[dominique a]: 41.Oyster Theatre

Oyster Theatre.

There was a theatre. Before you say anything, considering the people, the location, the methods and the pay, thank god there WAS a theatre. In any case, there was a theater. Askinfor Trou- Bell was a worker. Don't ask me what she was doing there or how she got there, as the best answer I can provide is bad fate, and even that only applies if you're a believer in fortune, but there was a theater and Askinfor was working in it. "It is a funny irony how my biggest dream is to be instead of the people I am forced to watch do what I want to do most"... So she would tell herself often. "Shut your mouth, Askinfor!" Don Co- Rely- on-eh yelled from across the hall. "Shut your mouth, we must begin now!" Askinfor heard the command and obeyed- Collar pulled up to her nose, zipper zipped shut, and there, she is ready to do her thing.
"The only way to get somewhere is by understanding you can't get ANYWHERE."


"Is your mouth shut properly?" A tall smoking boss looked down at her. "Hum hmm"- she answered- "Yes sir", she unzipped herself to reply and re- shut herself immediately.
Done Corelyone. A gigantic two person- person with one head where your head would normally be, another head where your OTHER head would in SOME cases be (Yes... that head) and two arms that could do nothing for either one of them heads, yet as you are soon to discover were particularly efficient at strangling their employees. If the many servants would leave them alone to feed themselves, brush their own hair and wipe their own noses, Don Corelyone wouldn't last a week. If any of the servants had ANY brains, they would do just that. The only brainful worker who wouldn't was Asky, because it is her literature duty to be there.


Still holding the broom in her hand she took a minute to enjoy the sights of the stage and all that was happening on it. The Ebony darkness around had little chance against that blue hallow that came pouring out like a dying star in the middle of a big nothing. By the color of the light she realized she was watching the "Armsters".


It seems unwise to me, almost against any artistic logic to allow someone to be standing with a broom in the same hall where a bunch of armless faggets in tuxedoes are dancing. Think about it: There are only two lighted spots in this giant black nothing- One of them is this shinny gay fiasco and the other- the all mighty servant swiping dirt.
Furthermore, the dancers have been spending hours in front of the mirror messing with their somewhat over shampooed hair while the servant has not seen a shower in weeks, yet both seem to end up having the same haircuts... to die for.

Of course, this has all meant very little to Asky as her thoughts were still deeply in the process of...
In her mind she kept playing past conversations back and forth, back and forth. Vicious dreams of tormenting her in response to her total admiration, in the disguise of sweet words, corny promises and oh was she offended being thought to be SO stupid and SO blind.... So this is all a game... you just want to play... You know, play, to make our own lusts come true, to make our own life richer and better...
You do not play with people's feelings... it is NOT a game, or a rather destructive one it is, if so... It is not RIGHT, but it is OKAY...
Let us play, DEAR....
She had long ago had enough of a somewhat STRIKING attitude that she, maybe in the blindness of love or the desperation of desire had put up with. Tired of stripping herself to the bone the way she would do with NO ONE, only to run into a COLD, APATHETIC response, comments that are less than accepting and crumbs of warmth enough to keep her on her toes but just barely. EVERYBODY wants to feel LOVED. Not DESIRED. She had had plenty of that... EVERYBODY, as does she.
Too much for something is bad enough. Too much for nothing is unacceptable.
But of course, she will be weary and longing the next time he comes, if he comes, and these thoughts will crumble faster than this theatre is probably going to.
She's trapped. He has the advantage of knowing the buttons. She by now was under the impression he didn't even have any.
But she knew he did have them, yet she was too young, to inexperienced and far too desperate for him to push them even if she had known. Fine... have your way...
But see, she knew that even at these thoughts she was doing them both wrong, even though she WAS angry, very much so.
The main problem with asky was that even though her mouth was shut, SHE believed she knew too much.

In the bathroom is where she finally crashed. She CANNOT feel sorry for herself. She MUSN'T! It is against everything she's learned, and everything she believes in, and she probably has no reason to. But she does, and she is sitting there on the floor like the pitiful person she is. There, with the stench of urine and a few wet spots next to her, there she feels at home. But something of her refuses to accept it as right, the BEST part, the parts that he had seen and approved of, and she enjoyed it so much she can't even remember if she likes these parts herself or only because he likes them. But she's asking herself, and asking the RIGHT questions. Aren't you even a little bit disgusted with yourself? No one is appreciated right from the start, do you hear me? It echoes well here between four walls and a toilet, doesn't it? NO ONE, and by sitting here you are giving up. By being jealous of everybody around you, you are giving up. By being vicious to everyone he is friendly with you are giving up. By being vicious at all- you are giving up. And when you go to bed at night you're restless and desperate, and you know why? and if it was someone else talking to her instead of her own self, the someone would place their finger under her chin and lift her head up- Because it is not LIKE you to give up. Someone else, yes, maybe anyone else... But not YOU.
So if you have to cry do it now, do it by a note, because in 5 minutes somebody out there is going to need you to swipe the floor or something. And there between the urine drops she had let go and cried and not out of viciousness, or for someone else to see, or for anyone else to judge or for anyone else at all, but for herself. She's scared. She's tired, and she wanted to get a grip. And she's okay, for now. The bathroom door slammed behind her.

The only way you can get somewhere is by accepting that you can’t stay where you are forever