He kills the audience with his performance night after night after night.
Small and slight in stature, he makes up for his genetic disadvantage with his sulky voice, steering his audience to shipwreck. Of course they don’t see it coming. Doesn’t he look like an angel in the spotlight, like a divine messenger who might save them? Little do they know how much he dreads them and seeks to pull them under water.
Encore, encore, encore, one more song, they gurgle pleadingly. Succumbing to the downward pull. Forgotten is their strength, superior to his if only they knew of it still, had shielded themselves from the hypnotic power of his voice.
That feeling, oh, that feeling, of being the sole survivor, staying above water, returning to dry shore, victorious, invincible.
(c) Ash N. Finn, 2017
Post Scriptum: Quick and short post today, triggered by a recent sketch I made.