THE EYES OF THE CONDUCTOR
As the third movement swelled everyone in the audience was once again struck with wonder as the Siren Song Opera House ghosts effortlessly flew the air. The men felt light, phantom, touches on their cheeks and were seduced by the chanting of the ghosts.
The chandelier swayed from the paint chipped ceiling. Shadows danced around the walls of the hall. It was as if the spirits of the crowd waltzed with the ghosts from a time long forgotten. A time before the war took the lives of so many innocent people. They were countless in number and the streets of the city were still covered with pleas of help to find missing loved ones.
It was easier for the grievers to believe their family members and friends were still believing so the fliers remained through the four seasons and became thin and tattered like old parchment.
The third movement swayed in time with the chandelier as the conductor descended into the audience. Long, arthritic looking fingers reached out. Sharp fingernails dug into the flesh of some people in the front few rows. Their eyes remained glassy and they felt no pain.
The conductor finally found the one he was looking for and grabbed her silk gloved hand. She rose without protest and a bright white light focused on her. Her blonde hair turned platinum. The man sitting to her left frantically started to applaud. A quick glance from darkened eyes; the eyes of the conductor quieted he man instantly. He slipped back into reverie.
The young, pale woman was on stage and her head was placed in the shackle of a guillotine.
The symphony was playing with such intensity that the walls were visibly trembling from the power.
The blade fell.
The head removed.
The first sacrifice complete…
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