Author's Note: Hello! Another installment for you! This one I've decided to throw in at the last minute, as a bit of fun filler. Also, its part one of a double post. I'll post another chapter tomorrow afternoon-ish. This is my apology for making you guys wait so long. Its been about a week since I last updated, right? For that, I apologize. My new job wore me out quick last week, haha.

I'd like to give a shoutout to Feathered Filly and Appolik for their amazing reviews and great support! And totallyPSYCHED for always reviewing on pretty much every chapter. The rest of you who review and add me to your favorites/alerts are awesome too! Totally appreciate it!

I just finished my totally-out-of-my-comfort-zone story The Two Times Arthur Tried to Kiss Ariadne yesterday, so go have a read!

Now, on with the show and don't forget to leave a review!

Disclaimer: I own only my own plot.


If the world was a stage and the people merely players, then Saito's life had become an unending theatrical display that not even Shakespeare could have imagined.

For what seemed like days now, he'd been sitting in a blackened theatre, frozen in place, watching the men on stage exaggerate, dance around, and emotionally recite oaths of love, hate and revenge. All while the invisible audience around him roared in laughter and cheered on the faceless performers.

He had a feeling the performers' faces were there, painted on in bright vibrancy, since the ghosts around him acted in such a manner that was only appropriate for the pretty faces. But he saw nothing but blank skin.

As if crevices had been filled in and bumps were smoothed away.

Canvases for any artist to build upon.

His secrets, his past, were on display for the world to see. He never thought his life could make a good sewamono but he was proven wrong. He could feel the packed room press down on him, the heat from the invisible bodies encasing him and weighing him down.

Whenever he tried moving, leaving, it was like ropes made of barbed wire were holding him in his seat. Like a brace kept his head in place and always looking to the stage. Hands would hold his shoulders down, pressing their fingers, heavy like lead, into his skin, seemingly trying to get down to the bone.

And now the first act was to begin again.

The smallest actor, who was portraying his own child-like innocent, pranced around the stage, reciting his lessons from his father. Behind him, unknown, two actors paying his parents, fought violently, the scuffles from their sandals drowned out by dramatic drums. With one final strike, his "mother" fell, and the "father" wept openly over her body. The little boy ran to them, hearing the wails and began copying his father until the servants came and carried the body away.

In the pit of his stomach, he felt a sense of numbing dread.

Like his subconscious was saving him from these faceless people.

Demons in the form of people, sucking out is soul through his memories.

The next act started.

The little boy was grown nearly.

Sitting outside with a prettily-dressed girl. Lovers, enraptured with themselves.

Caresses, whispers. Giggles, secret smiles.

And the world coming and crashing down.

Just as it always must for him.

Tragically, as audience members take their cue to shout to the actors, the young woman takes her life. Irrevocably changing her sweetheart with her last gasp of breath.

And for a moment, which made his struggle against his bonds, Saito thought he could see tears fall down the actor's blank face. The mask washing away. And he could see his mouth, seemingly pulled down for ever.

Act three featured himself, an adult and running his successful company. Gathering his empire, his wife (who he was fond of, but she could never truly be her. She knew this.), and his accomplished plot against the Fischer corporation.

The invisible audience pressing down on him hissed and booed, screamed and shouted at the fantastical feats of the people he had employed.

The fourth act made him tremble, the restraints cutting into his skin and blood drip drip quickly to the carpeted floor.

He wanted to scream, but his mouth felt full of cotton and acid. Like bitter cotton candy that made his tongue curl and want to writhe and hide in his throat. The ghosts around him would press around him, hold him down more, covering ever inch of his body.

And he would choke and and hyperventilate and scream more, unable to breathe, see.

Saito would black out and then wake up soon after.

Once more, staring at the scene of the little boy, weeping over his dead mother's shell.

No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up at the start.

Blocked.

Afraid. Too afraid to see how the final acts would end.


A/N: Don't be shy, leave a review! They make me smile! ;-)

Story recommendation this chapter is Capitulation by A. Annie .N