Since tomorrow is Halloween for most of you, I figured I should post something relevant, something dark and, hopefully, a bit scary.

You’re in a single-room apartment where the last rays of light slip through the window and land on an old woman sitting on her rocking chair. She lives alone and forgotten. On her lap is her dog, a feisty and very protective little beast that snarls or bites anyone who dares come near her, or makes the dreadful mistake to walk outside the tiny and rundown apartment she inhabits. She has just put a record on the player – Verdi’s Nabucco – and a strong, crystal voice rises in an unpresedented crescendo.

On the wall facing her are photographs of herself at a much younger age, when the spotlights seemed like they’d never go dark, when fans flocked to her and others begged to be on stage with her. On the other side of the wall she has pinned newspaper articles from when they dragged her to prison, accused for murder. No one comes near her anymore. No one wants to know her. She’s all alone in the world. Except for her dog guardian.

The song on the record ends. It’s a live recording, so people applaud, a true standing ovation. The dog on her lap is calm. This song is almost second nature to it by now. The clapping from the record fades and eventually ends. Silence.

Except for the clapping sound in her small room that carries on. It’s coming closer.

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