Young Writers Society

The Theatre

It felt like it was not the way of the place to like movement. Life, the most restless thing, felt an offence.

As she opened her eyes and looked around, a bright white light shrivelled her sight. The wrinkled face of the woman was ghostly pale, each line etched on her face reminder of the long life she had left behind. Suddenly, a shrill mystic tune reached her ears and she realized she couldn't feel her heart beating. Any movement felt unbearable to her as if a breath of human was not acceptable. A delicate red light flashed, and her wrinkled eyes twinkled at the sudden change to vibrant surroundings as she heard loud singing. and the sounds of laughter from people who had come with their families. But where was her family? She had never had one.

The room was empty, filled with only echoing sounds. Curtains opened.

She realized she was seated in front of a theatre.

Theatres, she knew all too well about them. In these hallowed halls, a world takes shape. An artificial life comes to breathe in these packed halls where stories come awake.

All her life she had visited these halls with her partner. But where was he now? Dead, the thought passes through her mind like an aimless shot.

A hand gently clasps hers, belonging to the figure seated beside her. She couldn’t move to see who it was, life was extracted from her old bones.

"Are you ready, Rose?" the whispery sound of the figure asked.

"Always," she replied but felt no control over her own voice.

A tall man came and seated right in front of her, with a child clinging to his hands as the curtains opened. The little child held the man’s hand with both her hands, marvelling at her surroundings. The man took her in his arms and seated the little child in his lap. The child disappeared in his lap as if it were the only place in the world she felt safe in.

But who was the child? It was her.

Who was the man? It took a minute but then she realized, it was Uncle Kai, just like the day he first took her to the Chinese theatre. The theatre was filled with a strong odour, she felt it was reminiscent. It was the smell of Uncle Kai’s cardigan, filled with cigarettes, cologne and comfort.

The Chou entered the stage first and with his distinct costume and exaggerated expressions made the little girl clasp her hands and made her giggle.

The curtains closed and it was dark. When the curtains reopened the scene changed quickly and surprisingly so did the environment, it was blush red now, the lights. And the man and the little child seated in front of the old woman were gone.

The time when the curtains reopened, the delicate sound of a piano echoed through her ears, a young girl was playing it on the stage. The soulful tune of the piano felt to regenerate the surroundings. With each keystroke, it resurfaced long-forgotten feelings inside the old soul. Long-forgotten memories danced in her mind like the sorrowful mourn of wolves beside their dead partner.

The old woman couldn’t see the young girl’s face, it was sideways. The man was there again, the same man who was with the little girl, he placed his hands on her shoulder, brushing her back, with his awkward long fingers. When he clenched his hands on her shoulder, the girl froze, her muscles tensed beneath his caress and the music stopped into the dead silence of the theatre as it had been before. The young girl's shoulders recoiled from the unwanted intrusion. The man’s finger caressed the soft strands of the girl’s hair, but his fingers encountered resistance as it landed upon the locks of hair, it felt all wrong as if her whole body resisted his touch.

“Did my little girl find love,” this time the old woman heard the voice in her head.

“Yes.” remembering how her husband kissed her forehead the night he went outside before the accident happened in which he died, long back.

The man on the stage took out something from the inner pockets of his long cardigan. He took out a white butterfly hairpin and clipped it to the girl’s hair. A soft strand of the girl’s long black hair recklessly fell on her face, he traced the curve of her ear before tucking the stray hair strand behind it.

“A white butterfly for a beautiful Rose,” the sound whispered again.

The young girl on the stage turned towards the man who caressed her face. The woman could see the face of the girl now. It was her, but far younger. A memory tickled her mind, the day Uncle Kai brought her the butterfly hairpin which was now nothing but ashes.

The girl on the stage smiled but her dead eyes stared at the old woman as if they had seen things far beyond her youth ever wanted.

The curtains closed again.

“Why am I here..” the old woman found her voice back, which felt like a sting.

“You died,” the whisper answered.

“But I just slept.”

“Yes, you did.” the whisper breathed into her ears.

And suddenly it was bright red, blood red. Another memory down the lane as the curtains reopened again.

She heard the sound of soft rain, a memory she thought was so long forgotten but felt still fresh like the other two. It was the same girl on the stage, but now she no longer had the dead smile as the rain poured. The smell of alcohol mixed with the earthy smell of soil held the whole empty theatre. The girl on the stage was crying as she hugged herself and the rain came down harshly making the young girl shiver in cold. She screamed her heart out, but the voice never came, no one heard.

Except for the old woman who now couldn’t bear the pain of the voice that hid inside her for so long. She pressed her hands to her ears, desperately wanting to make it go away, but it didn’t. Suddenly the bright white light again flashed and faded from her sight.

“My Rose, will you ever forgive your Uncle Kai…” the whisper spoke to her the last time as everything in the surroundings started to fade.

“Never”