Narrator to an Unseen Audience

"Let's try this one first, shall we? Very well."

                                                (fade)

The setting sun throws a red blanket across the hill. Gentle breeze, scented with lilacs and musk. The grass is impossibly soft and still warm from sunlight. Murmurs, whispers and moans float in the air.

Your mistress reclines in a purple divan, identical to yours, a glass of red wine held negligently in two fingers of the hand draped over the back. She turns to you and says in a voice made husky with lust, "Make them do it again, darling."

A casual wave of your hand and the slaves pick themselves up from the grass, the youngest beginning to show signs of exhaustion. The word, "Again." drifts into the air and they begin anew.

You glance over; your mistress is drinking her wine, the sunset making a wavering dance inside the glass. She turns and smiles emptily at you.

                                                 (fade)

"No? Not quite what you're looking for? Very well."

                                                 (fade)

An electric thrum. The laser sword comes to life in a blaze of crackling blue fire and your arm begins to move in wide swaths, your foes falling dead before their screams can. (fade)

"No, I apologize, I can see that that won't do at all, will it. Let us try again."

                                                 (fade)

The fireballs rain down in a constant barrage, their hammering making pebbles bounce and the walls of the trenches shake. The sky is filled with black fists of cloud and the screams of the dragons from each side, tearing at each other.

The massed clumps of twisted corpses on the field speak eloquently of the power wielded by the enemy mages. The line of your troops between you and the enemy has thinned to a beggars hope and even as you watch, your warriors begin to break formation, most cut down before they can flee.

Sitting in the uncovered jeep, you and the sergeant watch the battle from the hilltop, he with binoculars, you with your unwavering eyesight.

"Don't look good, sir. They're flanking us and they already blew away our reserves." His hand drops to the gearshift in an unasked question. Your snarl is his answer. Standing in your seat, you raise your hands, the sleeves of your robes falling back revealing the black and red tattoos that writhe constantly across your skin. "I will settle this myself then."

                                                   (fade)

"No? Still not what you are looking for? Very well. You did specify something unusual, we will try again."

                                                   (fade)

A smile in the dark, invisible lips and sharp white teeth, perhaps those of a monster. A voice like a heavy file on hardwood.

"Ladies and gentlemen…Welcome to Merry Mary's House of Happiness."

The sudden glare of a spotlight, white and blinding as a finger to the eye. Seconds pass, as your vision clears. A figure, naked and trembling curls fetally in the spotlight, its hands held for protection over its head. The curve of its back is to you, you can see each knob in its shivering spine.

The voice again. "Tonights delights will begin shortly. This first piece, the artist calls, 'Deliver Me Unto Evil.' Concession stands will be closed during the performances.

The person sitting next to you coughs, behind you someone rattles their program restlessly. The smell of popcorn, the wet sucking of someone drinking with a straw.

A tall black woman wearing torn white fishnets steps into the wide circle of the spotlight. She carries an elongated cat o' nine tails in one hand, a canister of Morton's salt in the other. She walks in a slow stride around the curled figure, the cat tails dragging in the sand behind her.

You settle back into your seat, the sounds of the audience taper off and any remnants are soon covered by those coming from the performers.

                                                   (fade)

"Really now sirrah. We are trying to be accommodating, but you are taxing even our legendary patience. Very well, one more then."

                                                     (fade)

"Welcome to the Land's End." Her smile was mostly perfunctory, but there was a twist of something there in her eyes, some hidden pain or secret appetite that made her more desirable.

"Your room is prepared and all of the necessary supplies, including the knives and typewriters have been laid in. The others have all arrived and you may begin as soon as you all feel ready."

She hesitates a moment, then lowers her voice and asks, "Is there anything else that you might need?" One hand traces the neckline of her blouse as she speaks.

Your laughter holds an element of cruelty, but you don't answer. Picking up your suitcase, you take the key from the counter, turn and walk out, going to meet the others before unpacking.

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