Unconventional Theatrics
The water glides down my stomach and down my thighs. I arch my head back drowning myself in the warm water at ten one summer night.
I see the visible puffs rise from my breath, hoping that the serene splashes would pull the toxins gnawing at my skin.
At times like these I like to paint stories in my head. A theatre perhaps, would you mind? A world where the classics are still alive, but the said conventions are a little off the line.
The curtains open, revealing the queen in love with the king of her dreams. But wait, behind all that gold, glamour and gowns did someone notice the queen stealing glances with the lady in green?
Was that maiden earning favours from the queen, but not just because of her role as her lady in waiting?
The harp plays soon, showing the rise of the new moon. The village girl sneaks out her home, slipping easily among the howling of the wolves.
But wait, she doesn’t go to meet some lover, thinking of eloping beyond the silhouette of the neighboring town.
The bronze sickles in the envelope planted deep down her purse was meant for her to live life freely, far from the censorious eyes of this paper town.
The water runs cold and my hair neatly clings to my spine, as I rise slipping on my silks for the night. The curtain closes as the actors run backstage.
Hurrying past the dressing rooms, scripts lying on the floor with a million texts resting on the screens of their phones.
Tired but alive, ready to face the real life after the one I created right on my stage, right here at midnight.
