This week's picture prompt was taken in the Orpheum Auditorium, New Bedford, Massachusetts, US. This Auditorium opened on the same day the Titanic sunk, April 15th, 1912. A supermarket now occupies some of the building, but the rest remains beautifully deserted. This image was taken by Frank Grace, and he names it The Haunting New Bedford Orphuem. He takes some incredible pictures, definitely worth a browse.
I wrote this and couldn't find an ending so turned it into this. I think it works.
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The Show Must Go On.
She rushed down the aisle as fast as she could, trying to ignore the laughing and jeering going on in the audience either side. It couldn’t happen this way, it just couldn’t! His dreams dashed in such a public way. Moving quickly was difficult in this new fangled bustle dress that was all the rage, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her saving her darling.
She got to the steps at the side of the stage and someone rushed out and grabbed her arm.
‘Madam! You can’t go up there! The show MUST go on!’
She was having none of it, and pulled her arm out of their grasp, picking up her dress as she ran up the steps. By the time she reached the stage he had collapsed. She knew he would; it was the stress of the performance. She fell to her knees at his side and cradled him.
‘Oh Hugo, my Hugo,’ she whispered.
The lights faded and the wood under her knees creaked; her arms falling empty.
He was not there - no one was. The stage was empty as was the theatre. The only fool was her – Phyllis, believing that wishing him back would be enough. It would never be. He’d never be back. The theatre was closed and disused now.
She slumped back onto her behind and brought her legs round, crossing them under the rags that were once her best dress and looked round the auditorium. Like the faded theatre walls her memories were becoming colourless and fragmented. This last moment seemed to be the final one and it kept playing on a loop.
She hadn’t been able to bring Hugo back anymore than she could bring herself back. She was locked in purgatory, forever reliving this traumatic event; the death of her beloved Hugo.
She spotted movement at the back of the theatre.
‘Who’s there?’ she called.
She stood up, but it was dark under the dress circle and she couldn’t make out if it was a person or a shadow. She went down the steps and walked back down the aisle, trying to make out if someone was there.
When she reached the back she found nothing. Her shoulders slumped. She’d hoped for something or someone to break the monotony. Then she heard his voice again and looked to the stage. There he was!
She rushed down the aisle as fast as she could, trying to ignore the laughing and jeering going on in the audience either side. It couldn’t happen again, it just couldn’t! She had to stop it. His dreams dashed so publicly. Moving quickly was difficult in this new fangled bustle dress that was all the rage, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her saving her darling.
She got to the steps at the side of the stage and someone rushed out and grabbed her arm.
‘Madam! You can’t go up there! The show MUST go on!’
She was having none of it, and pulled her arm out of their grasp, picking up her dress as she ran up the steps. By the time she reached the stage he had collapsed. She knew he would; it was the stress of the performance. She fell to her knees at his side and cradled him.
‘Oh Hugo, my Hugo,’ she whispered.
The Opera House, by Joseph P. Garland, @JPGarlandAuthor, 631 words
ReplyDelete“Is there anybody there?”
My question echoed through the opera house, as it had for a door, I think behind the stage, that slammed a moment before.
I hoped to find refuge in the long-forgotten space, escaping from the chill Vienna air filled with the iciness. The sun had gone down, and the streets were barely lit through the darkness of an approaching storm.
I thought I saw her some blocks away as I headed from work and wasted no time in turning. Slowly at first but then I knew without looking that she had spotted me and would be after me.
I dodged the drably dressed pedestrians heading who were themselves, and innocently, heading home from work, nearly falling several times on the slick sidewalks. There was an alleyway after a turn. When I saw it, I raced down, hoping she would pass by without noticing. And she did. I crouched behind a trash bin along the brick wall, daring to peek out and there she went, not even slowing as she passed.
She would have called them to say I was seen and where, and as I sat trying to recollect my thoughts and my breathe behind that bin, I expected the street was being watched and dared not leave as I had come in.
I looked behind me, but the alleyway ended in an open area with a loading dock. It was my only option. With a look to the street and seeing no one there, I turned and scurried to the open area. In addition to the dock, there was a metal door. It was green. Surely I could find a place to hide for some hours, by which they would be gone. If only the door was open.
I climbed the metal steps to a small landing and pulled. The door was loose, and another pull and it was open. There was a series of abandoned offices on either side of a hallway. At the end of the hallway I saw the auditorium. It had long ago been replaced by one with better acoustics and it only remained standing because of a dispute about whether the opera house could or should be saved and all sides were engaged in expensive litigation on the question.
Which did not matter to me. I was warm now, though the heat in the building was only enough to prevent the bursting of pipes. I removed my coat and scarf and undid the top button of my shirt, and I could feel the steam rising from my now drenched skin. At least I had my breathe back.
Right before the door that opened onto the auditorium’s seats was a door to a staircase. I opened it and went up, my steps echoing as I first climbed, but I slowed so I made no noise. I was not concerned since I was alone but the sound unnerved me.
When I reached the top, I opened the door. It led to a curved hallway that formed an arc at the far side of the auditorium, opposite the stage. I centered myself to the stage. I had been here once or twice. Mozart, and I could hear his light tones and the magic in some soprano’s arpeggios. The applause filling the place after a well-received aria and the flowers and the bows and the cheers when the cast took the stage.
Now I stood there leaning against an iron guardrail. It felt like Miss Havisham’s sitting room, with glimpses here and there of the wonder and the glamor that once filled it, now retaining little but flashes of beauty and the ever receding echoes of the magic.
I was lost in the memory and the calm it provided me. Then I heard the door.
Intriguing. Thanks for joining.
DeleteNot sure if the brackets in my title will mess up the clickabke link. I didn't see your title before naming mine!
ReplyDeleteThe Show Must Go On (Encore)
Excellent concept, loved it.
Deletehttps://shadetheraven.wordpress.com/2020/12/20/mid-week-flash-challenge-the-orpheum-killer/
ReplyDeleteLovely and dark! Thanks for joining Chase.
DeleteHere is a clickable link for easy readablility: The Orpheum Killer