The Throw-Aways. Chapter 1

Chapter One.

In the summer of the year I finally responded to the call that had followed me for half my life when I stumbled drunkenly upon a large, old building in the slums of the city. Amidst the tired buildings whose worn faces stared out onto the streets with a look of neglected sorrow, I found the most unusual theater. Its walls were lined with scenes of devils, scantily clad ladies, drinks that poured themselves, and green fairies dancing on a sea of yellow paint. Almost as if it has risen from the ground to greet me, it became suddenly visible to my muddled brain.
The music drifting faintly down the street lured me to the front doors of the theater. The double doors were covered in peeling, red paint and a hand painted sign proclaimed ‘CLOSED’ in bold letters. Closed or not, the doors were unlocked. I slipped between them and into the dark lobby.  A faint glow from a lamp setting atop a ticket seller’s desk lit the room in a hazy glow while old carpet lined the pathways to either side of where I stood. They showed the way to the two entrances to the main stage as far as I could tell.
I chose the one to my left, the floorboard protesting loudly as I wobbled towards the entrance. I was drawn in by the music, the beautiful, lonely, piano that echoed through the deserted theater and right through my body as if it were singing to me alone.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if it all were an illusion, brought on my over indulgence of drink for the night; my surroundings seemed so surreal. I finally tripped into one of the doors, giggling slightly as I fell against it. I pulled myself up and peered through the tiny round window near its top-A blurry, small view of a different world beyond the door is what it offered. Perhaps I was being a bit dramatic, but then I was drunk and that’s one thing drunks do best " Make everything overly dramatic.
From such a distance it was hard to make out the stage. Only the outlines and bright colours of the woman’s costume told me she was there. She was dancing elegantly to the piano, tattered strings of her skirt floating around her legs.
I opened the door slightly, slipping through the crack with some trouble " I wasn’t exactly a paper thin model or even mildly thin for that matter. I crouched down in the nearest row of seats, peeking over the worn, red backs to watch what was happening. I could see now that the woman was dressed as some kind of spirit; perhaps a demon or a fairy of some sort. She wore bright, orange feathers in her long, blond hair. Gliding around the stage, her feet moved as if they had done this a thousand times and, I reminded myself, she probably had. 
The tempo of the music changed; it picked up, becoming faster as the woman began to twirl in circles. Her torn skirts whipped around her legs in a dizzying motion as a violin joined the piano in song. 

And then the music stopped completely.

  For a moment I wondered if I had gone deaf. The woman on stage had frozen mid spin, as if someone had pressed ‘pause’ on the entire scene. Only the gentle sway of her hair and clothing showed there had been movement at all. There was low, mournful cry of a violin and its slow rhythm enticed another creature onto the stage.
Another woman, bent low to the stage, crept toward the other. Her features concealed under the face of a fox and her red hair twisted into braids that crept over her shoulders. She balanced most of her weight on her palms as she extended one, long, muscular leg out and pulled herself forward. Repeating the process, she crept silently towards the other woman who was blissfully unaware of her presence.  It was like watching a being made of pure liquid; I was enthralled by the way she moved so elegantly and with such poise.  Her movements seemed so fluid it was almost as if I could not see where one began and the other ended. The purple lights of the stage glinted off of her skin, turning it a shade of blue which only helped define the tone of her arms and legs. She looked as a dancer should - Beautiful and powerful with the litheness to make a god jealous.

  The piano picked up again, faintly this time, emphasizing the steps of the Fox. The other woman remained ignorant as she reached out a fragile looking arm to examine a handful of flowers that adorned the set. The music swelled then, the Fox coming dangerously close to the woman; the piano picked up and both it and the violin were joined by the magical sound of panpipes.  The Fox rose to her feet, straightening her back as her arm went to her waist line. There was a flash of silver and my brain began to spin. I had to remind myself I was watching a play, an odd one, but a play none the less. 
The Fox moved quickly, almost a blur as she spun behind the woman. My mouth opened in a silent warning to the other of the fate that was about to befall her. Not that it would do any good. I told myself to stop being so silly.
She was holding her around the waist now, the blade held to the hollow of her neck. The Fox threw a devious smile to an audience of ghosts and pressed the blade in. I felt my stomach give a sudden lurch as I saw a trickle of blood run down the woman’s neck. The Fox looked amused, perhaps playing off of the non-existent audience’s gasps. She paused for a second before dragging the blade across the woman’s neck and I felt a scream stick in my throat.

I have seen many attempts at gore and false violence in my day, but never anything to this extent.

  The woman’s head fell back, resting against the Fox’s shoulder as blood poured from her slit throat. I could see sparkling bits of white and yellow " Cartilage and bone exposed to the lights. My stomach gave another shudder and my mouth began to water as all the alcohol in my stomach decided it didn’t want to be there anymore. I held it down, just barely, watching the life pour from the woman.
The Fox dropped her to the stage floor and she lay in a crumpled heap.
My mind began to race as my heart picked up speed. Something told me that what I had just seen was not an act. It was too real, too life-like to have been even the best of Hollywood effects.
She was dead; murdered in front of people who did nothing to help.
I fought with myself " Half of me wished to run, to check and see if she were dead yet or if there was still a few moments to get help. But my still sensible half told me this would be idiotic. If she really were dead then I had just witnessed a murder and I doubt that a room full of accomplices would likely let me get their victim help. So I stayed in my hiding place, gripping the back of the chair until my knuckles turned white and my heart tried to escape through my nose.

  The music played on as if nothing had happened at all. I pried my eyes from the immobile body on stage, looking now to the direction of the melody. I cursed it now, rather than admire it, for leading me in this damned building to see such a thing. I decided the man at the piano was the one to curse most of all since it was the piano that had called to me so.
He sat with his back to me so that I could see nothing of his face. His hair was a volume of thick, black curls that seemed to be trying desperately to free themselves from the strip of white cloth he had them tied back with.  He wore a plain, white shirt which was pulled tight over his hunched shoulders and I could see every muscle move in his back as he played.  I pulled my mind away from the thought of just how nice it would be to see what was under that shirt, and possibly those trousers also.  I smacked myself; he’s still an accessory to murder.
Atop the piano sat another man, his legs crossed and his feet resting on the opposite knee. His skin was darker, tinged with red and tanned. It had an almost otherworldly glow in this lighting. His hair was long, longer than anyone’s hair I had ever seen, and it swayed in the faint breeze he created as he played the violin. Finally my eyes came to rest on a short girl beside the piano; the one who was controlling the mesmerizing panpipes. She seemed far too innocent looking to be a part of all this madness.  Such a rounded face and wide eyes made her seem somehow all the more dangerous. Her long, white hair was thrown up into a messy bun on the back of her head.

‘How can they not see what is happen right in front of them?!’  My mind screamed as the music began to fade, becoming barely audible.

  More people began gathering on stage, flocking to the woman’s body. They lifted her gently, cradling her head as if she were something so precious to them. As they whisked her off stage, I relaxed somewhat. They would help her, if there was any hope left for her by now.
When the Fox took the stage once more and the lights flicked to a normal white glow, I tensed again. The music had stopped and her masked was pushed up onto her forehead. I could see her face for the first time and though she wore a look of worry, I still wanted to slap her. Perhaps even strangle sense into the woman.  She looked so hardened, as if she had grown up far too fast and had never known the carefree nature of childhood.

“Was that any better?” She asked hesitantly, staring at the front row of seats.
I strained to see, catching on glimpses of a black hat perched atop someone’s head.
“Much, much better! Though…perhaps just a bit more embellishment there at the end next time.” It was a man’s voice that spoke, tinged with an immature squeakiness. I half expected him to burst out in childish giggles at any moment.
The Fox contemplated this for a long moment. “Shall we try is again then?”

‘No!’ I thought, ‘No more of that!’
My insides began twisting at the thought of witnessing two murders in a life time, let a lone one night.

“We’ll leave that up to Byron, I suppose...” The man in the front row’s words trailed off as the man atop the piano cleared his throat.
“Edgar…?” His voice was much deeper than I had expected.
The man, Edgar, turned his attention to the other. “Yes?”

“What the hell is the point of this play?” The darker skinned man’s voice was a tad harsh.
Even from where I hid, I could feel the tension in the room thicken at once.

Edgar’s demeanor changed drastically; his shoulders becoming ridged and his neck straight.  “Whatever do you mean, my dear?” He asked with the undertone that hinted of pure venom.
My eyes flicked back to the violinist who licked his lips nervously before speaking again. “Well…there are no lines, the plot is damn near impossible to follow…for the most part it’s just Byron and Ophie dancing on stage half naked. If I didn’t know any better,” He paused as the girl with the panpipes began to giggle, “I would think you were simply parading them around for the show. Have were turned into a whore house when I wasn’t paying attention?”
I imagined Edgar’s face turning several shades of red as the man finished what he was saying. The room had become deathly quiet, so much so that I feared they would soon hear just how fast my heart was beating against my ribs.

“Nirvana, my love, need I remind you … we are currently missing a writer…again?” Edgar’s voice was strangely calm as he spoke. “As it seems no one of you here have the talent to fill that particular vacancy, I suggest you shut the fuck up and focus on your goddamned music!” He had climbed to his feet as he spoke, each word becoming more emphasized as he moved closer to the piano.
Nirvana cringed visible and I wondered if, despite his much larger stature, he were afraid of the young man.  Of course, I was absolutely terrified of Edgar. Considering my situation at the moment, though, this was probably understandable.

“Byron!” Edgar spun on his heel suddenly and screamed the name in the direction of the stage.
It took every ounce of self control I had left not to scream or pass out as the dead woman stepped on stage.  She stood, grinning and whipping the blood from her chest with a stained rag, her neck as smooth as marble.  I could feel my jaw attempting to visit my feet, maybe have a cup of tea and discuss book reviews while it was there.
“Yes?” She questioned, her smile fading somewhat as her eyes landed on Nirvana’s frowning face.
“What do you think of my play?” Edgar snapped and Nirvana cringed once more.
Byron shifted her weight from foot to foot uneasily. “Well…” She started, “I…well…I find it rather silly really.”

In the seconds that followed, my mind had absolutely no time to process the information that a woman I had clearly seen  murdered in a way Jack the Ripper would envy was now standing in front of me.
Because in those few seconds, Edgar snapped completely.
The small man snatched a pencil from the clip board he clutched and with an unearthly strength, threw it straight at Byron’s head. The girl let out a scream that made me nearly lose control of my bladder as the pencil lodged firmly in her left eye.

Before I knew it, I had leaped to my feet without thinking, running as fast as my feet could carry me for the door.

‘That’s right! Get the hell outta here! ’ I congratulated my primal instincts of survival…right before I realized I was running towards the stage.
I let fly a string of curses that would make a sailor blush and priest cross himself. Rounding about, I attempted to switch directions; heading now for the exit rather than certain doom.

  However, my escape was cut short as the long arms of Nirvana wrapped around my torso. I slumped over, giving up completely as my brain registered defeat.  I was never much of one to put up a fight; my limbs had a tendency to turn to jelly when I had an adrenaline rush.
I lay limply over his arms, staring blanking at the strands of brown hair that lay over my face. I could feel the muscles of his forearms strain slightly under my dead weight as he turned me around to face the stage. My feet were off the floor and I dangled there like a rag doll held by an overgrown child. The thought that maybe the big idiot had broken my spine when he grabbed me floated through my mind. Well wouldn’t that be just lovely?

  I felt fingers slip under my chin, lifting my head and I looked into the face of another man. From the mess of curls, I figured out fairly fast it was the piano player. His dark eyes narrowed, he looked more confused by my presence than anything.  Behind him I heard a long, low moan from the stage as Byron climbed to her feet, the pencil protruding from her eye still.

“My God Edgar!” Byron shouted, touching the pencil tenderly with her fingertips. “I told you to never kill me without warning me first!”
My face must have shown the shock I was feeling - The pianist threw his head back and howled with laughter at me.  This succeeded only in making me rather annoyed with him.  I felt the sudden urge to shove a dirty sock down his throat.
Edgar ignored Byron; he stared intently at where Nirvana stood holding me. He quickly made his way to us, pushing the still laughing pianist aside.

“What have we here then?” He asked, as if I was actually going to answer him.
I considered pleading for my life, but my tongue seemed to be permanently glued to the roof of my mouth, so that was out.
Edgar’s face betrayed the same look of youth his voice did. He was smooth skinned and barely any sign of facial hair had me guessing him to be no older than fifteen. This struck me as bizarre, but then considering there was dead woman standing ten feet away, I’m not sure why. I should have been worrying more about what was about to happen to me rather than why such a young boy was controlling my fate. Adrenaline does funny things to my brain and I had been running on pure adrenaline since I entered this damn theater.

  “Oh for the sake of all the gods! Put her down Nirvana, I don’t think she’s in any fit state to run away!” The panpipe girl shouted as she pushed her way into the little group. She slapped at the man’s shoulders, which she could barely even reach. Nirvana did as she ordered and set me on my feet. His hands remained keeping my arms in a firm grip, which was a good thing " I probably would have collapsed without him holding me up.
  Edgar tapped his chin in thought. “What are going to do with you, hmm?”
‘Let me get the hell out of here?’
The man’s attention turned suddenly to the pianist and he frowned. “Jean-Pirie…stop that.”
With some trouble, the man managed to compose himself. I glared at him, which only made him snort slightly and grin.

“What the fuck is this place?!” My mouth seemed to cooperate finally and I blurted the question out without thinking. I lifted a shaking arm and pointed to the stage, to Byron. “She should be dead…again…”
The woman gave me a cheeky grin and pulled the pencil from her eye. It gave a sickening ‘pop’ leaving her eye socket and I felt my stomach attempt to relieve itself once more. If it hadn’t been for Nirvana, I would have toppled over completely when I saw that Byron’s eye was skewered on the pencil still. Long strings of veins and the slightly thicker optic nerve stretched from the socket to the eye itself.
She noticed this, too, after a moment. “Damnit Edgar!”

The woman picked her eye gently from the pencil and placing it over the empty socket, lifting her eyelid as if she were about to slip in a contact lens.  She pushed the mangled eye slowly back into place and blinked rapidly.

That was the finally straw for me. I slumped backwards against Nirvana as my vision faded to black.

‘ That’s alright,’ I told myself. ‘When you wake up in a cruddy, public bathroom stall you’re going to think this is fucking hilarious.’

Oh how I wish I had been right.