I stand on the stage where I had given my life’s blood
I love the stage
the drama that swirls center stage, in the wings and in the musty corners
my final role was Desdemona
That last night was my finest performance
“That death’s unnatural that kills for loving…”
If memory serves me well, Othello had been out of character that closing night
No ministrations could calm
When they removed Desdemona’s body, they were unable to revive me
“She severed her own bloom,” he calmly stated
Tonight “my love” I meet you upon life’s stage
I pass on bloodied thorn …
The photo prompt is shared by Sandra Crook (L’Amphitheatre des Trois Gauls, Lyon, France.) and opens the curtains for another week of Friday Fictioneers directed by Rochelle Wisoff Fields
Just for point of reference in the drama: “When they removed Desdemona’s body they were unable to revive me” “me” refers to the actress playing the part of Desdemona. Thus Desdemona and the actress died tragically that night at the hand of Othello.
It had been unseasonably wet in the state where it “never rains.”
We had run out of chips so I did a “quick run” to the store. I felt a rumble, threw the car into park and jumped out. Instinctively I knew that I had to get out from under trees and power lines. “Earthquake” I screamed at some joggers. I stood watching the massive oak upended.
The landscaper had a smirk on his face. For years he had reported that the celebrated, oldest oak needed to be cut down. The celebration was over; the paying of bills in full swing…
Theme of this post: Fictionalized non-fiction
Rochelle has us in the trees this week at Friday Fictioneers. Check out the other stories here.
The scalpel is a symbol of constructive criticism – cut away
“What has happened?” I asked my staff of bio-engineering scientists.
“Got out of its jar…”
“It seems perfectly harmless…”
What I could ascertain from the words that they dared not say was that the research we were doing to propagate larger and healthier plants had worked. So well, in fact, that when a bee got loose and sucked up what spilled from a beaker we had a bee the size of a house.
“Now what do we do with a monstrous bee?”
I eyed the beaker. The scientist in me considered the possibilities.
This week’s rather large photo prompt was submitted by Jennifer Pendergast. Rochelle is the fearless hostess at Friday Fictioneers where stories are the 100 word variety.