Dinning with the Devils

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts...” –William Shakespeare

It is a dark setting in front of two dozen men and women, or less. The lights lit up at centre stage where a round table and four chairs sit. The actor and actress hurry into the scene. The man in front of the woman is holding a plate of rice, in the late fifties perhaps, has a mean demeanour. The woman at the back tails along, looking about the same range of age.

“Shut the f*ck up!”

“No, I...”

“Just admit it, you f*cked up!”

“Wait, but-“

“Just admit you f*cked up b*tch! The facts are there, just f*cking admit it.”

“...”

The audience, numb struck by the fiery opening scene, stood still in their seats, said nothing. All eyes are fixated upon the scene on the stage, anticipating another blow up, awaits for clue of the explosive entrance; yet there was only silence. Another actor enters the scene, with him is presumably the order of the lady. He lays it down in front of her.

The man and woman continue to dine, albeit the man’s body language suggests that he is still unhappy with whatever that happened. The sound of his spoon and fork clunking against each other angrily, as though expressing his displeasure, his stare from the corner of his eye suggest contempt against his wife- who kept her head down the entire time, dejected by the outburst. A hint of tears erupting from the corner of her eye, but it is too far and too faint for the audience to see.

The awkward silence ensued. The audience, who did not know how to react, chose to ignore the outburst, took down mental notes to gossip upon leaving.

As the drape falls upon the stage, the lights lit up, everyone stood and walked away. The scene comes alive in the bewildered audience head as one turn to another, whispering soft enough for one or two words to slip out; judgement is inevitable.