The Stage

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
There are worse things than dying.

Submitted: October 21, 2018

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Submitted: October 21, 2018

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The Stage

 

Act One

Jerry was born to be an actor. Unfortunately, destiny had other plans for him. His father was a man who thought that acting was for pussies. Often, his father would beat these silly ideas out of his mind. He would straighten him up. His mother moved quietly through the house, as if she were a ghost, trying hard not to disturb the comforting silence, which his father enjoyed so much. There was no radio or TV in the house, no sounds at all. On Sundays, they would sit silently at the table. His mother would stare at the wall, while his father chewed his food slowly. “After all these years, you still don’t know how to cook a proper meal,” his father would say to his mother. Sometimes, when he would drink too much, he would slap her, but the real beatings were almost exclusively reserved for Jerry. His father would just take him by the hand and lock the basement door behind him.

Act Two

After his father died, Jerry was finally free to pursue his acting career. And so, he acted the part of a normal guy. He did it pretty well. This act secured him an even greater role (when he met Jennifer) of a loyal and caring husband. Even though he was satisfied with his performance, it just was not enough. Late at night when his wife would go to sleep, Jerry would prowl the streets. Driving along the boulevard filled with massage parlors and strip joints, he would go into a character much darker than the one he played in his daily life. He knew this character well. It was the one he rehearsed countless times when his father would lock him in the basement. This role was by far the best one he ever played; maybe it was because he really felt a connection to the character. Or maybe it was because he finally found an audience, instead of an empty basement...

Act Three

He was smiling at all those people staring at him. This was his stage. He needed to say the words. The right words, the ones that he repeated to himself every night. He memorized them well. After all, he was a great actor. If not the greatest. He felt the adrenaline flowing through his body. This was his final act; he must do the scene perfectly. “Ten seconds, “someone said. He cleared his throat and waited for the last second and then screamed, “I am coming for you fuckers! “ It wasn't what he wanted to say at all, but the anger just burst out of him. They let the electricity flow. It went straight through him. His body twisted, foam coming out of his mouth. The smell of burned flesh filled the room. The electric chair did its job. He died. He died in pain.

Epilogue

He opened his eyes. Absolute darkness engulfed him. All of a sudden, somewhere in the distance, he saw the light piercing through the darkness. He stared at the light with a sense of dread. He could see his father’s old lumberjack shoes standing at the top of the basement stairs.

The End

 


© Copyright 2018 Mike Croatan. All rights reserved.

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