And the Dead Shall Rise

Were you see Les Mis last night? Were you there? Did you see it? It was stunning and beautiful, cast with talented actors and singers. And if you were there for Saturday's performance you heard what sounded like a set piece dropped after we all died on the barricade. But it wasn't a set piece. No, it was a body. My body. In an attempt to sneak blindly offstage from my dying position on the rotating platform, I stumbled upon a box and tripped head over heels, landing headfirst half on and half off the platform. As I felt the stage still moving against my face I realized I was not moving with it, and while I was prone upon the floor I also realized that the big barricade set piece was still moving -- right at my head. I was about to be headbutted right off the stage if I didn't do something quick. So I did what any reasonable and savvy actor would do on a pitch black stage awaiting certain head injury -- I think I said, "oh shit!" I don't remember how loud. Hopefully it was only heard by the stage crew watching helplessly offstage right. Using reflexes like a lynx, er, maybe they were more like a drunken sailor on a moving dock, I rolled off the platform avoiding my demise. I had a flash in my mind that when I rolled I would take about ten of my mates out like a bowling ball in the darkness. By some stroke of luck, or perhaps we were blest by the stage gods, I avoided a bowling lane syndrome and my fellow actors were spared. (oh, I just got the pun!) So today I proudly display my war wounds; a scratched and bruised shin, a swollen thigh the color of the deep dark sea, and a nice stiff neck. Should be an interesting matinee today. Hopefully I can even out the bruises on the left side of my body.