All the World’s a Stage
The prison of a performer, the darkness of the spotlight…
“All the world’s a stage and all men and women merely players”
Those were the words that drew me towards the stage. I adored the spotlight; I craved the attention. For the longest while, I had found a second home on the stage, and dare I say, I had certainly begun to flourish with every performance. The sound of the audience raving for an encore was, simply put, music to my ears. With every costume and every act, it gave me the opportunity to explore a world that could never be mine. Alas, little did I know that as fortune seemed to smile on me from the heavens, my inner world devolved into hell.
You see, every man has a part to play on the stage but I began to forsake the roles that I had committed to once the lights turned off and the curtains were drawn to a close. Did I know where my path would lead me? Did I know this is where I would end up today? If I were to be honest, and I have sworn to be honest in this narrative, a part of me always did. My cardinal sin was my downfall, for as in my career, a part of me also longed for the drama.
That quote at the start is quite the quaint one indeed. I find it funny that it is from a play titled “As You Like It”; for everything that I have proclaimed to like has contributed to my demise. Confused? I was too! Be patient and all will be revealed soon enough.
For the average audience, they were characters. Ephemeral blips get forgotten when the sun sets for the last time. Why is it that, so many people see the masks but none see the hearts behind those masks? These characters were people too; people who lived with me and people who I lived as — inside my head. I never was content with being average. I was extraordinary.
While the audience’s attention drew me to the stage, it was these characters that convinced me to stay. They helped me escape the life I was meant to live and gave life to my dreams of being a superhero. The capes, cowls, and cloaks I wore helped me escape my reality. In a cliched sense, it helped me become something more. I took on each new day as a new opportunity to test my boundaries of creativity and breakthrough. I imagined characters and enacted their life. I was a grand success until I began to live the many lives I conjured in my head.
Each of these characters had a story and therein they had a life, and I was privy to them all. You see, I loved living upstairs in my cranium attic. One could even say I was addicted to the stories. It was these stories that drove me to become the villain of my own. They say the road to hell is built with the best of intentions and my life was an embodiment of this sentiment.
Imagine waking from your own bed like a lost soul. Imagine a life of darkness because the world did not have the time to shed light on yours. Well, I give asylum to the many lost souls that the world rejected. They pay me back in their own way, but I do not expect much since I am a hospitable host.
Dracula gives me company at night while Doctor Jekyll keeps me awake by reminding me of the darkness that lingers behind the light of good. Caesar and Count Monte Cristo remind me that the world of gilded crowns is tainted by blood and betrayal. All these stories and voices have changed me. How could they not? After all, I got to see the world through more than two eyes.
I guess to provide context, I should start at the beginning — the beginning of the end. I remember it all so vividly — almost as if it were just a week ago. Ah, Silly me! It was a week ago. After nearly half a decade of pouring my heart and soul into my art, I finally got a lead role on Broadway. It seemed as though the debts in my life could finally be paid away. I didn’t mean monetary debts alone — no, I meant something deeper — emotional debts of the people who bartered to my cause. In the weeks leading up to the night of the event, I had spent hours rehearsing and perfecting my role (I have since then been told that it was days). Ah, now looking back I realize the extent of my insanity. A couple of weeks ago, I recall practicing the part of a court jester and the rush of using satire to open the eyes of the monarch clouded my judgement. My co-actors and colleagues woke me up from my fantasy and told me that the rehearsal had ended on Friday, and they had taken the weekend off and had returned to the theatre to find me in the exact state they had left me.
At the time, I thanked them for their concern and scoffed at their lack of dedication. The voices upstairs insisted that the others did not want it as much.
Each day when I got out of bed, I was haunted by the demons that I simply couldn’t put to rest. When I saw the look on the face of my wife, who had spent many a night on an empty bed, I saw a look that was akin to that on a weary, battle-scarred warrior. One who had lost all will and reason to fight but was holding on for a reason that she couldn’t define. To all those who feel that she was my partner, I would have to disagree.
No! She was the prisoner of my world. Her wings were cut off and had been hidden away from the light, her voice drowning in her own sea of tears. Between the miscarriages and an insurmountable mountain of bills that keep piling, her life was in shambles.
As her world crumbled, many innocent lives were thrown overboard. When Juliet was born, we were overjoyed and I thought of her as the spark to rekindle the fire that I had snuffed out. But I didn’t know back then that I couldn’t have been more ill-equipped to provide her with a stable home and family. I could barely look Juliet in the eye anymore.
My princess had been promised a castle and I had left her stranded alone in her miserly tower with her misery. How foolish of me to presume I was making sacrifices! For sacrificing means it was mine to give and considering it a battle would imply that there was hope at victory and at that moment, neither of those statements were true. Was it too late to turn around and make amends? Maybe, Maybe not.
I snapped back to reality as I found myself staring at the mirror. I couldn’t afford to think about these if I was to go out and perform. So, I bottled them up and placed them delicately on my personal array of woes.
“You got this.” I said to myself. Just then, the face in the mirror seemed to smile back. The smile exuded malice and the sight nearly caused me to fall back out of my seat. I rubbed my eyes, and this time the reflection was back to normal. Was I hallucinating? Did I just imagine that? I told myself that it must be the sleepless nights that I had pulled.
That was not a singular instance and it certainly was not going to be my last. Death was getting restless and decided to throw a tantrum that day. Just as a child gets worked up when their favorite toy is played with by someone else, he didn’t like the concept of waiting for his turn in the shadows.
I walked out into the spotlight upon my cue and I saw a grand audience gathered to witness the play. I swiftly went into the familiar motions and recited the lines with meaning and emotion. It seemed as if the pieces were finally falling into place until I looked into the eyes of the people in the crowd. My world and the stage stopped spinning and it seemed as if I was looking at the audience in slow-motion.
Some eyes were actively looking on at the play and invested in the characters. Some eyes lacked the element of suspense and surprise as they had seen the play before. But there did exist a commonality amongst them all. When I would finish with my monologue upon my next cue, the lights would go out, the curtains would be drawn and the moment would be over. The people enticed by my act so far would move on to the roles they play amongst the people they love. I realized something at that very moment. I was alone with thousands of eyes looking at me.
They all saw the cloaks but none saw the daggers whose stabs I had to bear. I was a perfect canvas to bring to life the very lives that I wished to live. In a twisted and beautiful sense, we were all captives to the idea of something unreal. I felt somehow that my life paused and resumed with the closing and opening of those curtains. Suffice to say, I was utterly disillusioned with life at that very moment. I took a gander around the auditorium and my mind began to wander.
My mind continued to wander aimlessly until my eyes caught glimpse of a woman with a familiar face in the back row. I could not place where I had seen her before. But there was a familiar connection, something that drew my heart towards her.
Just then the cue for my final monologue and the stage was set for my performance. The lights turned to face me and quite literally put me on the spot. I was playing the part of a disheartened man making an earnest plea with death to give him back a life to fix the mistakes that he had made. This was my moment to shine; my moment to make it count; the exact moment that I had waited, for what seemed like an eternity. Yet, in that moment, the scripted nature of what I had rehearsed seemed needless and disingenuous.
No! This was my final act! I was the young blood of Broadway and I needed something more to make my mark. I thought about the happiness I would bring to my home and family if I were to succeed. I emptied my shelf of sorrow and poured out the rage to fuel my performance with real emotion.
I discovered then that the secret to acting was to not act it at all but rather to live and breathe the emotions that get buried beneath the skin. I took a breath and began my off-script monologue.
“Oh, how long does this path go?
How many more twists exist in this tale?
I wished to go far in this life,
Yet, all I ever did has sent me deeper to my grave.
Such was the gravity of my mistakes.
I think I was addicted to the pain.
I think I believed that time would heal it all.
Ah, Time! The only treasure that matters.
A treasure I always had but never shared with the people who mattered
Now, I have spent it all on the glory that I shall never have
My life is a beautiful mess,
In the sense that I messed up the beautiful parts of it
As the sun sets on my life, I am prepared to enter the eternal night
After all, I realize now, Success is arbitrary, Death is permanent
However, I shall not scar the wounded soldiers who served
on the front lines of a war that was never theirs to fight
No! They never deserved to suffer for my failures.
I masked negligence in a facade of dedication
I cloaked indifference with commitment
They deserved better, yet I let them suffer!
While some in my position would have made the deal with the devil
I sold the souls that were never mine to tamper with
I deem myself worthy of damnation,
But, Death, hear my earnest plea
I shall have my voice heard,
Even if it’s quite literally the last thing I shall have to say!
Every flower deserves to bask in the sunlight
Yet, I clouded their skies grey, painted their walls black
and escaped into the light every night!
Selfish was my cause, Selfless was their sacrifice!
Give me the chance to turn that table before it ends.
Death, Give me one more chance to right my wrongs
Give me one more chance to do right by them
Give me the chance to walk a path with them by my side
Give me the chance to just show them the real me!
I swear after everything ends, I shall meet you again!
The morning I see them in bed with a smile, I shall meet you again!
I shall bid them farewell, even if it pains me to part ways!
But I shall rest easy knowing that
I left them in a better life, before I went to the afterlife!”
As I finished those words, I could feel real tears well up in my eyes. Yes! That was it! That was my masterpiece. It was masterful because it was real. I took a moment to look at every person who was giving me a standing ovation from the audience. It was everything that I could ever ask for. As I took a bow and exited the stage left, I felt that I was doing the right things. The person in charge of the play met me backstage later and wanted me as a staple and gave me a regular contract. Yes! That was my big break! I couldn’t wait to rush home and share the good news with my beloved family.
Now, we are near the end of my tale. Everything seems so nice and despite the struggles, you might feel that the light at the end of the tunnel was near. Alas, I could forgive you for thinking so, as I too felt the same way.
On the way back home, I stopped to buy some flowers for her. Roses or Daisies? I decided on roses. I parked the car in the garage and knocked on the front door. No response. I knocked again and was greeted by the same silence. I turned the knob and it opened freely. I assumed that she must be asleep.
I walked into an empty house and listened for the voices of my kin. Alas, they weren’t there. My big break couldn’t save my broken home. I could feel sobs escape me. The bird had finally decided to find a new nest, and despite my grimace, I was happy for them.
Present-day.
I have had many shows since then. But none have reached the heights of that night. The best show I have ever acted at was on the worst night of my life. Ironic, right? I have had time to reminisce since then and have been able to recall the owner of the face I saw in the backseat of that night. It had to be that of Juliet. After all, she has her mother’s eyes. Where are they now, you ask? I do not know. I, however, have made new partnerships. I live inside my secluded attic, and it is the characters that I locked up there that come out to play. They no longer need to compete for they have full liberty over my life.
I have nothing to lose, so I might as well plead to death in the hopes that I get a second chance at life. One in which I will not have to be a star that burned too bright.
