Death Onstage

 

“And so I think my mother is death”

Gasp! Sounds the hall

Our mother is death”

Screeeeech! goes the microphone

She clears her throat, wipes her brow

“Death must be a mother”

Aaah… the sigh runs through the crowd, nodding heads bob in a wave and chairs creak under the relaxing rears.

“So”, she says, daring to let an infant smile curl upon her lips, ” we stand here, moving towards her, away from her, and through her; dying several times before breathing for the first time, and then waiting for the final embrace. And while Life, the mean school teacher, frays our edges and whittles our hearts into strange and unique shapes, the cleansing fire of Death brings us all to primal ash.”

Yawwwn! goes one, beginning a chain of eyes drooping like dominoes

“In one way, however, Life may not be so bad after all” She says, eyeing the clock and feeling sweat pool in her armpits,

“The shapes don’t really matter, perhaps.”

ehehem… a throat clears, and then a few others

“It’s your chafed contour,” she gulps, “glowing like a halo when you allow yourself to stand in the way of light, which promises you glimpses of divinity in yourself and others…”

Triiinggg! goes the bell.

She sighs, now with a full smile, “…before we turn to ash”

 

 

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