Darkest of Times [Albert J Moriarty] - Moriarty the Patriot

Act 1, Scene 1 - The Meeting

A bright, shining beacon of light steadily pours down onto the troupe of thespians. Amidst the heat from the lights and from the number of members in the audience, the group either take their stand on stage or await their call from the wings.

Tall, white pillars stand on either side of the stage, dark red curtains hung high, ready to be released by the golden ropes. The auditorium is filled with spectators, eagerly watching as the play continues, amazed by the sheer size of the theatre itself and the beautiful architecture it holds inside.

Those of higher standing sit high up in the galleries that are curved around the shape of the theatre, holding up small binoculars to their faces; although their seats give them a full view of the stage, they also allow for a more difficult viewing experience. However, they can still enjoy the performance, fully amerced in the theatrics of it all.

Dressed in an Elizabethan era ensemble of a tunic, trousers and plimp-soles, the messenger hurries upstage, holding a letter out.

"Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more. Than would make up his message."

From upstage, she nods, turning to look at the messenger. "Give him tending; He brings great news."

With a polite nod of his head, the messenger races off the stage, letter in hand.

The light dwindling, focusing more intensely on the centre of the stage, she holds the palms of her hands together and up to her lips —as if deep in thought. She looks to the side of the stage where the messenger left, a sneer on her face.

"The raven himself is hoarse. That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan, under my battlements."

When she turns back to the front of the stage, looking out at the audience, she gazes up high.

"Come, you spirits, that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here," Her words hold great heaviness and she looks over the crowd of people. "And fill me from the crown to the toe, top-full of direst cruelty."

With a few steps to the side of the stage, she shakes her head, pointing a finger up high.

"Make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse, that no compunctious visitings of nature, shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between the effect and it."

The lines laced together sound almost spell-like, the audience mesmerised by her hypnotic words. Her body language and speech is villainous, her words harsh and her delivery intense.

"Come to my woman's breasts, and take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers," Her last words are laced with venom.

With a gesture of her hands, she looks back up, her voice projecting louder through the auditorium. "Wherever, in your sightless substances, you wait on nature's mischief. Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,"

Her voice softens and she glances to the side. "That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,"

As she stands before the audience in her dark green and gold embroidered 'beetle wing' dress and her auburn hair braided to the side of her shoulder, she plays this strong, fierce, evil character. Yet, she's a beautiful vision before him.

Her snowy complexion and bright brown eyes call out to him and he sits closer to the edge of his seat. Viewing her fiery performance, his emerald eyes fixate on her and he lowers the binoculars from his face.

"Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark, to cry 'Hold, hold.'"

Swallowing the lump formed in his throat, he sits back as he watches Macbeth run on to join her. The audience is silent, listening intensely to the performance and the characters conversing.