hung up on circumstances

     Life is tough. We go through all sorts of trials and hard times. We have to deal with hurt and heartache. Sometimes we just have bad days, weeks, or even months. Sometimes it's a struggle just to get up in the morning. Some days all we want to do is go home, crawl in bed, and forget the world
     We all go through difficult circumstances. But that's just it--they're circumstances. They are situations. We are powerless to control them. We have no way of knowing or determining how tomorrow will go. But we serve the Most High God Who is in total control. He is in charge of every aspect of our lives. He knows what we need better than we do.
     And yet we still doubt and question Him. We get hung up on circumstances that we can't see beyond. We cry out to Him in agony and sometimes even anger. We ask Him what He is doing. We complain that we don't understand.
     That's the thing: we're not meant to understand! We do not have to know everything God has in store for us. If we did, we wouldn't need faith.
     What if, instead of becoming overwhelmed with our impossible circumstances, we lifted our eyes to our Lord--our Creator, our Savior, our Redeemer--and leaned fully on Him? What if we took the trouble to remember that life is not about us, but about God's glory?
     I have struggled quite a bit this school year with the circumstances I have undergone, and the Lord has graciously revealed to me that He should be my focus, not whatever happens to be going on in my life at any given moment. If I am constantly focused on what I'm going through and how I feel, I cannot enjoy the peace or exhibit the joy that I am called to.
     The truth of this realization really hit me the other night as I was reading in Exodus. The Lord called Moses to go to the Israelites and tell them that He had heard their cry and would deliver them. Moses obeyed, but the people would not believe him because of their emotions and circumstances. I initially thought, how can they ignore such a message from the Lord? Then I recalled all the times I disregard everything I know about the Lord from His Word and wallow in self-pity over my circumstances (and I've experienced nothing anything like the Israelites' enslavement). God used this passage to reveal Himself to me in a powerful way, and I hope he does the same for you. Exodus 6:2-9:
     "God spoke to Moses and said to him, 'I am the Lord. I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, as God Almighty, but by my name the Lord I did not make myself known to them. I also established my covenant with them to give them the land of Canaan, the land in which they lived as sojourners. Moreover, I have heard the groaning of the people of Israel whom the Egyptians hold as slaves, and I have remembered my covenant. Say therefore to the people of Israel, "I am the Lord, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will deliver you from slavery to them, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great acts of judgment. I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God, who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians. I will bring you into the land that I swore to give to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob. I will give it to you for a possession. I am the Lord."' Moses spoke thus to the people of Israel, but they did not listen to Moses, because of their broken spirit and harsh slavery."
     May we learn from the mistake of the Israelites and listen to the Word of the Lord! He is so much greater than our circumstances, and He knows what we need most. The Lord will deliver us in His timing; let us rejoice in His steadfast love and mercy in the midst of trials and difficult circumstances. Let us grow even closer to our God when times are hard, so that He might be glorified and we might experience the fullness of His joy and peace.

the rest of the story...

     I hope that you enjoy reading the rest of my short story.  I hope it points you to Christ and reminds you of the hope we have in Him.

"Theatre Divine," by Hannah Reynolds, continued...

            Hope tried to push such depressing, macabre thoughts from her mind as she chose a top bunk near a window.  The rest of the evening passed by in a blur—all fourteen casts were fed in a large cafeteria located on the ground floor.  After dinner, they were each provided with two sets of generic, loose-fitting clothes and a bag of toiletries.

            Eventually, all of the cast members settled into the routine of twelve-hour-a-day rehearsals.  Most of them chose to pretend that they were not days away from death—that was the only way to avoid losing your mind.  On the third night, one of those who was unable to handle the pressure jumped off the fourteenth-floor landing in the middle of the night.  His body was found the next morning by one of the guards.  Everyone heard about it, despite attempts to keep it quiet.  Peabody merely assigned his role to one of the extras and said nothing more on the subject.

            The next night, as the rest of the actors were getting ready for bed, Hope noticed Daniel lying face-down on the floor next to his bunk.  She and Ryan hurried over to see if he was okay.

            “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked, kneeling next to him and shaking his shoulder.

            Daniel looked up at them.  There were tears in his eyes as he sat up. “Robert...he...”

            Hope recognized the name of the man who had killed himself. “I know.  It’s awful.” She put her hand on Daniel’s shoulder.

            “He was without hope—all these people are.  And I have a hope.  I didn’t share it in time.  I didn’t share it in time,” he repeated softly, as though to himself.

            “What’s he talking about?” Ryan asked, looking at Hope, puzzled.

            Hope didn’t answer.  She looked Daniel in the eye. “Do you remember how earlier this week you told me not to beat myself up?  Well, I’m telling you the same thing now.  You can’t hold yourself responsible for everyone’s fate.”

            Daniel shook his head. “I have to share my faith, my hope.”

            Ryan’s face grew pale. “Oh, no you don’t.  We don’t need to cause any ripples.  I’ve been thinking about some way we could fix it so you two don’t get executed, and I can’t put my plan into action if the guards come in here and give you a couple of rounds of machine-gun fire.”

            Hope rolled her eyes. “He can share his faith without drawing that much attention to himself, Ryan.  If you think you need to share it, then go ahead.  It’s lights out at nine-thirty—maybe you can talk after then.  The guards don’t even come back and check on us once they lock the door,” Hope pointed out.

            Daniel nodded weakly. “Thanks, Hope.”

            She offered him a smile and, surprising even herself, gave him a quick hug.

            Ryan settled into his bunk above Daniel’s, still bewildered and slightly jealous at the encounter he’d just witnessed. “What’s going on between you two?” he asked as Daniel mustered the strength to climb into bed.

            “Nothing,” Daniel said in a tone that let Ryan know he was not being entirely truthful.

            Unfortunately, Robert’s suicide had changed the security procedures.  One guard was posted inside each dormitory to prevent the cast members from leaving the room or harming themselves.  They could not afford to lose any more actors.

            Nevertheless, around nine-thirty, Daniel flipped the switch on his bunk lamp.

            “Lights out there, actor,” the guard ordered gruffly, stepping forward from his post at the door.

            Daniel swung his legs around to the side of his bed and slowly stood up. “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said politely. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.  I’m Daniel Gallagher.”

            The guard looked completely taken aback.  Hope and Ryan, along with a number of other prisoners, watched the exchange with interest. “I’m Martin Plumber,” the guard replied, shaking Daniel’s offered hand. “But you really should be in your bunk,” he added as an afterthought.

            Daniel nodded. “I’m aware that it’s lights out, sir, but I think most of us are having trouble sleeping tonight, seeing what’s happened recently.”

            There was a murmur of agreement from most of the prisoners.  Daniel nodded at the general consensus. “I was wondering if it might be all right with you, Mr. Plumber, if I shared a story with my cast mates.  We’re supposed to be bonding, aren’t we?  And we haven’t been given much time to do that, what with twelve-hour rehearsals, reduced meal times, and early lights out.”

            Martin blinked uncertainly.  Hope, Ryan, and a few others spoke up, echoing Daniel’s train of thought.  Even so, Hope was shocked at the guard’s next words. “I suppose that wouldn’t hurt, if everyone here’s in agreement.  I think a good number of us are unsettled, considering.” He paused, looking around the room for any dissenters.  Surprisingly, there were none; it seemed that everyone wanted some way to take his mind off his dismal present and even darker future. “Of course, not a word of this to my superiors,” Martin warned.  A chorus of promises followed his words. “Off you go then, Daniel.  But turn off the light—they might see it from outside.”

            Daniel nodded.  He returned to sit down on the floor beside his bunk.  He flicked the switch on his lamp, plunging the room into darkness. “Can everyone hear me all right?”

            Everyone who bothered to answer answered in the affirmative, and Daniel took a deep breath. “Some of you may have heard this story before.  It’s one of my favorites.  My parents used to tell it to me every night when I was a little boy.  It’s a very long story, but I’ll just pick a good starting point for the sake of time.  In the beginning, it’s set in a perfect garden, where a man and a woman, named Adam and Eve, have been given everything they need.  Yahweh, the One True God, has provided them with food and companionship, everything they could ever ask for.  He gave them one rule: do not eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, for you will surely die.

            “Well, in that perfect garden—it was called Eden, you know—everything went fine until a serpent came along to tempt Eve.  He twisted Yahweh’s words around, making her doubt what she’d been told.  And, would you believe it, Eve went right on ahead and took of the fruit of the Tree, and she ate it.  And Adam, who’d been standing there all along, ate some of it, too.  Well, you can imagine how angry you’d be if you were Yahweh.  He gave them everything, and only gave them one thing not to do, and they went and did it.

            “Yahweh was upset, but He didn’t strike them down, as we probably would have.  No, He did punish them, but He also had mercy.  He said that they would have to face physical death, and they would be banished from the garden, and life would be hard for them now, but He also left them with a promise.  One day, a man would come who would crush the serpent’s head under His heel.

            “Well, after that, the story begins to get a little more complicated.” Daniel continued to talk well into the night, his voice rising and falling with his summary of the Old Testament.  For most people in the room, this was their first time hearing any of the Bible at all.  Hope recalled some of it from things she’d read in other books she’d managed to see during her short lifetime, but hearing him tell it made it all somehow make more sense.  She felt connected to the characters and drawn to the sovereign, loving Yahweh of the account.  Daniel made it all the way through Joseph in Egypt before he called it a night.

            “What happens to Joseph?” a voice called out as Daniel wrapped up the story.

            “It’s getting awfully late now,” Daniel replied. “I think we’d all best be getting some sleep.  I suppose I could tell you some more of the story tomorrow night, if you’d all like...”

            And so Daniel embarked on his mission to share his hope with his cast mates.  After the first two nights, Martin seemed to judge that it was all right for him to turn on a few of the little bunk lamps, as long as the curtains were drawn over the windows.  Most of the prisoners left their bunks to sit on the floor in a circle around Daniel as he told his nightly story.

            Daniel was always ready to share his hope.  Hope, Ryan, and Daniel’s group grew at meal times, with prisoners from different casts coming to sit with them and hear what Daniel had to say.  Martin was friends with three or four other guards, and they were willing to turn a blind eye so that the prisoners under their watch could take a nighttime stroll up to the fourteenth floor if they felt like it.

            And, although they were all getting less sleep, everyone seemed to be doing much better throughout the day.  Rehearsals went smoothly, and a real sense of camaraderie began to form.  Hope wished that these days would never end—she wanted to always be able to hear Daniel’s familiar, deep, musical voice as he wove stories with such passion that no one could remain unchanged by his words.  Daniel eventually finished painting the large picture of the Old Testament, and he embarked on the journey of explaining the New Testament, assuring them that this was the best part of the whole story.  He told of Jesus, and His birth, and His teachings to His disciples.  By the night of the first exhibition, he had made it to the end of the Gospels.

            All actors were forced to attend the exhibition each night and watch their counterparts’ performances.  As everyone else was getting ready to go join the audience for the first production—King Lear—Daniel could be seen kneeling beside his bed, head bowed in serious prayer.

            Hope walked over to him.  “You’ve shared your hope, Daniel,” she said softly, hoping to encourage him.

            Daniel looked up at her for a long moment. “I have as much as I can, but my heart breaks for those who have not been able to hear the Gospel.  I’m afraid that many of them will die tonight without hope.”

            Hope shook her head. “I think it’s your job to share the Good News and plant the seed, but is it not God’s job to bring in the harvest?”

            Daniel had to smile at Hope’s words. “Apparently what I’ve said is sticking.”

            Hope nodded. “I’m not sure if I understand all of it, but I’m trying.  And I think the same can be said of just about everyone else.  If what you’ve been saying is all true, then Yahweh is in control, so don’t worry.”

            Daniel shocked Hope by standing up and hugging her tenderly. “You have the right name, Hope.  Just when everything looks bleakest, you remind me not to despair.”

            Hope frowned at Daniel’s words, pleased and puzzled.  Ryan came up to join them as they all began to file out of their dormitory and downstairs to a back entrance to the theatre. 

            As the curtain rose, Hope steeled herself for what she was about to see.  Her family, dutiful citizens, had always watched the Exhibitions on the television, but she had always been able to pretend that what she saw on the screen had not really been happening.  But here she was now, in person, and she could no longer deny it.

            The next three hours were sheer agony for Hope, Daniel, Ryan, and the other prisoners.  Several times, Daniel began to stand up and say something, but Hope and Ryan put their hands on his shoulders.  They knew he could do no good.  Nevertheless, no one could stop Daniel from praying, although they sent two guards to stand behind him, hands on their weapons.  Between scenes, guards were sent onstage to remove the dead bodies.

            After the production, the remaining actors were paraded on the stage.  The director came out onstage and, bowing, asked which of the company had done well enough to remain alive.  A voice from one of the private boxes called down, “None of them!  And you shouldn’t remain alive, either, after a production like that!”

            The director began to panic, but it was too late.  A host of armed guards were upon him, leading the entire, horrified troupe out the stage exit.  A few breathless moments passed before the sound of machine gun-fire came.  Hope felt herself trembling, and she threw-up on the carpet.  Daniel’s face shone with righteous indignation. “How long, O Lord?” he dared to ask as the aristocracy gave a standing ovation.

            The remaining actors were led back to their dormitories.  Hope, Daniel, and Ryan all sought each other’s company, devastated by what they had just witnessed.

            “What are we supposed to do?  How can we just stand by and let this happen?” Hope asked helplessly.

            Daniel shook his head.  Ryan spoke up. “I think I have an idea,” he said slowly.

            “I thought you weren’t fighting for the cause,” Hope said, surprised by his words.

            Ryan shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t, not until I saw what Daniel’s really like and I figured out why.  None of us is any better than anyone else, something it took me a long time to realize.  This senseless slaughter has got to stop.  I can’t expect other people to stand up if I won’t.”

            “So what’s your idea?” Daniel asked, looking at him with new-found respect.

            “Well, the aristocracy are here for the bloodshed, am I right?” Both of his companions nodded. “But they don’t even sit that close to the stage.”

            “So what are you getting at?  That the actors merely fake their deaths?  But the guards check to make sure that they’re all dead before they carry the bodies offstage,” Hope reminded him glumly.

            “That’s just it, though,” Daniel whispered excitedly, seeming to catch on to Ryan’s idea. “What if we could find a couple of guards that were on our side?  What if they would carry the still-living bodies offstage—say, to the basement—and allow them to live?”

            “But that’s crazy, isn’t it?  Even if they live, how does that help us?” Hope asked.

            Ryan spoke again. “Imagine if all twelve other casts were still alive when all of the authorities thought them dead.  Imagine if, at the end of our production, they all swarmed the stage, brandishing the real weapons that we had been neglecting to use each night of the exhibition.  The event is televised to the entire nation.  Do you think the government would listen then?”

            Daniel and Hope both sat in silence a few breathless moments, contemplating everything Ryan had just said.  Slowly, Daniel began to nod. “Ryan, this is an answer to prayer.  I think this could actually work.”

            “As long as we can find guards we can trust,” Hope put in.

            Ryan grinned. “I actually got the idea whenever I realized there were probably a handful that could be trusted.  And that’s thanks to Daniel and his nightly story time.”

            “Martin,” Daniel said, nodding. “I think he’d be for us.  And maybe some of his friends, the ones who let their prisoners come in here to listen the past few nights.”

            “Do you think he’d really be willing to help us?” Hope asked, afraid to let herself believe that there might be a way out yet.

            “Why don’t you ask him?” Ryan suggested, nodding at Martin as he joined their group.

            “Ask me what, guys?  Are you all okay?  That was pretty brutal.” Martin’s face was solemn. “So many innocent lives.”

            “Would you like a chance to help us save some lives?” Hope asked, her tone hopeful.

            “What do you mean?” Martin asked, speaking softly.  Ryan stepped in and explained his plan much as he had to Hope and Daniel.  He spoke in barely audible tones.  They received a few idle glances from the other actors, but none of them were suspicious.  Martin had become pretty good friends with Hope, Daniel, and Ryan over the last week. 

            When Ryan finished speaking, the threesome held their breath; if Martin did not want to help them, he could turn them in immediately so that they would be killed and silenced, and all hope for the nation would be lost.

            “I was in your shoes a few years ago.  I was lucky enough to survive, but still—I can’t bear the thought of all these people dying any more than you can.  What do you need me to do?”

            Hope could hardly believe her ears.  Ryan thumped Martin on the back, and Daniel turned his face upward for a silent prayer of thanks.  Ryan was the first to get back to business. “Do you know of three other guards you can trust to volunteer with you for clean-up duty during the productions?”

            Martin thought for a moment. “I know of two who I’d trust with my own life, and there’s maybe another guy that I could persuade to join us.”

            “It won’t look suspicious if the same four guards rotate on duty for the next thirteen nights?” Hope pointed out.

            Martin shook his head. “Not really.  The guards who work the production get fewer hours during the night shift.  That’s how they get people to volunteer.  I can’t make any guarantees, but my buddies and I have been working here longer than most of the others.  I can probably use my tenure to get myself signed up every production, and my three friends could rotate.”

            Daniel nodded. “That sounds good.  What about a place for the actors to go after they’re carried offstage?”

            Martin considered. “The bodies are normally carried below stage, through the prop house and out to the truck.  One of us drives them to the outskirts of town to bury them.  I suppose we could just drop them off in the prop house.  No one goes down there except for the guards on duty.”

            “How will you explain the lack of bodies?” Hope asked with a disgusted shiver.

            Martin shrugged. “If I’m on duty every night, we won’t have to.  The only people who know that the bodies are buried are the guards.  I suppose one of my superiors could check behind me, but I doubt they’d want to.”

            The four spent most of the evening working out the rest of the details for their plan.  The actor’s real weapons would be swiftly switched out for the practice ones in the wings before the productions.  Martin and his friends would do their best to stockpile the real weapons in the prop house.  Each night, the “bodies” would be carried down to the basement and left there in secret.  The last night, all of them would storm the stage during the final scene and confront the aristocracy.

            “You do realize how dangerous this is?” Martin looked each of them in the eye as they began to break up their conference. “Even if everything goes as planned, the other guards could mow you all down the night of the finale.”

            Ryan nodded. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

            “I’m not afraid to die,” Hope said simply. “Life with Christ in heaven is far better than anything this world could ever offer me.”

            “I agree,” Daniel said with a nod. “All right, then, we all have our assignments.  We’ll check in tomorrow at supper.”

            When they spoke again, they were all pleased to hear that everything was going according to plan.  Martin had worked it out so that he and his friends were on Exhibition duty for the remainder of the fortnight.  News of the plan was spread by word-of-mouth through cast fourteen, then to the other troupes.  Each night, an hour or so before curtain, a few members of cast fourteen volunteered to help out backstage.  What none of the authorities realized is that they were switching out the weapons and supplying the actors with some of the fake blood that was used for rehearsals.

            And night after night, the plot went off without a hitch.  Since the actors knew that there was a chance at life, they put their heart into their performances.  They were so successful that the aristocracy did not order any more deaths of remaining cast members.

            Daniel, Hope, and Ryan marveled at the way everything had gone so far.  They all agreed that the Lord was granting them the grace to pull everything off.  His hand was undoubtedly behind every detail.

            Finally, the day of the grand finale came.  Peabody put the actors through a rigorous dress rehearsal before giving them the rest of the day off.  Daniel spoke with Martin, who said that, so far, all of the actors were doing fine.  They, along with Hope and Ryan, devoted the rest of the day to fasting and prayer.

            Hope searched for Daniel in the ten minutes left before curtain call.  She found him in one of the dressing rooms, kneeling.  As he stood up, she noticed a sadness in his expression.  It quickly faded as he saw her. “All ready?”

            Hope nodded, but now she was concerned for Daniel. “Is everything all right?”

            Daniel closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes, everything’s fine.  Can I ask you something?”

            “Of course,” Hope replied, her face full of concern.

            “If something happens tonight—to me, I mean...if I don’t make it through...will you remember me?”

            Hope stepped forward. “Of course I will.  How could I ever forget you?  You were my friend when no one else was.  You shared Christ with me.”

            Daniel took a step closer to her. “And I would never forget you, either,”

            “But you don’t have to worry—we’re all going to make it through this,” Hope said.

            Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know if I will or not, Hope,” he said.  And after a brief pause, he leaned forward and kissed her.

            Hope was surprised, but pleasantly so.  She hugged him tightly, beginning to fear his words.  What if he really did die tonight?

            The five-minute call sounded, and Hope turned to go, holding back tears.  Ryan entered the room as she left. “What’s up with her?”

            Daniel sighed. “I think...I think I love her.”

            “Yeah, well join the club,” Ryan replied.

            “But I don’t think I’m going to make it through tonight.  If I don’t, take care of her, Ryan,” Daniel said, hurrying off.  Ryan watched him leave, wondering at his words.

            The play began, and from the first moment it was clear that they truly had saved the best for last.  The performance was flawless; the deaths were realistic.  Daniel was perhaps one of the best Hamlets that the stage had ever seen.  He was passionate and convincing, even as a madman.

            It seemed as though no time had passed when Hamlet and Laertes mounted the stage for their final swordfight.  Hope, who had been carried below stage the previous act, waited with the others anxiously, hoping that Daniel and the others were all right, straining her ears to hear Martin’s signal.

            As Horatio lamented over the fallen Hamlet, and Fortinbras strode onstage to solve all of Denmark’s problems, Martin sneaked downstairs and alerted the actors.  They, armed with commandeered weapons that were all too real, hurried up to wait in the wings.  As Fortinbras spoke his final lines, Daniel and Laertes sprang up from their positions.  At the same time, the stage became filled with all of the supposedly-dead actors from the twelve other casts.

            The aristocracy sat frozen, completely at a loss.  A few of them tried to bolt from their seats, but Martin and his friends had the exits covered.  Daniel strode forward to center stage to address the audience. “Men and women of the aristocracy, we stand before you to say that you have power over our lives no more.  Even if you somehow manage to kill all of us, the power is not yours.  We have a hope in Christ, a hope of a life with Him that is far greater than even you can imagine.  We know that we may pay for our stand with our lives, but we are prepared to make this sacrifice.  We will be silent no more; we can no longer stand while you kill innocent people for pleasure.  Your arrogance in playing God is astounding.

            “Yet it is because of your arrogance that so many of us stand here before you.  We have managed to escape your death-trap.  We hold weapons, but we do not want to use them.  We merely want to talk.  Why can this nation not be what it once was—a place where life was valued, and all men were free?  Why can we not work together to correct the wrongs of centuries, creating a new future for following generations?

            “I stand before you as an ordinary man driven by an extraordinary cause—the cause of Christ, of the spreading of His Gospel, His love, and His compassion.  So will you now finally listen to the voiceless?”

            A terrifying silence ensued as the echoes of Daniel’s voice died.  Then a roar of voices overtook the space.  Aristocrats stood, yelling at one another.  The guards still loyal to the government fought their way through the crowds, trying to reach the stage.  The men and women on stage moved forward boldly, wondering if they may have to use their weapons.

            Hope stepped forward to join Daniel in the center of the stage.  As she moved, one of the guards opened fire.  Hearing the shot, Daniel leapt in front of Hope, knocking her to the ground as the bullet struck him in the chest.  Hope screamed, and the hall was once again silent.  The act of sacrifice just witnessed was enough to pierce through even the most callous heart.  Daniel lay on the ground, bleeding.  One of the actors tackled the guard, but it was too late.

            “Enough!” a voice cried out from the back of the auditorium.  One of the aristocrats, an older man with a commanding figure, made his way forward. “Has there not been enough bloodshed in this land?  Is this young Hamlet not right?

            “It’s time for change—it’s time to actually deal with problems instead of killing off those who raise their voices.  All of these men and women are just that—men and women, people, humans.  They are no different than you and I.  And do not make the mistake of thinking that we are immune to death—my son stands there on that stage, despite his birthright.”

            Ryan stepped forward, locking eyes with his father. “He’s right.  I was sentenced just like the others.  But I will not be silenced.  How can you still stand there and act as though you have a choice?  You don’t have a choice anymore—you have to face the consequences of your actions.  You can try to kill us, but we have real weapons, and we will fight back.  Or you can listen to what we have to say, and help us turn this nation around.”

            Ryan’s father spoke again. “I agree with my son.  Who’s with me?”

            Slowly, one by one, a chorus of “ayes” began to sound throughout the room, some sincere, some brought on by fear, but all present, all loud.  Ryan hurried over to Daniel. “Is he okay?” he asked Hope.

            Hope, tears streaming down her face, held Daniel’s head in her lap.  She whispered, “I love you, Daniel.”

            Daniel smiled. “Don’t cry—everything’s fine.  You two will see this nation turned around.  We’ve made history.  And we’ll be together again.  I promise.” He looked at Ryan. “Take care of her, Ryan.  I love you, Hope.  Don’t forget me.”

            As Daniel took his last breaths, an overwhelming peace settled over his features.  As the men and women in the room began to drop their weapons, and some attempt at regaining order was made, Hope and Ryan sat with Daniel’s body, crying over the loss of their friend.

            In the months and years that followed, things began to change.  It didn’t happen overnight, but the point was that things were changing.  The practice of life-prices was abolished, as was the Fortnight of Exhibitions.  And freedom was restored.  Those who before had no hope now did.

            Ryan and Hope never stopped sharing Daniel’s story.  They remembered him every day of their lives, and they thanked the Lord for sending him to them.  Because of him, an entire nation was changed.  A monument was raised to him in the theatre, which was converted into a museum and a reminder to all of what can happen when hope is lost.  The theatre retained its name; now, it stood not for the arrogance of the aristocracy, but for the mercy of the Almighty God on a day when all else had failed.

            Hope stopped here, tears threatening to overwhelm her.  Ryan put his arm around her shoulder. “Well, the rest is history, as they say,” he concluded. “We got married a few years after the Theatre Uprising.”

            “And I’m named after Daniel?” their oldest son, now eleven, asked, looking up at them.

            “Yes,” Hope replied. “I promised him that I would never forget him, and I never have.  He gave his life for me.  He was my best friend, and Daddy’s, too.  I hope that you will follow Christ as wholeheartedly as he did.” Her son nodded. “And we’ll never stop telling his story.  We don’t want anyone to forget what happens when the hope of Christ is not shared and cherished.”

            Hope placed her hand on her son’s shoulder.  She closed her eyes and said another silent prayer of thanks for the man who had sacrificed himself so that she might have physical life, as well as for the Man Who died so that she could have spiritual life.

rejection

     One of the hardest things for any writer to face is rejection.  Submitting your work, and having those who have the power to make or break you say "Thanks, but this isn't what we're looking for" or "We appreciate your efforts, but you do not meet our standards," can be extremely disheartening.  Especially whenever you have poured your time, effort, and very soul into what you have written.  In fact, the fear of rejection is enough to cause some writers to never show their work to anyone.  Or, if they submit their work once or twice and do not receive positive results, they laugh at their naivete and become cynical.  This fear of rejection is particularly familiar to writers, but it can apply to almost anything--jobs, relationships, the list goes on and on.

     I have had my share of rejection, and let me tell you--it hurts.  I recently submitted a short story to my school's literary publication--and it was not selected.  And I must admit, I was very disappointed.  I had alighted on a unique idea and carefully crafted it into a plot.  I worked feverishly, day and night, to make the deadline to submit the story.  I put homework on hold and even skipped a class to get it in.  And it was all for nothing.

     Or was it?  Every time I write, I gain more experience.  I get to delve into my own world and craft it the way I want it.  But most importantly, when I write, I feel as though I am complete.  I know that I am doing what God wants me to do--what He created me to do.  That doesn't mean that I'm psyched about having my work rejected.  But it does mean that I will not let what others say discourage me when I know the call that God has placed on my life.  It does not mean I will stop writing.  I will not be silenced.

     What follows is the beginning of my story.  It's a picture of what America might look like in the not-too-distant future.  But it's not purely dystopian--how could it be?  No matter what happens, the Lord is still in control.  

     Even as I submitted my story, in the back of my mind I kept thinking, "Even if my story is not chosen, I can still post it on my blog.  I can still share my writing with others. I can still reach people with what God places on my heart to write."  I hope you enjoy the story.  I hope that it points you to Jesus, the only One worth living for.

"Theatre Divine"

by Hannah Reynolds

It all began on tax day—April fifteenth—every year.  Most North American Union citizens got up as if it were any other day, prepared to wait in line to swipe their credit chip and pay the government their taxes—or, as some people sardonically termed taxes, life-prices.  But for those who did not have enough money on their chips to pay their taxes, that spring day loomed ahead.  Death was the only possible future.

            If you couldn’t pay your life-price, you were an enemy of the state.  You forfeited your right to live.  But your life was more than a simple forfeit—it was a sacrifice for the entertainment and whims of the capricious elite.  Not only would your death assist in controlling population and preserving valuable natural resources; it would also help appease the nation’s insatiable hunger for entertainment.  You fulfilled your duty to the state by offering yourself in a useful manner.  This practice had endured for so many years in the North American Union that it had ceased to prick people’s consciences.  The people who were sacrificed in this way were branded public enemies—they deserved to die.

            So when Hope’s family did not have enough money to cover everyone’s life-prices, they were neither sad nor worried.  This was simply part of their way of life.  When it was decided that Hope would be the one sacrificed, they bid her a solemn, emotionless farewell.  She left the house slowly, headed towards the courthouse.

            After a few blocks, she reached Main Street, where the foot traffic was unbelievable.  Everyone in the city had turned out to pay their life-prices and then get promptly back to business.  She bypassed the giant line snaking around the courthouse and went around to a side door, following small, dejected-looking signs that read “Forfeit line this way.”

            Although government would have you think that almost all North American Union citizens had enough money to pay their life-prices, there were a surprisingly large number who didn’t.  She stepped into the ever-lengthening line. 

            There was no pleasant conversation—or any conversation at all, for that matter.  Hope inched up in line slowly, dreading her future a little more with every passing moment.  She felt someone bump into her from behind.  She instinctively turned around.

            The young man behind her had dark hair and fair skin.  Rather than simply ignoring her or mumbling a quick “excuse me,” he disarmed Hope by smiling.  She frowned, puzzled.  This boy was awaiting his death, as was she—why was he smiling?  And why did his deep green eyes look so full of peace?

            “I’m sorry,” he offered, and he sounded sincere.

            Hope just nodded, too stunned to form a reply.

            The boy surprised her again by sticking out his hand. “I’m Daniel Gallagher.”

            He had a unique accent, one Hope had never heard before.  “I’m Hope Thomas,” she replied, shaking his hand.  “Your accent—are you from the N.A.U.?” She couldn’t imagine that he’d be from anywhere else—anyone who wasn’t born into this corrupted oligarchy surely wouldn’t move here by choice.

            Daniel shook his head. “No, I’m from Southern Ireland.  My mum and dad and I moved here about four years ago.”

            “Why?” Hope blurted out before she knew what she was saying. 

            “A lot of people ask that,” he replied, his tone serious. “My parents and I were sent out by our church to be missionaries here.”

            Hope’s brow wrinkled as she tried to decode his sentence.  She thought she’d heard the word church before, but what on earth did he mean by “missionaries”?  “So you’re a...a Christian?” she whispered, hoping that no one was eavesdropping.

            Daniel nodded. “Yes.  There aren’t a lot of them here, I know.”

            “You and your parents are the only ones in this district, I’d wager,” Hope replied, shaking her head.  He was a Christian, and he was speaking about it openly?  He was brave.

            But his eyes grew somber. “Actually, I’m probably the only one.  My parents were put to death last month.  They were martyred for their beliefs,” he explained, unshed tears glistening in his impossibly deep eyes.

            “Oh,” Hope said in a small voice, surprised. “I’m sorry.”

            Daniel smiled sadly. “Don’t be.  They knew what they were doing.  And they’re much better off now.”

            Hope puzzled through what he said again.  She felt as though he were speaking an entirely different language.  A light clicked on somewhere in a dusty, unused corner of her brain. “Oh, you mean because of heaven.”

            Daniel nodded as they continued to inch up.  They were inside the building now, perhaps about halfway through the line. “Yes.”

            “It’s a nice thought.  I wish it were true,” Hope dared to comment.  She didn’t want to upset him, but she found his ideas bordering on the insane.

            Daniel shrugged. “It is true.  You don’t have to believe that, but it is.”

            “Well, I guess, if it’s true for you—” Hope began.

            Daniel surprised her by cutting her off. “It’s not just true for me.  It’s true, period.  For everyone, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

            “So I suppose you believe in some sort of hell, too?” Hope questioned.  Her tone was scoffing, but the lilt of his accent and the conviction of his words made her want to know more.

            “Yes.  If there’s a heaven, there must also be a hell.” Daniel was matter-of-fact.

            “Are you not afraid of going there when you die, if you believe it exists?  What if your good doesn’t outweigh your bad?” Hope continued her line of thought.  She had never really allowed herself to contemplate these questions before—best to ignore the future and live totally in the present.

            “No, I’m not afraid to die.  And it’s not about my good outweighing my bad.  If it was, I’d be doomed.” Daniel sounded so confident in his words.

            Hope was going to ask him another question, but they were almost to the front of the line.  Stretching out perpendicular to them was a long counter where a half dozen government officials dressed in drab uniforms sat at computers, swiping credit chips merely out of protocol and directing citizens to the different waiting terminals.  Hope and Daniel were funneled into different lines.

            “Goodbye,” Hope called over her shoulder.  Daniel returned the farewell.  Hope felt a strange sadness at their parting.  She had an odd feeling that she could have learned a lot from Daniel.  Pushing thoughts of him aside, she found herself standing in front of a grumpy, middle-aged man with a graying brown mustache and a potbelly. “Name,” he ordered.

            “Hope Adele Thomas,” she answered mechanically.  The man typed the holographic keyboard before him.

            “A tax of four-hundred-fifty americos,” he said.  He held out his hand, and Hope handed him her credit chip.  She knew she had barely fifty americos on it.  She didn’t really understand why the government insisted on all of this red tape and procedure.  Everyone in this line knew he didn’t have enough americos to pay his life-price.  They wouldn’t be here if they did.

            The man scanned her chip and frowned, his mouth turning down in distaste. “You only have fifty-seven americos.  You’ll pay your debt with your life.  Report to room C.”

            Hope nodded, turning and following the trickle of people out of the large waiting room and down an industrial-looking hallway.  Room C was the second on the left.

            It was about half full of people somewhat like her.  They were all dressed in presentable but worn clothes.  She chose a seat in an unoccupied corner.  No one looked up at her as she crossed the room.  They seemed to be barely alive.  A few moments later, the door opened again, and Daniel entered.  Hope’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

            “Fancy seeing you here,” he said in a teasing tone.  Hope hardly knew what to think.  It had been a long time since she’d exchanged friendly words with anyone.

            She offered a weak smile. “Yeah, what are the odds?” she replied, unable to remember the last time she’d even smiled.

            Daniel’s face grew a bit more serious. “The odds were pretty bad, but I don’t think our places are determined by chance.”

            “What determines them, then?” she whispered, looking into Daniel’s face.  Seated here, right beside him, she noticed how handsome it was.

            “I believe God is ultimately in control,” Daniel replied simply. “There are no accidents and no coincidences.  You and I—and everyone here—are in this room for a reason.”

            “So you believe there’s a reason we’re here other than to pay our life-prices?” Hope thought aloud.

            Daniel nodded. “Yes.  There is a greater purpose.”

            “Like what?” Hope asked.

            “God’s greatest purpose—His glory and our joy.”

            Hope frowned, trying to make sense of his words, but she was having difficulty.  At that moment, the door opened again, and this time an employee stood there.  She cleared her throat. “Room C, you will be leaving for the capital momentarily.  Gather your things and follow me.”

            It was a long bus ride.  The gruff and gritty city around them slowly gave way to abandoned, overgrown countryside.  Hope leaned her head back on her seat and tried to doze off.  But she couldn’t—the things she and Daniel had been talking about continued to plague her even as she fought to forget them.  Was there really a God?  If there was, why did he allow innocent people to be led to their deaths?  Could it really be true that there was a hope, even a shred of hope, of a life beyond this sorry existence?  She continued to ponder these and similar questions as the bus chugged on through the night, slowly eating the miles between district 47 and district 1: Washington, D.C.

            If the other districts were symbols of poverty, oppression, and cruelty, Washington, D.C., was a symbol of wealth and power.  Hope could hardly believe her eyes as the dejected bus struggled down the streets.  While Hope was filled with awe at the opulence around her, she also felt disgust growing, knowing that these people were the reason that she and countless others like her rode to their deaths.

            Daniel, too, was looking out the window.  His expression was no longer placid.  His dark green eyes sparked with anger, and his glower was one of righteous indignation.  Finally, something Hope could identify with. “I know exactly how you feel.  It’s so unjust.”

            Daniel nodded. “May they pay for their wickedness.”

            Hope’s eyebrows rose. “They’ve gotten away with murder for two centuries now.  I don’t see things changing anytime soon.”

            Daniel shook his head and leaned across the aisle, his eyes locking with hers. “That’s the problem.  The entire nation has let this happen.  No one dares rebel.  This aristocracy makes up such a small percentage of the Union—can you imagine what would happen if the masses staged an uprising?”

            Hope frowned. “I thought your kind were all about peace.”

            Daniel nodded. “We are.  But there’s a time for peace, and there’s a time for standing up for what’s right.  When the government calls evil good and good evil, it’s time to take a stand.”

            Hope looked at him quizzically, but before long the bus had reached its destination: a large, ornate yet officious building.  An even deeper gloom settled over the bus’s passengers as the bus drove around back.  This was the seat of the highest government employees in the Union.  It was here that their sentences would be given.  Hope glanced surreptitiously at Daniel.  She very much hoped that, if she had to die, it would be by his side.  She’d never met someone with as much zeal as he had.

            Hope and Daniel filed out amidst the other passengers.  Other buses, some much like theirs, some even more decrepit, had also parked in the expansive lot.  Their crews, too, disembarked and headed toward the back entrance, where perhaps a few dozen “tax-evaders” had huddled.

            Hope found herself overwhelmed with the somber pageant of faces all around her.  All of them seemed resigned, defeated...

            “Unhand me!  This is ridiculous!” a strong male voice called out.  This single voice, even in a crowd of hundreds, was heard clearly.  The silent multitude turned itself to the source of the commotion.  Being escorted by two armed guards was a boy, perhaps eighteen or nineteen.

            “The audacity—man-handling a Vandermeer—you’ll never hear the end of this!” the young man cried, trying in vain to break the electronic lock of his bonds by force.

            The boy’s last name was not lost on Hope.  His family, particularly his father, was a very influential member of the Congress of the Elite.  This teal-eyed, tough-looking boy was one of the richest—and brattiest—heirs in district 1.  He often appeared in the news, which was more like a propaganda enterprise than a journalistic endeavor.  His first name came to her—Ryan.

            Ryan Vandermeer and his escorts joined the waiting crowd.  He tried to throw off his guards, and one of them faltered.  He hardened his grip on Ryan’s arm, but Ryan looked him in the eye. “I’m chained up, and I’m not going anywhere—the least you can do is stop bruising my arms.”

            The guards at first appeared uncertain, but they eventually released their grip, their hands sliding cautiously to their weapons.

            Ryan seemed to appreciate this little bit of freedom.  He walked a little closer to the group.  Daniel and Hope stood their ground, staring at him curiously.  Their boldness was not lost on Ryan.

            “What’s a pair like you doing here?” he asked quietly, stopping across from them.

            “Couldn’t pay our life-prices,” Hope replied, one eyebrow raised, steel in her voice.

            “Why were you making such a spectacle?” Daniel spoke up.

            Ryan turned his attention from Hope’s pretty face to Daniel. “Because this is an outrage.  I didn’t do anything wrong—just organized a peaceful demonstration.”

            “So it’s outrageous for the son of a congressman to be sentenced to death for staging a protest against the government, but you see no injustice in the fact that the rest of us are to be killed for committing no crime other than existing?” Daniel asked pointedly.

            Ryan blinked. “You have committed a crime—you’ve withheld money from the government.”

            Hope shook her head, incredulous. “We haven’t withheld money out of choice.  We just don’t have enough money to pay the high life-prices the government demands.  It’s not for lack of trying.  Some of us actually have to work for a living, and even that’s not enough.”

            Ryan rolled his eyes. “Please, I’ve heard it all before.  Those who die deserve death—they don’t contribute to society.”

            Daniel’s green eyes were ablaze now. “Don’t tell us who we are.  I believe we understand our predicament better than you do.  If you hadn’t gone against the government for a cheap thrill, you’d be sitting in your warm house, living it up while people all over the country starve.”

            Ryan’s teal eyes sparked at his harsh words. “I didn’t stage a protest for some ‘cheap thrill.’  My friends and I were standing up against the government!”

            “Why?” Hope asked, trying to stop the tension from escalating.

            “Because we’re tired of the fact that the power of our Union rests in the hands of a dozen people.   In my opinion, they’re as guilty as those who evade their taxes.  They’re going against the principles this Union was created on.”

            Daniel was visibly holding himself back. “Why were you not moved on behalf of the hundreds of innocent people who die every year?”

            Ryan tried to throw up his hands in frustration, but his bonds made the gesture ineffective and almost comical.  Hope hid a smile.  “I don’t know...maybe because, like you said, I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes?” Ryan said sarcastically.

            A set of guards in drab-colored uniforms filed out of the back door of the giant courthouse.  A woman in a black pantsuit walked to the edge of the small balcony overlooking the parking lot, pulled out a clipboard, and began to read names off the list.  Each name was given an identification number.

            When Hope’s name was called, she filed behind a never-ending line of desperate-looking people into the largest room she’d ever seen.  Row upon row of seats filled the giant auditorium, all facing the raised stage at the front center of the room.  She supposed that the judge would sit there.

            “Hope!” she heard someone call out her name hoarsely.  She turned at the sound and she realized it was Daniel, beckoning to her from a seat across the aisle.  She weaved through the crowd to him, touched that he had saved her a seat.

            When Ryan came through the doors of the room, Daniel and Hope waved him over.  For, despite their opposing viewpoints on some pretty serious issues, they had somehow begun to bond.

            Ryan sat on the other side of Hope. “Maybe if I can get my name cleared, I could swing paying your life-prices—you both have some fight left in you.”

            Daniel shook his head. “Thanks, but even if you do talk your way out of this, you need not worry about paying my life-price.  I know I’m here for a reason.”

            Ryan looked at Daniel as though he were crazy. “I’m offering you a way out, and you refuse?  Are you some kind of neo-hippie?”

            Daniel, surprisingly, laughed at this. “Not something I’ve been called before, but interesting label.  I’m a Christian.”

            Ryan looked visibly shocked by this revelation. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked after a moment.

            “I’m originally from Ireland.  I lived there most of my life.  My parents and I moved here about four years ago.”

            “Where’re your parents?  Sell you out because you’re a Christian?” Ryan scoffed.

            Daniel shook his head. “No.  They were killed a few months ago for sharing their faith.  After their deaths, I didn’t have enough money to save up for taxes.”

            Ryan’s careful devil-may-care façade melted away. “Really?”

            Daniel nodded solemnly. “They were the most loving people I ever knew—they never would have sold me out, not for the world.”

            Hope felt tears come to her eyes, unbidden.  Her heart caught in her throat. “My parents would.  They did.  I mean, I’m not trying to complain.  I—I just hope that I can do more good for them with my death than I ever could have with my life.  Maybe now my little brother and sister can have enough to eat.”

            “No, Hope, don’t beat yourself up like that,” Daniel soothed. “I know you did your family good just by being you.  They had to make a tough decision.  But did you ever think that, maybe, you’re here for a reason, too?”

            Hope shook her head. “But I’m not, Daniel.  I’m not a Christian, like you, with compassion for complete strangers.  I’m not even like you, Ryan, a political activist.  I’m here just like everyone else—another warm body and empty heart, here to be silent, pay her debt, and die without too much pain.”

            Daniel shook his head.  There was an intensity in his expression and his tone. “No, Hope.  You are more than that—everyone here is.  We are all people, created in God’s image.  We are precious to Him.  When it feels like no one else loves us, He still does.  And the fact that all three of us met—that’s no coincidence, Hope.  I think the three of us can make a difference.  We just have to be willing to give our all for the cause.”

            Hope found herself fired up by Daniel’s speech.  He really believed in something, and she wanted to have something to believe in, too.  She was so tired of just being another name to be checked off the death list.  If she were going to die, she might as well make her death mean something. “Okay,” she said.  She looked to Ryan.

            He shook his head. “That sounds great, but I don’t think a suicide mission is really gonna cut it—two people standing up to the government isn’t gonna do any good.”

            “If we had three, it would be even better,” Hope said with a smile.

            Ryan smiled back, but he shook his head. “Good luck.”

            A few moments later, the judge appeared, and number after number was called for people to plead their cases.  Each person’s story was the same.  They were to each give a short, perfunctory speech and then be sentenced to death by the judge.  An officer would escort each “criminal” out of the courtroom to one of fourteen rooms where they would meet the rest of their cast-mates.

            Daniel’s number was called before his two companions.  He gave them a reassuring smile and walked fearlessly to the front of the large auditorium.  He didn’t cower; he looked his judge straight in the eye.

            “Number 0342, plead your case,” the gray-headed man ordered, peering over his glasses.

            Daniel took a deep breath, nodded, and began to speak.  There was something mesmerizing about his melodious accent. “Thank you, your honor.  I am not much different than the other men and women who have pleaded their cases to you to no avail.  I have not enough money to pay my taxes, and thus I am deemed worthy of nothing but an entertaining death.

            “Some of you may have noticed that I don’t sound like I’m from around here.  It’s because I’m not.  My parents and I moved here from Ireland.  We wanted to bring the light of Christ to a land where it’s been all but extinguished.  We knew that we were risking our lives, but we also knew that He was calling us, and that it was a worthy calling.

            “I will not let our work be in vain—I will not die silently.  You can take away my family, everything I own, my very life on this earth—but you cannot take away the eternal life I have in my Savior.

            “I know that all of you here are searching, in desperate need of hope.  But you will not find it anywhere outside of Christ.  He is the reason that I can stand here and speak unashamedly.” He turned back to the judge. “Sentence me as you see fit.”

            At length, the old man spoke. “Well said, 0342.  You are an eloquent speaker and a talented actor, both of which talents avail you.  You will have role number one.  Report to room fourteen.”

            Daniel nodded and left the platform calmly.  Hope heard her number being called perhaps an hour or two later.  She pled her case less fatalistically than some before her, but she did not speak with the conviction Daniel had.  She wanted very badly to end up in the same cast as he did, but she knew it was beyond her power.  The judge hesitated very briefly before making a note on the tablet before him. “Role 7.  Room 14.”

            Hope could barely believe her ears—she was going to be with Daniel?  A strange mixture of relief and surprise flooded through her as she walked out of the auditorium and into the hall on feet that were somehow not her own.

            As Hope entered her assigned room, she couldn’t help but smile.  She spotted Daniel kneeling in front of a chair on the opposite wall.  He turned around at the sound of the door closing, and he smiled with pleasure but not surprise as he saw Hope. “I knew you’d come.”

            Hope frowned. “You did?”

            He nodded. “I’ve been praying that God would put the people in my path that needed to be there, and you are one of them.  I think Ryan is, too.”

            Ryan entered the room eventually.  Hope and Daniel smiled and waved at him, but he did not return either.  He had a lost, vacant look in his eyes, and he walked like a shell of the man he’d been less than two hours ago.

            “What’s wrong?” Hope asked, looking at him with concern.  Ryan plopped down in a seat across from them.”I pled my case to the judge and asked him to talk to my father, but he said no one could help me now.” Ryan’s voice was hollow.

            “I’m sorry, Ryan,” Daniel replied. “What role do you have?  Surely they gave you a good one, considering.”

            Ryan shrugged. “I’m role four.  I don’t know what that means.”

            Daniel started to speak, but at that moment, a rather distinguished-looking gentleman with hair far too black for his wrinkled face entered. “Good afternoon,” he said.

            “I am Reginald Peabody from the Royal Shakespeare Company.  As you may now have deciphered, we will be the grand finale for the Fortnight of Exhibitions this year.  As such, we will have nearly a month to prepare a spot-on production of Hamlet.  Take a good look at the faces around you,” he said, pausing as the thirty-odd members of the cast tentatively glanced about, “for these are the men and women you will live beside for the next three weeks.  And, for many of you, these are the men and women with whom you will die.

            “Now, I will read the cast list, and then you will all be escorted to your lodgings.  Hamlet: Daniel Gallagher.  Claudius: Marcus Greene.  Gertrude: Olivia Platt.  Horatio: Ryan Vandermeer.  Ghost of Hamlet: Charles Duncan.  Laertes: Dylan Hardin.  Polonius: Richard Johnson.  Ophelia: Hope Thomas.”  He continued to read off the list of names until everyone had been called.

            “Very well, you are dismissed.  Rehearsals start promptly at seven o’clock in the morning.  Our workdays will last until seven in the evening, with a thirty-minute break for lunch.  We are expected to do in three weeks what most troupes do in three months.” Mr. Peabody left the room, and he was replaced by a short, round guard.

            Hope felt a chill go down her spine at the thought of falling into a river and drowning herself.  But then she thought of poor Daniel being wounded with a poisoned rapier, and that thought was somehow worse.

            “Well, that’s good news for you at least, Ryan,” Daniel commented, smiling, as the guard escorted them down the hallway and out the doors.  The theatre was only a few blocks away, and the capital had no need to waste transportation funds on enemies of the state. “You’ll make it out of this.” His tone was cheerful, but Hope could somehow tell that the news of his role had put a bit of a damper on his optimism.

            Ryan shrugged. “I hope so, but I still have to give a rousing performance or it could be the end of me, too.”

            As Hope was trying to think of something encouraging to say, the group halted in front of the Theatre Divine.

            The theatre had a capacity of ten thousand, and it was as ornately and lavishly built as its name implied.  The giant edifice had been constructed at the beginning of the rule of the aristocracy, as a monument to their god-like status.  Within moments they were ushered inside the building.

            Bypassing the lavish lobby, they climbed thirteen flights of stairs until they reached the fourteenth floor.  They were shown to a large, bland dormitory full of rows of bunk beds.

            The theatre had been designed for the purpose of the annual Fortnight of Exhibitions, which meant that there had to be fourteen nights’ worth of entertainment—thus, fourteen groups of entertainers.

            While the Fortnight itself had not changed, the type of entertainment provided had.  In recent years, the aristocracy had taken a fancy to tragic theatrical productions, as opposed to the dangerous stunts or gladiator-like combats they had once favored.  This year’s theme was the Tragedies of Shakespeare, and all of the tax-evaders had been cast into roles for fourteen different plays.  Hamlet would be produced on the last night.

            What made all of this so brutal was the fact that all of the deaths onstage would be real.  But that was not the end of the cruelty: those actors playing characters scripted for murder truly would kill their fellow cast-mates.  For those who could not stomach murdering their fellow actors awaited the cruel reality of a slow, torturous death after the production.

...to be continued...