Writer's Island Masquerade

Here's something for Writer's Island

MASQUERADE

I’m not quite real - a character stepped out or rather, danced out from someone else’s story… maybe a play, a masquerade, a sham. Look at me - I grin behind my mask, my harlequins black mask which covers my eyes. Still, I’m aware of the many coloured diamonds covering my body… they twinkle and glint as each one catches the light… red, green, gold… flash, twinkle, and gradually fade into a dull glow. It’s a dull glow that promises to be born anew and rise up out of the ashes like a phoenix into the flame, the fire. The colours of my suit change slightly as I turn round and round on the spot at I wave my stick in the air. There is nothing real about me - nothing at all. The part I’m playing came from someone else’s fiction - I’m an idea, nothing more, so don’t worry. Nobody’s controlling this, there are no boundaries. I might even have stepped over them without even noticing, for my dancing shoes are good ones, in fact magical ones. I’m still spinning round, I can’t stop now. My diamond suit spins with me… round and round we go.