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She awoke to the clip-clop, clip-clop of her horse drawn carriage as it ambled past the entrance to the opera house. Is this-?
Yeah, this is the place. Tuesday night you have Julius Caesar; Hamlet is on Friday.
Pressed against the glass, her face strained to take in every detail of this facade. She spied front doors made of alabastor arched together towards an apex eight feet off the ground. She hurled herself out the door, forward to the arabesque form in front of her.
No handles. This monstrosity must weigh a thousand pounds! She thought to herself. She braced against the pavement leading to the prominence before her, and gave the mighty portal a push to test the weight.
Wait! She heard someone say.
The right door gave way instantly, leaving her no time to regain her balance. She kissed the deck with the same wild-eyed incredulity felt by so many others who went before her.
I tried to tell you before you sprang out of the moving vehicle that the doors are made of polystyrene! He said breathlessly.
So they were. The behemoth had to be at least 12 inches thick and coated with resin to keep its rocky appearance. Neat trick. She pushed the door shut using her left index finger only.
She got up, turned, and faced the stage. So little to see, here. Flood lights protruded from the belly of a dozen columns jutting out of each wall from the entrance to the front row. Each wall jutting out a little less than the last one, as one gets closer to the stage. She stepped in the aisle. Clack. The sound reverberated off the ceiling, the walls, and sent its message across the floor. I am here. She scuttled into the middle row and took a seat, wondering where that man had gotten to.
Clack, clack, clack. His ponderous stride across the stage commanding the girl's attention. The acoustics here are phenomenal. "Meineid rächt sich!" He bellowed to show off the carefully crafted form of the amphitheatre as well as his place in it. And so he was. The stage elegantly surrounded by a cascade of three portals, frames within frames. No hint of austentation, everything here had purpose to entertain for maximum effect. Purposed purposelessness.
"Why don't you come up here, and give me a dry run of Caesar's funeral oration, hmmm?"
Moments passed. Everything up was down. He was in the seat she once sat in; she peering in at him; now, he peering in at her.
ahem "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar..."

"Brutus is an honourable man" He awoke to the words spoken so long ago, rolling across the guilded creek like a morning glory. While struggling to bring his world into view, he ran a finger over his cracked lips and felt the parchedness in his throat. He did not remember sleep, nor does he ever remember dreaming. He comes here for some measure of sanctuary, in the sound the river makes as it pours its body over every rock and pebble. The eddies such a stir should make, wondering about other rocks and pebbles he cannot see whether they, too help stir the waters into its potent admixture. That unfathomable, moist breath of life. All creatures come from it, are sustained by it, and to it all of them shall return. He held out a tin cup, a beggar for thy bread. Once full, he took a sip.
~HURRCSHWOBHBH He slurped the fresh water into his mouth and drank it.
ahem. Brutus is an honorable man. He sat back, rested his head on his knapsack, with his tin cup laying on his chest. He felt full again.
After awhile, he unconsciously streched his arm out toward the riverbank and dug his fingers into the ground. Just rubbing the rocks against his skin remedied him of all opinion. He gave a strong exhale and plunged his arm farther into the rocks, where the sediment drifted into the flow of water. He turned his head to study the contour on the other side. Was there only one? Pondering the question, he listened to the water gurgle past his fingertips. No, there are many. He thought to himself. As his gaze moved from the distant shorelines to the closer ones, it became harder to tell where the river stopped and rocks started. So too, he felt this indifference to sensation. An indistinction between the pebbles next to his fingers and the waters they shared. His mind was in his hands, now.
He felt a tickle. Some animal upstream was stopping for a drink. He looked up and saw a 6-point buck stooped over its haunches, lapping up the waters rolling over the nearby rocks.
Just then, he saw a flash of light. It came from off in the distance, level with the treeline. It was the middle of the afternoon, so that could mean only one thing: hunters. Somebody just opened their scope and is now focusing in on their target. He was able to see the reflection of sunlight off the glass which meant he was at least in the approximate line of sight. Everything he had on was a neutral color and blended in to the environment. They probably could not see him. This was not good.
Without making any sudden movement, he slowly thrust his boots over his head to land on his feet in a squatting position. Grabbing his knapsack in front of his feet, he tiptoed his way behind the nearest pine, never taking his eyes off the deer. It looked directly at his position, waiting. When he was behind the tree, he traced back the position of the hunters to find someone flashing a red light in his direction. I see you. Good. Now that he was out of danger, he could watch the kill.
A muzzle flash! The shot rang out over the hillside. The animal staggered back towards the trees. Two figures, one a lot shorter than the other stood up. A father and son, probably. They tracked the blood trail over to the crippled figure. He hoped they bagged their game. In the meantime, he had to return to civilization. His girlfriend had a play tonight, and he had to look presentable. He hopped on his diamondback, put the bike in 3rd gear, and headed home.

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