“The hero” by Kyriakos Chalkopoulos

We were born and live in the area of the theatrical halls, and all of them echo from conceit of rushed performances. Why are those shows still running? The reason is this: had they not, we would chance to wander off the path of the innumerable halls and stray towards those other rooms this place still contains, near its foundation.

At first glance, those other rooms do not differ significantly from the halls, and since it is rare and difficult enough to get there one can indeed feel underwhelmed to be met with apparent similarities: here too the actors move about callously and indifferently, their eyes refusing contact with their admirer, dressed in the same costumes made familiar by the major roles; for example the role of Madness, the lead of a multitude of shows.
Yet here Madness is not impersonated by an actor.
It’s not someone wearing a grotesque mask, but it is her actual self.
She begrudgingly keeps to a distance until her unknowingly beleaguered fan approaches.
Back at the show, in the halls, a tired spectator may fall asleep even during the famed monologue where Madness refers to her unwitting suitor- “Come near enough and you won’t have any strength to venture back, regardless of how much you’d then implore those cacophonies from the upper halls to allow for clinging on to the edge of their diminishing echoes! What you have found is Madness, and nothing else is as clear-cut. Nothing will surround you with the same gentle murmuring of sparkling streams- which make this sound because they bicker among each other as to which one will carry you to the deep below”- a monologue said to have been penned by the once hero of a timely escape.

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