Welcome to the theatre! The oh so marvellous theatre! The wondrous, awe inspiring, fantastical theatre! What a magical setting to be on! There’s no other setting on earth made of infinite settings. Truly, there’s nothing quite like it! The costumes, the set, the audience, oh, the audience, their laughter, their tears, their sorrow, and pain, and joy, and excitement, and so many things people bring with them to the theatre.
What joy to be on stage again so soon after the last play he starred in ended. It was a doozy, that one! The precious friend of a heartbroken Romeo, the rock of rocks to find solace in. It was always a fan favourite that one. As soon as he donned that comforting and sympathetic look on stage, the audience would simply melt. They’d long for more, coming back to see an even more dependable character and he’d comply, upping the bar ever so slightly each opening. They’d never get bored of that character like that, if he kept embellishing his act for the next showing, they could never. That was the magic of his act, that prowess of his, that talent, simply unique.
In a small little room he shared with several other artists, in his small little corner, he was excited for this showing, more so than usual. Ava, his dearest mother, was coming to that night’s opening. Sitting right in front of the stage, centre audience, no chance he’d miss her, especially when that night’s show was all for her. No chance she’d miss him. Oh, what a wonderful thing to have her be so close while he’d be centre stage. She’d love the play. There’s no way she couldn’t. A golden child of numerous talents, of courteous decorum, of exemplary education, of worthy merit. A child, unlike any other, brilliant in more ways than one, and who dealt with such deck of cards perfectly. His story, absolutely fascinating. The child of a single mother, widowed at an early age. An academic being, but nonetheless artistic. His mother, kind and thoughtful. His father, barely any memories remained, but this caused its fair-share of heartache. The father, apparently, was also brilliant, leaving a lot to live up to, and the golden child fulfilled that grandiose, suffocating expectation.
He had worked so hard on perfection the character; his mannerisms, his glorious, beaming smile, the light in their eyes, the innocence within him, all of those things worked on until they flowed out of the artist. He had to incarnate that character, mask his own mannerisms, his heart-wrenching smile, the lack of life in his eyes, his brokenness. None of that could be seen. Well, they were never seen. That was the point of the theatre! What a magical art it is to act! To be many things, while also being none at all, what a unique talent! He was so terribly lucky to be such an amazing artist.
