Richard Schiffman

The curtain parts one last time and the ones who killed and were killed, who loved inordinately, who went berserk, were flayed alive, descended to Hades, raged, wept, schemed— victims and victimizers alike— smile and nod and graciously bow. So glad it's finally over, they stride off suddenly a bit ridiculous in their overwrought costumes. And the crowd—still dark, like God beyond the footlights of the world— rises to its feet and roars like the sea.