The crowds screamed – they wouldn’t stop screaming for him, cheering for him. He stood on the old stage, bloody with the years. His feet slid behind the pedestal, and his bare toes were wet with the lifeblood of everyone who had stood there before
The ceiling is covered in paintings, with no theme or substance or style but woman, and they flow down the walls like all of history…
She places her cigarette on the edge of the desk and watches it smoulder. The sunlight catches the smoke in its hands…
‘To tread upon the boards; a fool, a fool! To burn beneath the light and bleed into the blinding space!’
‘You’re not romantic;’ she said, ‘you’re too sarcastic to be romantic – you just laugh at anything I say’.
