watch-less, I guess how long until we start. One minute, I’d say. I watch the doors as people wander in, chatting with a contagious thrill.

They’re still distracted. Good.

Our dull-eyed stage manager strides towards us, almost as if my thoughts had summoned him. “One minute, people,” he stage-whispers, before hurrying off. There’s a responding buzz of energy from us and a chilling silence from the audience.

They’re listening.

The house lights dim, which is our cue. My stomach is a stampede of butterflies.

Nerves are good.

There’s a multitude of things that could go wrong in this moment.

Never mind that, let’s go.

On the stage, I force myself forward. Walk slower, you’re important. Right. I inhale, relax my shoulders, and advance (slowly) to centre stage. Good, cue spotlight. I brace myself.

Chin up, this is your moment.

A single, blinding light warms my face. The butterflies soar out my throat, a kaleidoscope of sentences carried on their wings.

Breathe.

My symphony of words matches the beat of their wings. Perfect. The lights create a ribbon of possibilities around me. I wait a moment until I hear a harmonizing explosion of colour.

He’s here.

TWO —

Backstage is frantic. But nerves are good.

“One minute, people.”

There is a shiver of energy that ripples through us, the thrum of a hummingbird’s wings.

House lights dim. Cue silence.

The audience hushes in an instant. And so, it begins.

A shiver vibrates through my shoulders, down my back and into my legs. Goosebumps explode across my bare arms. My fingers tingle with caution, warning me of the coming moments.

A heartbeat passes, then -

Butterflies.

A beauty of sound so delicate it’s almost a whisper. There’s an illusion to it. A breakable perfection.

Like silence.

The music continues, deeper. I hear wings, but don’t dare spoil the secret.

Nearly time. Breathe.

I inhale deeply, challenging the unease that threatens to strangle me. I hold it close. I know how to use it.

It’s time.

As I force myself to move, the knots in my stomach pull tighter, inching their way towards my mind.

Now.

In an instant, I’m beside her. I’ve shed my skin, free from the chains of reality. We face each other, bold-faced and glowing.

A twirl. You ready?

She mocks my movements, wings outstretched. More than ever.

My fingers tingle in response. Lights follow our faces, a shield from the shadows around us. Our movements come swiftly, naturally, but there’s a tickle at the back of my throat. It comes subtlety at first, clouding my mind until I realise there is a third person on stage. A shiver of a man, standing next to her. His cursed face glides to meet my eyes. Recognition flashes across my mind, but his icy stare has already consumed me.

Any and all sound has bled to silence, the colour draining from the stage. My head spins from the unbalance, every unblinking stare a violent strain on my lungs. I’m on my knees now. An invisible hand grasps my throat, or maybe it’s mine? The lights flood my eyes, bright - too bright. Unrehearsed notes fade in and out, none close enough to find me as I am dragged from them, too disoriented to fight the pull of sleep.

AFTER—

I’m awake again, locked in place, centre stage. My heart beats furiously, desperation replacing oxygen. A hollow laugh escapes my lips as the man who sealed my fate confronts me.

Macbeth.

—BLACKOUT