Introduction to the tale

Introduction to the tale - Book I

Author: * Jayne Cylon - 25 Posts on this thread out of 38 Posts sitewide.
Date: Apr 29, 2005 - 13:39

The curtain rose, and a hush fell across the audience. A solitary figure, dressed in a gleaming white toga-type outfit - the kind those Frat boys seem to love - stood with its back to everyone on center stage. Against one leg rested a golden harp (as if Jot…er…Jove gave us the budget for real gold! Ha!).

A disembodied, female voice suddenly sounded in the audience’ ears.

“Did you see that zit poor Jayne has? I hope our makeup artists are able to cover it. We can’t have Helen looking like that. Looks like Mt. Olympus at sunset…only it’s her nose. I know our makeup department is good…but are they that good?”

The person on stage twitched and waved a hand before it, as if trying to get someone’s attention after the first words were spoken. Obviously, no one paid the person any heed because another voice, a man’s this time, answered.

“That’s too funny!” he said as if trying to catch his breath from laughing. “Did you hear that Cornellia threw a fit when the security guards wouldn’t let her in with her chainsaw? After a lot of negotiation, she was allowed to bring it, after they had siphoned out the gas.”

“Would you two shut up?!” a third voice shouted. Your mics are on!”

The curtain was quickly closed, the solitary figure swallowed up once more by dark velvet.

“My nose is not that big!” a voice that sounded like it was from the stage shrieked. “How can I face my public now that they know about my blemish?! You, you…”

“I managed to siphon some gas out of the forklift.” another voice was heard to say as if stage-right. “I can take care of those two for you.” The sound of a cord being pulled could clearly be heard, then the roar of a motor.

“Nobody is going to do anything to anyone!” the director’s voice said. “The only one doing anything around here is the narrator. Now get your skinny little butt on stage and say your dialogue. And give me that thing before you poke someone’s eye out!” the sound of the engine was quickly cut short.

The audience gave a nervous laugh as the solitary figure, now holding the harp, walked onto center stage. She faced them and plucked a few notes on the harp. Only those close up could see her fingers tremble a little.

Then, she started to sing…

Sing, Goddess, sing of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus—
that murderous anger which condemned Achaeans
to countless agonies and hurled many warrior souls
deep into Hades, leaving their dead bodies
carrion food for dogs and birds—
all in fulfillment of the will of Zeus.

“He acts like a spoiled brat, if you ask me.” the disembodied female voice said again. A loud male chuckle soon followed. The singer with the harp sang the next verse more forcefully, trying to cover the sound of the rude stage hands.

Start at the point where Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
that king of men, quarreled with noble Achilles.
Which of the gods drove these two men to fight?

“The great Bob and Anne! That’s who! We are your masters, bow to us!” the disembodied male voice cut in.

The singer’s voice rose to an almost shrill pitch.

That god was Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto.
Angry with Agamemnon, he cast plague down
onto the troops—deadly infectious evil.
For Agamemnon had dishonoured the god's priest,
Chryses, who'd come to the ships to find his daughter,
Chryseis, bringing with him a huge ransom.
In his hand he held up on a golden staff
the scarf sacred to archer god Apollo.
He begged Achaeans, above all the army's leaders,
the two sons of Atreus…

“Ooooh! He’s so scary! I’m shaking in my boo-” the disembodied voices were suddenly silenced. Never to be heard from forevermore…