"Cast party"the strange machine tells me"Goodnight"A click follows, the trigger of a gunI watch the bullet crawl towards me in slow motionThe trumpets signal its arrivalI never feel the moment the bullet strikes meMy body and mind react graduallySomeone in my mind kicks the sleeping stagehandHe awakens with a startle and begins to lift the ropeThe metal sun is replaced by a similar moon onstageThousands of tiny people sit in their chairs and type what they see. The typing gives me a headache.The tiny people describe what they see unfold onstage, an apparent tragedy"Shakespeare?" on whispers to the other, "I can't understand it. The lovers seem too passionate and the tone too versitile. It can't be anything I've ever seen before.""Shhhh, you're not supposed to think 247B12, your only job is to type."The freshly planted flowers onstage shrivel up and slowly die as the sun vanishes behind the gloom.A pause"Imagine what the cast party will be like?"-Goodnight-