xX... I know you probably forgot about this story, but I haven't. I decided that I hated the ending and needed something better. Originally this chapter was going to be Zack's suicide note but I've decided to opt to make end the story optimistically. Not happy, per say, just optimistically. Cuze I hate stories where everything turns out "A-OK!", it's just not really realistic. Another note, I haven't forgotten about my other stories, I've been out o town. And I will get my thank you-s up soon. CUZE I LOVE REVIEWERS! THEY ROCK HARDER THAN MODEST MOUSE! Anyways... I present: THE EPILOUGE (2) ps- hope you liked all my music featured in the story. Pps- true to my form, there will be broadway in this chapter! Hehe! ...xX

You gotta SLAM the iron down on soul

You gotta SLAM the iron down on my heart

You gotta SLAM IT, SLAM IT, SLAM 'till there ain't nothing left

-Lot's Wife, Caroline or Change-

Zack walked out of the Eugene O'Neil theater and into the fading sunlight, the sudden change of light burnt the soul in his eyes, shielding his eyes from the glorious setting sun, Zack made his way up 49th street and he turned left onto Broadway, walking as far as he could go. Clutching his playbill, as if it was his savior, he walked up to 52nd street and turned right, he walked half the block, stopped at a tall, slightly large slab of metal, with barbed wire running across the top, otherwise known as the Studio 54 Alley. He took out his key and quietly unlocked the door. Stepping into a small, familiar alley, far away from the troubles of the outside world. By now, the sun had set and the extra light that day light savings provides had dwindled to a nothing. And the one, dreary light that lighted the alley was shaking on its thin wire. Zack, walked the length of the alley, passing large crates, filled with mock pistols and other accoutrements of theater. Stopping towards the end, where a shabby door read: STAGE DOOR-BACK, Zack unlocked this and stepped inside. Immediately stepping out of the world and into a different dimension. One that can be described as musical theater. The backstage was narrow and dark. Sets, costumes, other assorted "stuffs" and lighting/technical work all vied for the space, yet they all shared it. The set on the stage remained on, even though the performance was over. It was a large, wooden carnival shooting gallery, with a huge staircase leading to no-where and many hidden lights, doors, trapeze, in which the actors utilized during the performance. Zack stepped out onto the stage; even with all this setting the bare section of the stage was large, and deep. Allowing plenty of room for the actors to do their work. He looked out over the audience. The orchestra (or stage level seating for those of us who are not theater aficionados) was filled with round tables, instead of the normal seats. The balcony was cluttered with seats. The once infamous night club, now a theater. Zack sat at the edge of the stage, letting his feet dangle down, even sitting down he was still taller than the tables in the seating area below. Zack stared into the darkness and silence of it all. The traditional ghost light burnt dangerously low. Bad luck if it went out.

"Enjoy the silence, or do you just wanna steal my role?" A slightly southern, youthful voice woke Zack from his trance, he jumped a little, yet he didn't turn around.

"It's just really peaceful, that's all," Zack replied calmly. Now he got up and turned around. A young man, maybe late thirties, with short blonde hair stood before him, his black t-shirt hung loosely on his body and his jeans clung tight. The man was carrying a gun.

"I'm sure it is, Zack," the man replied, looking out over the audience, gripping the gun tightly.

"Neil, the shows over, put the damn toy gun away," Zack said, annoyed at Neil.

Neil smirked but continued gripping the gun, "It helps me keep in character, even though I'm not performing."

"Bull shit, you're just trying to scare me. You want my job! You're the jealous one, you wish you could play electric guitar in a musical orchestra," Zack paused and took in what he had just jokingly said, "God, did I sink THAT low?" Zack asked.

"You were called a child prodigy, weren't-cha," Neil smiled, circling Zack, "Destined for a Grammy or four," Neil quoted with sarcasm, "Now look at ya, playing Sondheim for some actors. Poor baby," Neil said, sitting down on a crate, one that was a prop which had been left on stage. Zack looked down to hide the fear, jealousy, and sadness that had suddenly overtaken him.

"Shut it Neil," Zack whispered, he took out a pill and popped it into his mouth.

"You still on that nasty shit?" Neil asked, opening the crate and slipping the dud gun in.

"Doctors orders, helps keep depression, anger, fear, any of those emotions that might lead me to do something rash," Zack mocked his doctor.

"That's sick, the perfect cure for depression. I know it, going to a diner and sitting up at the counter, and ordering a milkshake, sharing it with ya girl..." Neil froze mid sentence, a tear trickled down Zack's cheek.

"Aw, Fuck! Sorry Zack, really am, I just forgot, really. I'm an ass and I know it," Neil put a hand on Zack's shoulder, who shrugged the hand off. Wiping the tear, Zack looked up,

"I'm fine, really, it's OK, I'm think I'm over it by now," Zack said, smiling weekly.

"So why the hell you here anyway? You called in sick, we got the 'placement to play for ya," Neil asked Zack, questioning him hard.

"Forgot my guitar from yesterday," Zack said, he looked up at the two box seating areas. They had been converted into Orchestra pits, or boxes in this case. Since the boxes were ten, twenty feet off the ground Zack climbed the little ladder that lead up to them, he rummaged around the dirty pit until he found his guitar. Grabbing it and hastily shoving it in the case he carefully walked down the ladder and back into the stage where Neil was looking at his checking his "theater cubby". Or his mailbox where people could leave notes, the paycheck could be left, notices etc...

"Zack?" Neil asked, he was staring at a notice.

"Hmm?" Zack replied zipping up his case.

"We're closing," Neil said quietly.

"What? We won five Tony's, sales are up, what's the problem? It's a mistake," Zack shook it off and went to his cubby, inside was a paycheck and a ominous slip of white paper.

TO: All employees of the Roundabout's production of ASSASSINS FROM: Producer David Tomlin SUBJECT: Closing date, Two weeks notice -Guys, it's me, Roundabout's closed us, the shows done, we will be recording an album the next week. Sorry, in your cubby you'll find you're last paycheck. It was fun working with all of you, I hope to work with you on a later production. From: Dave.

Zack dropped the notice. That can't be. Neil patted him on the shoulder and said some good-bye, but Zack didn't here, he just stared at the notice, now on the floor. The words sounded like BLAH's. He heard a door slam. Zack collapsed in a heap on the stage, did anything last? No? Nothing lasted, not when life is what it is.

.......................................................

"GOOD-BYE ASSASSINS!"

POP!

Another bottle of champagne was opened up and the cast, crew, and orchestra were partying the closing night bash at producer Dave Tomlin's Park Avenue penthouse.

"That was some run, eh?" Michael Cerveris laughed with Neil.

"QUIET! QUIET! QUIET PLEASE!" David yelled over the roar of the crowd, at least thirty strong, even a little kid from the cast was getting tipsy, "As tradition for all my shows I like to give out awards! So, let's get started!" Drunken cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Oh, hush!" David 'poo-poo'd', "The winner gets two tickets to my next show: Jerry Springer the Opera (A/N: IT'S A REAL SHOW! I SWEAR! I HAVE THE ALBUM!), which will debut in San Francisco. OK, the awards..." There were at least 10 awards. Soon, six men and four women were smiling proudly, clutching the two tickets to the infamous opera/musical.

"The final award, my: When You Need A Friend award. This award goes out to the person who was an all around great guy...or gal. Just really pleasant. The award goes to: Zack Mooneyham from the orchestra!"

Other orchestra members cheered and patted Zack on the back, he smiled and took the ticket, although he was 18, he still had downed at least four glasses of champagne. The laughing and the smiling and lights became blurry and Zack found himself sitting down, waiting the evenings end...

.......................................................

Zack sat at the counter...of a diner....drinking a milkshake... without a girl. Or a baby. He stared at the tickets. These could go for hundreds on Ebay. Zack thought, he wasn't much of a theater guy, but Jerry Springer, the opera musical mix? How could he miss it?

"Need someone to go with?" A small voice asked from behind him. Zack looked up startled.

"Summer?" Zack smiled.

xX... that's it! Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for my Broadway obsessive-ness. It's just me! Well.... I'd like to thank all my reviewers for being so kick ass and finally, all the musicals I cited: Caroline, or Change among others... And: on of Sondhiems greatest works: Assassins, which was brilliantly revived on Broadway this year, everything I described about the theater and it's surroundings where true. 100%. I saw the show. Michael Cerveris and Neil (Patrick Harris) are real actors who stared as John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald, accordingly, in the revival. So a big thanks to all of those people and the music and all of that! I hope I didn't bore you with this chapter! A final shout out: GO SEE A PLAY OR A MUSICAL!!!!! Or get an album! If you need suggestions on kick ass, modern musicals ask me! I love getting new people into show tunes (there are some musicals with songs like: Chick with a Dick, The internet is for porn, and Everyone's a Little Bit Racist!). Email: THANKS SO MUCH, THIS STORY WAS A BLAST TO WRITE! ...xX

ps- this chapter has not been edited for spelling... so don't kill me!