Exit (Stage Right)

The concert is really hotting up now. The auditorium is huge, with perfectly matched acoustics. There are four and three quarter thousand people in here, each of them having paid about seven pounds to see the few men on the stage play their way through twenty or so tunes that they all know anyway. Still, it gets exciting. The band call themselves Spandau Ballet, which is a bloody awful name I have to admit.

All at once, everyone in the theatre starts to chant with the band. No instruments play. The chant is oddly rhythmic with no apparent tune, although their timing is nearly perfect. What is happening to them?

I get damned frightened and run from the hall, past the confectionery and programme stalls and into the empty foyer. I am most alarmed to find that there are no doors. God, how will I ever get out of here?

I can still hear the ever-increasing chanting coming from the theatre. It is getting louder and faster. Something scary is happening.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and who should I see but the members of the band! I say to them that I thought they were on stage. They smile and assure me that they are. I am getting confused.

Through the glass walls that once were glass doors I see the city outside crumbling and breaking with the rain. Its sterile grandeur melting in the night wind, its dust carried over the southern hills to be deposited over a misty, cold, early morning cemetery near Berlin.

The band have vanished, the theatre is derelict and the city has been dead for a century. A new civilisation will arise from the dust that once was us. We will call them men and they will call us Gods.