These last few days have passed as one,

with sleep avoiding me as my eyelids have avoided each other.

The aged floorboards creak loudly in this empty room

as I wander in a daze toward the half-open window.

A slight breeze enters just then,

causing the collection of empty glass bottles and mason jars on the sill

to sing as it passes over them,

the lips of which have long since felt

the softer touch of lips of a different kind.

They now stand old and forgotten

like the trees outside,

whose bare winter limbs sway like the arthritic fingers of antique people

who wait longingly to be looked at

one last time.

The breeze dies down,

but in its absence I notice the dust motes

dancing slowly in the slanting light of the setting sun.

They pass between my fingers

like tiny creatures of time gone by 

and memories long forgotten.

And suddenly the bags under my eyes feel heavier,

the shadows of dreams unrealized;

it’s been so long since I’ve dreamt.

My thoughts are scattered and fragmented

as they stumble through the mountains of my mind,

but with the disappearing sun

comes the exhaustion I’ve been searching for.

As I lie in the dark blue dusk of the forthcoming night

the record that’s been playing softly in the corner ends,

and finally sleep finds me in the quiet static.

Once upon a time, long, long ago (billions of years, to be exact . . . ok, it’s not exact, but it’s a general period of time in the larger scheme of things), the sun was floating around in the daytime sky. Now this may not surprise you since the sun is still doing the exact same thing today. However, it may interest you to know that there was no moon in the night sky, and the sun saw this as a serious issue.

Another fact you may not know is that the sun is a psychic being, seriously. So while Earth was basically just a ball of gases at this point, the sun could see that eventually people would inhabit the planet, and they would want a moon to light their way down the metaphorically winding path that would be their existentially frustrating lives (they would also just want something to light the driveway at night when they took the garbage out). Knowing what it did, the sun could see only one conclusion: CREATE THE MOON.

So the sun worked relentlessly for weeks, never tiring under the heat of, well, itself. The sun sculpted and molded and carved and eventually the moon was finished. It was an an awkward looking grayish sphere that for some reason had these crater things all over it (probably a few sun flares here and there, no big deal), but it was finished. The sun popped the moon up into the night sky, and it felt complete.

Now, all those billions of years later, that rocky little moon has been manhandled by our space shuttles and the horribly large boots of our space suits. It has been the subject of conspiracy theories wide and far. But at least it lights our way to the end of the drive at night (except, you know, for those couple of days every month where it gets lazy and doesn’t show up and you trip over a fucking cat or something and your trash goes everywhere).

(Two of the Orpheum’s ghosts encounter each other on the stage – both illustrious actors from the theatre’s past. Each considering themselves the greatest performer to have ever graced the 85 year old stage, they engage in a thespian duel.)

Pale-faced, impeccably dressed STANLEY SEETON paces the stage, whistling a tune with a smile on his face.

Another gent, MURRAY MACKINTOSH, dressed in the fineries of a more recent era enters, glides gracefully across the stage. Stanley stops dead and eyes the gent with scorn.

Stanley:  And whooo, may I ask, are youuu?

Murray laughs a condescending belly laugh that lasts uncomfortably long.

Stanley keeps trying to interject when the laughter dies down, but each time he does, the laughter rises up again and drowns him out.

Murray:  Little man, where have you been?

Stanley looks horribly affronted.

Stanley: Why, I’ve been right here, on this stage, where I belong.

Murray: Well, I’m afraid it’s time to take a bow and shuffle off dear chap. Make way for Murray Mackintosh! The finest actor of his generation. The Phantom of the Orpheum!

Stanley: What waffle! I’ve never even heard of you! It is I, Stanley ‘Slinky-toes’ Seeton who is the rightful haunter of this hallowed hall. And it is I whose name is more synonymous with brilliance of the theatrical variety. 

Murray: So prove it.

Stanley: Gladly, but how?

Murray: Rustle up a move or two. Show me what you got, twinkle-toes!

Stanley: Oh, I’ll show you alright!

Stanley performs an awe-inspiring medley of dance moves.  Murray looks on, unimpressed. Stanley ends with a flourish, out of breath having given it his all. He waits to hear the verdict.

Murray: I’ve seen better.

Stanley: And what’s so special about you, then, Phantom?

Murray smiles, smug.

He belts out a tune with impeccable tone and spine-tingling timbre.

Stanley is obviously impressed but tries to hide it. Murray ends on a final, roof-raising note and turns to Stanley, cocky. Stanley shrugs.

Stanley: I haven’t heard such a racket in here since American Idol!

Murray looks hurt, his ego pierced.

Murray: Well, that’s not a very nice thing to say.

Murray face crumples into a frown, and then he descends into full blown sobs.

Stanley: Oh..oh dear. I..I didn’t mean to upset you.

Stanley takes a handkerchief from his pocket, hands it to Murray. Murray takes it, blows his nose noisily into it, hands it back. Stanley looks at it with disgust, picks it up between two fingers, throws it offstage.

Murray: It’s not…you.

Murray struggles to speak between sobs.

Murray: It’s just…that…I’m so…lonely.

Stanley: Aww shucks, hey, it’s alright.

Murray: Hold me, Stanley.

Stanley puts his arms around the man awkwardly. He gets pulled into a bear hug.

Murray: I had a girl, Stanley. A real good girl. But, I didn’t treat her right - never told her how much I loved her.

Stanley: I’m sure she knew, buddy.

Murray: I slept with her sister.

Stanley: Oh.

Murray: And now I can never make it right. She’s moved on and I’m stuck here – doomed to duel with a dancing deadman for all eternity!

Stanley rolls his eyes, pats Murray on the back.

Stanley: Not stuck, buddy. I could leave any old time if so inclined.  But this is home for me. This is heaven. I can show you where to go, though - where to find your little lady.

Murray wipes his teary eyes, childlike.

Murray: You can?

Stanley nods.

Stanley: But how about me and you rustle up a little something before you go. You know, I think we woulda made a fine double act.

Murray smiles.

Murray: It would be an honour.

They perform a song together, a musical match made in heaven.

They bow. Then, Stanley escorts Murray off stage right, waves him goodbye.

Stanley is alone again. He sits on the edge of the stage, happily looking out at the beautiful theatre, whistling the tune they just performed.

The curtain closes.

NOTES

Of course, the skills in question can be altered to fit the skills of the actors - ie - both could be singers, both could be dancers, one could recite shakespeare and the other could do a comedy act etc etc.

Maybe when Murray mentions his love her face could appear on-screen, all dreamy and soft-focus. When Murray 'moves on' we see him join her on-screen then all turns white.

There was an awkward moment when the salt cheekily asked the pepper to give him some sugar.