Short Story-- An Audience of Corpses

The minute hand has never moved slower. Maybe it’s because I have been staring at it for way too long. Or maybe it’s because the only feeling inside of me right now is a burning dread that has slowly been tearing at my insides, like magma seeping through my veins. How many unblinking eyes are burning through the crimson velvet before me? How many hearts stand still inside their cold, sickly cages as they wait? The air is suffocating. Unbreathable, almost.

Despite my greatest efforts of not inhaling through my nose, the putrid stench still somehow finds its way in. My own heart is a hammer, pounding inside my chest as though it wants to break free, and suddenly, after all of the dread and all of the suspense and all of the waiting-- it is time. The tall curtains swing open abruptly and violently and a blinding light makes me quickly turn away. Looking down at my bare feet, I slowly inch forward, dragging my shoes across the stage. The silence is painful; it makes my ears throb. I want to turn back. I want to go home. Why can’t I go home?

As I near the edge of the stage, my gaze travels upwards, allowing my eyes to adjust to the excruciating light. My intestines intertwine and my limbs shake and I feel like I might faint. In front of me is an audience, rows and rows of seats, made up of pale, lifeless beings. In each seat is a corpse, in each corpse are a pair of eyes, unseeing yet simultaneously staring straight into my own. In the places their ears once were are now empty, bloody holes. I jolt awake.

~~~

I struggle to gasp for air as I sit up, shivering in pools of my sweat. My skin is covered in goosebumps. Apparently I’ve been biting my tongue in my sleep; my blood tastes metallic. I can see, through a crack in the curtain, that the sky has turned from pitch black to a sort of deep blue.

Unable to return to sleep, I step out of bed, still shaking, and forcefully push open the curtain. The sun hasn’t risen, but there is already some daylight. I stare out blankly at the landscape outside. Green fields transform elegantly into rolling hills, The shimmering leaves on the aspen trees sway softly in an early summer breeze, and dainty little birds begin their song already. The tranquility of the view contrasts my state of mind greatly, but somehow helps to put me at ease. My breathing is steady now and I feel stable on my feet. I sigh.

~~~

The stillness of the room temperature glass of water on my counter is, for some reason, unsettling. It seems to be glaring up at me, begging me to drink. My body needs water. But instead I reach for the mug of black coffee sitting right beside it. I can feel its warmth as it slides down my throat and into my belly.This should cure my four hours of sleep,I think, knowing perfectly well that coffee isn’t a cure for sleep deprivation. I know I should go to bed earlier, but how am I supposed to fall asleep the night before such an important moment in my life?

I look over at my clock and see that the hands have made their way to eight and twelve. It takes me a second to realize that at eight o'clock I’m already running late, and when I do I nearly spit out my coffee. I grab my purse and keys and start to make my way towards the door. With my hand on the knob, I pause, turning my head slowly back in the direction of the kitchen. After a brief moment of contemplation, I run back towards the kitchen table and gulp down the second half of my lukewarm coffee. It’s time to go.

~~~

I push my way through a crowd of waiting people. My heart is racing. A man in uniform sees me struggle and calls me over to him. He leads me backstage. I can see disgust in his eyes and desperately want to reciprocate it with a glare of contempt, but I remain mature and polite. When we reach where I’m supposed to wait, he gestures towards a wooden chair that looks like it could be a hundred years old. I sense it might collapse if I so much as touch it. But still, I turn and thank him with a smile before he grumbles and walks away. What a lovely man. I look back down at the sorry excuse for a chair and decide it would be best to remain standing.

Another uniformed man approaches me and begins to explain what I’m to do once the curtain opens. Unfortunately, I don’t hear a word he is saying. My mind is preoccupied-- anxious thoughts are drowning out his voice.

I can hear voices, impatient voices, which I presume belong to the audience. A nervousness stirs inside of me, bubbling, sluggish, and hot. I can feel my limbs go weak, so I try to focus on the individual threads that make up the red curtains in front of me. The air feels thick again. I am suddenly overwhelmed by the countless parallels between my nightmare and this very moment. I try to breathe. Then, without warning, the curtain is pulled open and the chattering voices go silent.

~~~

I stand on the stage now, before real, living men-- not those lifeless bodies from my dream. I begin to relax a bit. As I make my way towards the front of the stage, a rush of chills is sent down my spine-- I know that not a word I speak will ever erase their prejudice. As I stare into what feels like millions of judgmental eyes, I shiver. A single drop of sweat runs down the side of my face. Although seemingly impossible, I realize in horror that the nightmare that I had last night has become my reality.