Opening Night of Richard the III

The Audience roared with applause as the Director took the stage. He attempted to appear tall, but, despite the four feet added to his height by the stage, he failed. This failure might've been caused by his rotundity or perhaps the fact that the nearby throne made him look as a midgit. He began to deliver the house speech and by some miracle the audience managed not to fall asleep.

The Director finished his speech, announced the play, and left the stage. The audience's reaction almost drowned out the opening lines of the first actor to make his entrance.

"Now is the winter of our discontent. Made glorious summer...." He began in a thunderous voice.

He stood with a hunched shoulder, but still towered over the throne that dwarfed the director. His hair had a brilliant sheen, it glowed in the bright stage lights. His brilliantly applied make-up illuminated his face, gallantly combating the emaciating affects of the aforementioned stage lights. His costume, an immaculate Elizabethan ensemble, suited his figure perfectly, causing all the young ladies of the audience to think scandalous thoughts of what they would do to him given the slightest opportunity.

He paced around the gorgeous stage as he ingeniously delivered each line of his monologue. The soft leather soles of his blindingly shiny boots hit the radiant oak boards of the stage, making not a sound to interfere with the lines spoken on stage. The rich, velvety curtains splendidly caught the light and brought out all the right colors in the costumes of the actors.

By now other actors had entered onto the stage, but no one payed them any heed. All attention was on the main character, as superbly portrayed by the famous actor Geoffrey Marlowe.

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A tall, scruffy looking man stood upon a run down stage. The stage looked as though it might collapse at any moment and the warped plywood that made it up creaked at the slightest movement of the man. His ratty clothes, which at some point might've once been a costume, theoretically of an Elizabethan style, were now so moth eaten that one could not even discern their original color. A thick coat of dust covered the man as well as the stage, the seats, and everything else in the building. The building in which he stood, an old abandoned theatre, looked as though is had not seen any manner of human life within a 20 ft radius of its perimiter for at least 2o years. This wasnt the case, as the man, one who called himself Geoffrey Marlowe, had lived in the theatre ever since its closing 25 years ago.