A tall man walks onto the stage from stage-left; he's wearing a top hat and a suit. The suit's jacket has tails and a crimson waistcoat can be seen where it opens. Though he at first looks dapper the audience can see that his clothing is frayed, ripped and scuffed.
He stands still before a mirror; his reflection is oddly still, more still even than he.
A soft, 'twinkly', piece of music can be heard in the background.
He raises his right hand.
An idea. The mixing and stirring of thoughts, images... The combining of the senses. To give birth to an idea is to bring about the most tantalising mix of the imagination and the real world, the things you hear, the things you see, the things you smell and touch. An idea is...
He turns, yet the reflection stays as it is, right arm up, head facing down.
Are you really seeing what is there? Or are you looking at the thing behind it all, the inspiration, the taste...
He thrusts a gloved hand backwards, his reflection steps out of the mirror to take it, right arm moving down slowly but still not looking up at the audience.
Do you believe in what you see? Or is it what you feel? An idea...
His reflection looks up slowly, revealing a female face. She unbuttons the jacket with her free hand before taking the top hat from her head, hair spilling out of it. She holds the top hat out to her side. On her face is extravagant make up not dissimilar to that of a mime.
The music gets louder, turning more orchestral as the Gentleman pulls his reflection into a dance.
An idea. Real as you and I. A pretty little thing, isn't she?
He lets her go and she spins, slowly.
It's only fiction, yet it's perfection. It's only a lie and yet it is the most beautiful truth. But with one whisper, with one flurry of a critical hand...
She spins faster as his voice gets louder.
One small disbelieving utterance, one wrong note in a song...
Faster still, she spins. His voice moves into a shout.
Just one! A slip of the tongue! An accident! A simple mistake...
She stops dead, eyes wide and staring at the audience. The music stops too as the Gentleman's voice changes to a whisper.
And it's gone...
She falls to the floor.
An idea is a feather, delicate and soft...
He looks towards the audience, as if he is looking past them, face softening and turning sad. He looks down at his reflection, heaves a sigh then looks at the floor.
The lights dim as the curtain slowly closes.
Go or Return to:
- Chimes Portfolio 2
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