Flash Fiction - Curtain Call

One more dance to end the night

Still clinging to the crumpled wad of bills in his hand, the security guard escorts us beyond the chain link fence. The old Orpheum Theater is now little more than a hollowed-out husk. much like my wife and I, if truth be told.

He sounds nervous when he talks, understanding that while the money he holds is a lot, it is not enough to sustain him for long in such a shitty economy. I pluck a few more bribery notes from my billfold, and while he still sounds on edge, he leads us inside the ruined building.

The last rays of the setting sun filter through the damaged roof, the once resplendent timbers now nothing more than a shattered ribcage. Many of the seats are gone, no doubt, taken by patrons of the arts looking for a talking point piece in their upscale apartments. Those that remain are torn and stained, yet the brilliant red fabric still shines in places.

I lead my lady up the aisle, careful to guide her past fallen masonry and old playbills that are now little more than piles of pulp. We reach the stage and stare up at the curtains, which now hang limp and torn, like shreds of meat swaying on a butcher’s hook.

She looks to me, eyes glassy and brimming with tears, and she begins to sing. Her voice is frail and worn, but there are threads of musical majesty in there still. I lift her onto the stage, alarmed at how light she has become. My lady was always petite, but now she is little more than thin parchment stretched over brittle bones.

She sways ever so slightly as she takes the stage. The security man calls out a warning of some kind, though neither of us take notice. We are lost in the past, set adrift in a time when we were young and virile, and so very full of life.

Her voice seems to go back in time with her, as she sings louder, more confidently, and the notes pierce through my own worn flesh to a heart that beats stronger than it has in years. The notes pass through me and drift upward, and as I watch them soar, the old Orpheum seems to suck them in.

For the briefest of moments, I see the theater in all its glory, and as I turn to the stage, I see my wife the same way. I climb onto the stage to join her and I pull her close. We dance amid the detritus and sing as though our lives depend on it.

In many ways, I think they do.

THE END

Thank you to Labyrinthia Mythweaver for another amazing image prompt…