Opera Flavour [Fiction]

Tonight's performance would go down in Berrybo's history as an unforgettable one.

Hardy Sutton strolled through his opera house, the only one in his town, his shoulders raised high with pride as he observed the crew preparing for the late night show.

He pushed open the door to a small studio backstage without bothering to knock. A loud gasp made him pause and smirk. “It's just me, Sally—”

“Mr Sutton! Surely, it can't be that hard to knock,” said Sally Ashworth, his best singer and performer. She was fixing her hair and makeup in preparation for the show. She stared him down with a hard glare, her chest heaving.

She disliked the pudgy bastard much as the middle class in their town. The man loved his money but even more, the fame.

After her performance of La Traviata that raked in millions and made her a sensation, he dismissed the rest of his singers and kept her bound to him alone. It was either perform for him thrice a week or forfeit her mother's hospital care.

“Watch your tongue, young lady. I'm the one who pays your bills around here and you'd better give me your best tonight. Or else—”

“Or else what?”

He smirked, slowly flicking the cigar in the corner of his mouth as he chewed on it. His eyes roamed over her from head to toe. She shivered in repulsion.

“You'll see.” With his hands in his pockets, smiling smugly, he left the room.

Sally threw a vase of fresh roses across the room. The floor was a mess, just like her life. She closed her eyes and exhaled, as a tiny smile crossed her face and vanished. It was not time to celebrate yet, she told herself. She gazed at her trembling hands, then clenched them into fists.

Two hours later

The curtains parted from the center to murmurings from the audience. Applause rippled through the theatre; a few whistled at the mesmerising sight of Sally Ashworth in a flowing silk gown that accentuated her curves.

The lights caught the pearls on her dress, making them gleam. Her sleek jet-black hair fell over one shoulder, and her pale neck was graced with a diamond necklace. The men were in awe, some nearly drooling while the women stared in envy.

The house lights dimmed to near darkness as the audience hushed. A single beam shone on Sally and she sang her heart out. Every note and swell was enrapturing, as eyes glazed and mouths gaped in adoration. Some people sniffed, their embroidered handkerchiefs held close to their misty cheeks.

Sally smiled through her performance, knowing it would be her last. Freedom was so close she could taste it, and her voice soared to its fullest resonance.

Suddenly, the lights went out, throwing the theatre into darkness.

Oh, my diamond timepiece! It's gone!
My gold rings!
Nooo! My tiara!
My handbag! Oh, heavens!

Shrieks erupted from dark corners, throwing everyone into confusion. Suddenly, the lights came back on and the fire alarms blared at the same time. Then a man stood, stomping his feet and pointing to the stage. "Where is she? Where's Sally Ashworth?"

That was when everyone realised she was gone.

Hardy Sutton rushed onstage, out of breath, trying to calm the people when policemen matched in from the wings towards him. One of them roughly pulled his hands together and cuffed him.

The officer sneered. “Well, Sutton. Not the usual flavour eh? You're trying something new now? Didn't know you fancied yourself Berrybo's opera master thief.”

“Listen, man. I…it's not me. Find Sally Ashworth! Find her.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Hardy tripped as the officer pushed him towards their car. “I know your kind. You'll pin this on the lovely lady to save yourself. You're done. Move it!”

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "not the usual flavour".

Thank you for visiting my blog.

^{Image credit: miapowterr}