The Man Behind the Curtain

Do not worry for the man behind the curtain, he keeps the show afloat. When everyone has run and gone, he brings along new stars. They scurry down the stage, and through the isles there. He whips out his cane and pulls them by the waist, choosing them by the pairs. His theater is lively, with sounds of terrified screams. The blood shed on the floor seemingly fake, squirts; giving the audience the best scenes. Every night his showings, they differ in some way. The girl was shot, the man was stabbed, or a child abandoned was killed by a speeding train while playing on the railway. The man behind the curtain, he keeps a steady hold, on all the preceding showings that he molds.

Once, I myself decided to stay and watch his play, the crowd had oohed and awed at every little thing. I, myself, was disappointed and dissatisfied to say the least. It was nothing but so realistic that it held me to the seat. Chuckles occasionally danced from the crowd at what was nothing more than morbid scenes. And somehow his actors' terror was as real as mine in my seat. The fourth wall was often broken, with cries for help, and what deemed no more than as profanity. Prayers were seldom whispered on and off of stage. And as I could not take it, I ejected from my seat. This man behind the curtain had no taste. It was then that I noticed, as I excused myself, that the crowd had clouded faces, and widely dreaming smiles. And not one seemed to notice me as I walked passed the isles. Just as the door I reached, something incredible did happen. One by one each head had turned, facing me whilst still seated. It was an oddly troubling site, as some heads twisted more than humanly possible. The smiles never faded, the eyes still clouded. "Where are you going?" A woman questioned. Similarly someone screamed, "the shows just started my friend, please return to your seat!" But I rather not I protested, I wasn't appealed to in the least. At this the smiles turned down, and the crowd said all at once, "The man behind the curtain, he isn't happy to see, an audience member leaving. Please return to your seat." I turned towards the door once more in protest, and proceeded to walk away. Was nearly at the exit, when I felt something around my waist. "It's a shame to see you're unhappy," a voice echoed from somewhere off stage. "I'm the man behind the curtain...And I'd prefer it if you stayed." With that my body was jerked, dragging me towards my space. I pulled against the motions, hoping to flail away. "I see that you are not compliant," the voice angrily said, "then let's instead make an exception and bring you up the stage." With that I was violently volleyed back and past the crowd, I felt myself get sucked into...what felt like maybe hell. I closed my eyes then opened them, screaming and screaming aloud. The crowd was gone, the stage was too, and I was at home in bed. It had all been a dream. I slid out the sheets, and went to my bathroom, to look in the mirror at myself. My face seemed haunted, my body felt bruised and their was a slight ringing through my head. "The man behind the curtain," I whispered. And quietly he whispered, "yes?"

Do not worry for the man behind the curtain, do not go and see his show, for if you do you may realize the star will soon be you. That is how he keeps his show afloat.