The story opens
and the curtains reveal a man pacing back and fourth
but only within his mind
as he shifts his legs in a well used chair
We the audience, and the cellos ambiance
wait for any kind of sound apart from the squeaking of chairs
it would seems our eager stares
and judgmental glares
stretch the time between the shifting of legs
and silence becoming sound
sweat beads from his brow
because now to the eighteenth minute
he will sit in silence, broken only by
his last breath before he is to bloom
into transcendence
as written in the type face of the script
and he is nervous
the set may be alive, the dancers may be lively
but he in 15 minutes shall die dramatically
the story shall be driven upon death,
his body shall lie motionless
his heart will beat ferociously
he must be emotionless
The story closes
behind the curtain a body is risen again
a personality is peeled from his face
struck blind by seeing light through his own eyes
That night he sleeps and dreams
about being dead without a heartbeat
for once