All characters enter the stage, get in position; and in the dark they whisper their own monologues, creeping and crawling in the self-imposed sea of loneliness . The darkness doesn't blind them, yet they refuse to see, while in the light they dance to a backwards Tschaikovsky. It's a frenzy ritual dance of memorized steps and ventricular synchronization, they are not sure of what comes next, so they stomp and twist. All while wearing their well rehearsed masks.

I get tired. I'm not just this character, I'm not limited to this script or the wrinkles in this mask. But the frenetic dance won't stop, they keep stroking and quibbling. It never stops. They dance through rain and shadows, even in repression. I fear the future, for I know that unless I ruin the entire play for everyone, we'll all dance to our deaths.

Anyway, the show must go on.