There’s rolling text when I die— names who helped, names that didn’t. A startling construction of steel and thorns. Why I succeeded, why I failed. All written between the lines of those who built me. The backing music is a mocking drone.
The theatre empties before the words stop. No anticipation of a legacy, no expectation of meaning. A film of empty sorrows and wasted time. And when the credits come to a finish, there’s no post-credit scene. The music ends. The quiet takes a seat.