Ode to Oliver!

Not so much a story as a prose piece about my first taste of theatre.

Shrouded in anticipated darkness, the air alive with fluttering heatbeats and excited mumblings - the orchestra tune up. A perculiar melee of sounds: lilting flutes and the mournful cello, tinkling pianos and the crashing of drums. Children in rags and fine pinafores scuttle through the wings as an exasperated choreographer, voice stripped to a hoarse whisper, barks: "Places everyone!"
Dusty light illuminates a dormant stage. Magnificent gowns and ridiculous frocks whoosh and swirl, a blur of colour bouncing to the limelight. The eyes of hundreds sparkle in the stage light as the lilting flutes and crashing drums erupt in a crescendo - musical excitement fills the air. Thrust onto the stage, pounding hearts prepared to leap at any moment, the dance begins. Voices merge and float as one, reciting words for months rehersed. Each step calculated - each move pre-concieved.
Adrenaline conquering logic and fear, energy pumps through the dusky theatre air as we waltz across the stage. Orphans cry, lovers swoon, villains thieve, as the merry dance and sing the story we have long waited to tell. Until the final bow we wildly follow the music - lost in the tale, outside world long forgotten. Even as the curtains close, though the story may be over, the memory remains.