by John Greiner

Cinema star of silence, his sideburns graying, not looking so Hollywood these days. Looks more like the long gone, salt of the sea admiral who drowned on the sands of ignoble shores. Still, he’s more or less the hero he imagined himself to be. Good thing that the mirror went down with the ship and all the crew of forgettable names whose mothers are so easily forgotten. Let the mothers weep in the perpetually darkened wings. He, without any great piece of private vanity to promote, was at a loss of where to place himself for the grand hubris performance for which he had no part. Being the only one in attendance he could have planted himself front row center, or in one of the boxes, but there was no reason to pay such prices, especially since no programs had been printed. For a man without a mirror to follow a spectacle so objectively personal without such a critical item as a program would be an impossibility leading to abject despair. His sideburns grayed a bit more, and the hair on the top of his head fell out. This would have been of minor importance except that the sun was rather hot this day. On days like this he felt a bit like an arrogant boy who’s played the game too long, unaware of the fact that all of his mates had gone off to the army, or the honeymoon beds, but this was a thought that he left behind the moment that he found shade. In the shade he had the strength of a biblical dupe before being conned by the ladies. Being that there were no ladies around, he was safe in the middle of the crumbling stadium.

JOHN GREINER is an American writer living in Paris, France. His short stories and poetry have appeared in numerous international magazines. More of John’s work can be found at http://baronandcrow.blogspot.com .