Last Dinner In History

Facing away from the arriving audience, I am sitting at the table, seemingly staring into nothing until the creeping presence of the newcomers makes me react. This must mean the story has to be performed again. The same old history. These people are here to witness, here to judge, with a thousand questions that won’t be posed but answered in their minds. I know the script by heart. I’ve turned it into my flesh through which I skilfully run a knife by demand. I will confess, I’m tired. Moving around the outside, still unhurried. With a dash of weariness. I get ready to enunciate it all over again.