The Sad-ish Play

OFF: This is my challenge post


With a finger pressed firmly into his lips and a hunched posture, Sokir watched the drama unfold on the stage before him. Moving slowly along with the actors of interest, his emerald eyes followed the action of the world unfolding. There was a beauty, a mastery, at work that the chief security officer marveled in. How beautiful it was, to him, to have a place like that of his childhood where stories were told and shared and meanings, made tangible in this way.

Not only were the lessons of substance acted on the stage taught to him, a Tamarian on this wondrous journey aboard the USS Endeavor, they were taught to the audience. Palpable ecstasy sometimes filled him in his seat and after showings, knowing that the crowd and himself were one in their current rumination and deciphering of the performance they had experienced.

Sometimes, when he felt far from it all. Far from what he knew and far from what he could know, the showings grounded him. Coming closer to the meanings behind the words and the people that were with him, doing just the same, elated Sokir in a way that tied together the pieces of his life in a cohesive chain that felt right to be a part of.

On this night, the crowd was devoted to the scene as much as he was. The act before had left them confused and shocked. The hero of the play was wavering and a rival’s monologue was leaving him far in the dark of the stage as his confidence wavered. Sokir’s hand only dropped from its tight position against his lips as the protagonist quipped a fast line after the monologue was over and his rival had finished his drawling speech. The transition’s speed and boisterous outburst in and of itself gave Sokir pause, but the actor delivered a line that Sokir thought he understood to mean one thing…

One thing that it did not. Sokir’s lips parted to let out the raucous laugh befitting what he believed to be a short change for comic relief in the play. His vociferation was abruptly ended, though, when Sokir did not hear the rest of the room laugh. A few audience members stirred alongside him, but their own reactions were tight-lipped and appraising of a different sort of situation than Sokir was imagining the play had taken.

The Tamarian held his hands together, fingers clasped, as tight as his lips were now. He would not make the same mistake again, he decided. In a turn of events all its own, Sokir closed himself to the experience he so often reveled in. The experience of joyful discernment of the meanings on stage had become a calculated revolt against ignorance- or at least the outward signs of such.

The man kept his ruddy orange fingers pressed against one another as his posture stayed rigid and any show of emotion was now premeditated as he overthought every move amongst his fellow audience. And, so it was for the duration of the play. He removed himself from his seat as he normally would and a feeling of being removed from a burden washed over the man. He exited the theatre aboard the Galaxy-class starship, turning towards the turbolift to his own quarters.

But, before he could leave, a man stopped him by pressing his hand in the air in front of him and speaking to Sokir.

“Lieutenant Sokir! Hello,” the man began, extending the hand that had been up to stop Sokir towards the Tamarian to shake his hand. “I heard you in the audience tonight and- no, no!” Sokir had begun to shake his head, about to murmur the apology he wished he did not have to give, but the man went on. “I am the director, you may have heard of me, I am Oliver Bishop and I would love to know if you yourself are an actor.”

In a stammer, Sokir replied while finishing the hand shake. “Kadir beneath Mo Moteh.”

“I want you to be in my next place, Sokir.” Oliver corrected himself, “Lieutenant Sokir. I have seen your patronage but tonight, hearing you, I-I… I can’t help myself. I want to headhunt you. What do you say, will you possibly be willing to be trained for this? It won’t affect your normal duties and I promise you’ll enjoy the atmosphere behind the curtain. Well, I would hope you will!”

Sokir smiled, “Temba, his arms very wide!”

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