THE
CITY
... like a gaping mouth, the void moved closer ...
... falling in ... through the darkness ...
~ Wake Up ~
KRYSTI (KRYSALIS) KARIS
The old nightmare repeats... always running from someone or something... then the screaming in her head turns into the sound of sirens as she wakes up in her cramped studio apartment, and the ritual begins ~ After crying in the shower where her pain is less audible, she pulls herself together, feeds the cat, and leaves for evening rehearsal by dusk... pulling the hoodie over her face, head down, trying to avoid being noticed.
No one knew about her life before she moved to the city, before the theatre company ~ the company she'd built from the ground up almost 10 years ago now ~ and she preferred it that way. No one knew her real name or why she hated being photographed, only allowing herself to be seen through the various guises of her performances. She had created a life for herself here ~ a self-contained world only she controlled, without interference, and without the need for anyone... because to her, attachment meant servitude, and being 'loved' was akin to being annihilated.
Always outspoken when it came to promoting the shows, she was an armored tank about her private life. She came across as professional, but wary and personally distant when dealing with others, and only interacted with those she chose to work with through the context of the theatre company. It was the one thing she threw herself into and obsessed over... as a way to stay sane... as the only thing that stood between her as a functional human being and someone incapacitated by fear and dread.
CORBEN ROH
Each night, the same dream... he struggles to reach her through a milling crowd, but when he finally touches her, the crowd parts, giving way to a masked gunman who shoots her in the head... when the mask is removed, his own face is revealed underneath... and as he jolts awake in his penthouse apartment, the ritual begins ~ Still dressed in his suit from the day before, he gets himself off the couch, sobers up with a strong cup of coffee, and prepares himself for another day at the office.
Having established his own architectural firm, he often found himself at ribbon-cutting events and fundraising galas, mixing with not-for-profits as well as corporate powers... all in an attempt to better the quality of life for others. In the public eye, he could do no wrong, perceived as a generous and socially-conscious pillar of the community. And he tried very hard to be a worthy person with everything he said and did, as if to atone for sins he never committed, but felt himself very capable of.
He found himself searching for something indefinable in the faces of all he met, as if seeking redemption in their eyes ~ but all he found were impenetrable hungry mirrors staring back at him, asking him for more, and still more.... He shook hands, smiled at photo ops, but steered clear of personal entanglements. At night, he went home to waver between an ascetic life on one hand, and a hedonistic one on the other, to then clean himself up and redouble his compensations in the public sphere once again.
As Day is Set
At Broken Dawn
A Coldness Stirs
The Dew is Gone
The City Smiles
Hand-Shaken Deals
The Towers Grow
The Public Reels
To Burn the Pain
And Lethe to Run
A Drink Turns Two
A Numbness Won
A Belly-Full
Of Fire Tears
Remorse, Regret
And Screaming Fears
At a certain age, his father initiated him into manhood by taking him to a prostitute. Sensing his son's uncertainty with the time-honoured tradition, the woman was paid extra to make sure the act was performed. As humiliating as this was, the sense of hollowness that followed was far worse. He should have been used to that by now... personal interactions that came down to following a script... and relationships that, in the end, were reduced to nothing more than business transactions.
When the new junior architect at his firm offered him an extra ticket to a theatre production, he hesitated. Normally, he would not have accepted social invitations from his employees, but the thought of going home that night and drinking himself to sleep wasn’t appealing. With the theatre packed and only single seating available, he found himself in the first row with no hope of being entertained. But the production engaged him as nothing else had, and he forgot everything about his false life, so immersed in the story being told on stage as if it were his own.
Up to now, she had lived in her little shell quite comfortably, predictably, with no one to break her open, no one to worm their way into her life, like they had in the past. But regardless of her thoughts on the matter, she felt herself stirring, as if something was calling from the inside, seeking to open up, like a child reaching out for warmth and connection. She reflexively felt herself constrict with anxiety and agitation at this emerging vulnerability. She was open once. She wouldn't make the same mistake again.
But the man in the audience startled her ~ his eyes on her, cutting through the haze of the spotlight ~ she hesitated, missed her cue, then stumbled and fell. He had taken her out of her performance and she hated him for that. A sprained ankle, nothing more. But she felt herself flush with humiliation as the doctor and a concerned troupe took her backstage. The vulnerable crack in her carefully crafted façade was starting to show and she was suddenly overwhelmed by the rage rising in her... the rage of being exposed... or was it the fear of being found?
One Faltered Step
Unlocks the Keep
Unwinds a Love
Unburied Deep
With Curtain Drawn
Performance Shed
The Past Descends
With Haunting Dread
A Twisted Knot
In Time and Fate
A Sight Upon
Unsteady Gait
Arm’s Length in Life
And Stolid Stance
A Crack Reveals
The Fragile Dance
She refused to see him when he sought her out that night, sending one of the others to deal with him instead. Later, he came to introduce himself at the dimly lit bar her troupe frequented after opening nights. 'I know who you are’ she told him stiffly as she ordered drinks, searing him with a look before limping back to her table. He left her alone then, to her relief and surprise.
Most of her 'fans' tended to be relentless and rather invasive, and past experience had taught her to be careful when dealing with anyone remotely interested in her. But unlike the others, he didn't force or push, and she wasn't used to dealing with people who gave her that space. It prompted a curiosity in her she never allowed before, because it meant moving beyond her enclosure. A slow unfurling had begun ~ an involuntary process she fought hard to stop...
He donated to her Company ~ money that was promptly returned, forcing him to make anonymous donations. The junior employee at his office noticed the increased interest in the theatre's lead performer and laughed, stating rather happily, 'She turns every man down' and not to bother himself about it.
But he couldn't let it go. Perhaps it was the sadness he sensed in her that drew him in, a hidden grief that mirrored his own. But it was more than that ~ her performance had expressed a living inner world that transcended his day-to-day reality. All his accomplishments and accolades felt stale in comparison to the new perspectives and possibilities she had opened his eyes to. For the first time, he felt alive, awakened to a desire that propelled him forward, like a beacon, to something beyond himself…
A Splintered Sound
From Distant Past
Tormented Tune
Outplayed and Cast
Aside from Sight
A Longing Worn
Of Mourning's Shade
And Loveless Born
A year had passed since he was invited to that first, fateful theatre production. He continued to anonymously donate money to the Company and regularly went to the shows, but seated himself at the back so as to not be seen. He always came alone to the performances, wanting to keep the experience private, his own, and loved the dark, hushed, intimate space of the theatre (so unlike his open and exposed office.)
At work, over time, he found himself catering less to public and corporate whims, and focused more on projects he deeply cared about. He would likely not receive any awards for the small stone chapel he just completed, tucked away in a side alley courtyard in the middle of the city, but it was his most personal and cherished work, inspired by a strange, verdant island he saw in his dreams.
Since he had stopped drinking, new insights and feelings surfaced in him, and he realized that alcohol had numbed his dissatisfaction and disgust, with himself and his culture at large. Now that he was sober, he could no longer disregard the tainted side of his life and the subtle corruption of those he was with ~ from the sycophants and opportunists, to those with darker intentions behind their smiles. He had seen his own worth reflected in their eyes, but now things were shifting in him and his sense of disturbance was more pronounced and harder to ignore.
The performances were harder to maintain now. Her heart wasn’t in her work anymore and the shows were no longer enough to distract her from the darkness that pulled at her each night and now seemed to spill into her waking life ~ a life that seemed more dream-like than ever. She found herself moving across the stage like a ghost, a shadow, playing her part, but feeling utterly disconnected from it.
It all seemed unreal as she herself felt unreal ~ her body did not seem to be her own, as though the flesh she wore was a costume, her name that of a character. She dreamt of looking at her face in the mirror and peeling the living skin off like a mask, holding it against the light and witnessing her signature at the bottom, among the cells. Dreams like this disturbed her, but she followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs some hidden part of her psyche had left for her to find.
She dreamt of being different people in different times and places, lifetime after lifetime, always running from something, some darkness ~ from the ghosts of her former selves perhaps, calling out to her with their pain, pleading for resolution and release. But no matter the face or the story, each dream life ended with the nightmare ~ of the void that threatened to swallow her whole ~ and each pathway of escape she took led her right back to where she started from.
As Shadows Sweep
The Streets Forlorn
The Sirens Call
The Dream is Torn
On Fortune's Wheel
Revolving 'Scape
On Stage the Thread
Is Spun to Shape
She was on stage, naked and silent, while the audience aggressively booed her. Stripped to her core, they no longer found her entertaining and left the theatre. They had rejected her, yet she still lived. She was alone, but she was herself now. Then the dark void opened up before her, and she woke up in a sweat.
Unwilling to go back to sleep, she went out to clear her head, aimlessly wandering the city. But it was almost noon and the noise of traffic, sirens, and construction assaulted her senses and she felt a wave of panic engulf her body. Desperate to escape, she ducked into a side alley and into the nearest building.
The moment the chapel door closed behind her, all was silence so sudden it seemed deafening. Insulated from the chaos outside, the stirred-up sand bed of her psyche began to settle and she relaxed, finding the space inside empty. The structure rose up like a canopy of trees, each detail carved in wood and stone. The altar was held in a cave-like hollow, a font of clear water at its center, illuminated from above by an oculus window.
As she witnessed her reflection and touched the water, her mind was suddenly still and clear. Infused with a memory beyond time, her own energy reverberated back to her like a bell, and she heard herself from the inside, “What now?” ~ Then all went dark.
A solar eclipse obscured the light and she felt the void before her in waking life. Only this time, she didn’t turn away. She moved through the darkness, expecting oblivion, and yet, as parts of her were spun away, stripped to her core, she found something still remained, and saw with new eyes all the guises and roles for what they were ~ shadows dispelled like fog in the morning light, old stories and identities shed like a snake skin.
He was in a boat upon a dark sea, alone with the stars. Then the air grew cold and a tsunami wave overshadowed the night sky and washed over him. He woke up soaked in sweat and with the iron weight of dread in the pit of his stomach that would not subside as he prepared for the office.
He fired the junior architect that day. He had given the young man many warnings about his derogatory and abusive behaviour toward the female staff, but as these went unheeded, the consequences were clear. When the decision was made final, the young man’s affronted and indignant manner suddenly turned cold and hard, as if a switch had flipped in him and he became another ~ a man from another time ~ a man who had been his superior and that he had usurped….
The weight of dread turned in his stomach. But this felt sense was interrupted as the phone rang, and the meeting itself was ended. He was caught off guard by her call and her request to meet at the square to discuss his chapel project. Tension gave way to hope, the dread forgotten.
The public square seemed to glow that day and was enjoyed by many people when he arrived. He was surprised when he saw her by the old fountain, her expression now changed, her face softened, and he found himself stumbling over his words as they spoke. Distracted, he did not notice the junior architect coming toward them. Then the shot rang out, and a hot wetness seared through his abdomen.
People screamed and scattered. She knelt beside him, pressing on the wound as he bled out on the sidewalk... as the young man stood over them with a twisted scowl and raised the gun to the back of her head. The dread engulfed him then, knowing that, once again, he would lose her and could do nothing to stop it. The shot rang out a second time, and all went dark ~
...like a gaping mouth, the void opened...
...here, inside, all was dark and silent...
...only the eye remained...
...and it blinked, as if to ask...
~ What Now...? ~