Ficlet #1: Bored to Death
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.
Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
(Oscar Wilde)
The actor is beautiful. His mask, elegantly crafted by a lifetime of practices, eases him into the role he now plays. Righteous fury, skillfully wrought, invigorates his performance. Only his innocently wide-eyed glares call forth pity from the stoniest of hearts. Every movement he makes trebled with grace and poise. Every step defined, perfectly polished for the sole benefit of enriching his one-man act. He refuses to admit, he may have found the audience he desired.
How does one explain that boredom leads to death?
The audience is captivated. His tell-tale admiration increases when he recognizes the boy for what he is… a kindred spirit. A fellow actor, with only one equal. His own egotistical, childish attitude reflected on and off-screen by the suspect chained to him. The cameras offer him glimpses into the aspirations of Kira, and he cannot help but delight in the brilliance his act delivers. Only his carefully, constructed persona sharpens the paranoia building in the other's psyche. He alone can see the guilt, where others cannot or will not.