Stepping beneath golden lime and precious gaze he feels the thrill and roll of the plot beneath his cloven feet. Payed to please, prayer announces performance as curtain calls for action. Behind the shadow of an unbidden wall his eye falls upon those he knows, father and mother, brother and aunt, cousin, second cousin and displaced relatives beyond his memory. As words drip and froth at his mouth he can see without turning a downcast carving of solemn remorse, a mournful pity for the death of melodrama. The bit sticks beneath tobacco teeth and words fail him.
Now his eyes are closed, and behind him he sees nothing but tabloid ink and disapproval. Desperate he clings to a Method he does not know and in one final gasp he delivers a single word to end his hours of torment.
Opposite, a woman speaks and he knows he has been called upon again.
Benedict’s gorgeous word collage found its way to this plentiful field; your verbal creations would also be more than welcome to roam here. All you need do it open the gate: firstname.lastname@example.org (…what?)