You look around. You see no sign of anyone. You walk onto center stage and look out over the rows of empty seats imagining a thunderous applause from a crowd long gone. You take a bow - something you had always wanted to do but never got the chance. You hear clapping from your right as a figure walks out from the shadows. It’s David.
“Bravo! Quite the performance you put on there.” David says grinning. “Come on, I believe a celebration is in order!” he says as he puts his arm around you. You look back over the imaginary crowd feeling a sense of pride and accomplishment for the work you’ve done.
You feel a searing pain in your side. As you look down you see the handle of a knife embedded in your stomach; blood beginning to soak your shirt near the handle - a small bit staining David’s fingers. You feel weak. Your legs begin to give out. And as your struggle to move, you notice the sudden lack of control you have over your own limbs.
“Sorry kid. You forgot the first rule of our line of work: trust noone” David says as he pulls the knife from you and lets you collapse to the ground. “And don’t worry, it’s just a flesh wound. It won’t kill you. I’m not heartless.”
You hear footsteps fade away, but they stop suddenly. “Oh, and an ambulance should be on the way. Shortly I hope.” You don’t quite catch the last bit as the sound of your own course breathing begins to drown out all else.
The lights fade as the curtain closes.