Pas de cinq mille, in B minor.
(The stage will be crowded.)
Instruments: violin, cello, blue guitar, tambourine.
~ ~ ~
Scene: MIDNIGHT all day. Bleak December. A chiaroscuro, snowing blackbirds.
Swirling FLIGHT. [Andantino > vivace > agito > furioso ffff]
Action: NO ONE hears them cry out – in this un-startled ear of night. At least, no one admits it, afterwards.
Always there are shadows, ghosts rise and fall. It happens all the time. This is only a part of the PANTOMIME.
Primary characters: an INNUENDO, perhaps: being slight of brain, they follow the wrong leader. Or, not understanding signals, they mistake the red beacon and fly against a GREEN LIGHT.
Costume: Extravagant black plumage, with RED-tipped wings.
Secondary characters: the THIN MEN, who prefer golden birds. To embrace the beauty of light or the beauty of dark, this was never their question.
Pre-Scene: Beebe was already knee-deep in BIRD SHIT. (Hm, recreate or not?)
Abruptly: in a denser air, between issue and return, not a FEATHER flutters. Sudden, utter stillness. [Mysterioso]
Now, five thousand: plummeting. Keeping time, time, time. PLUMMETING, each a singular instant.
The breast, the bone, dashed bodies on stone. Maybe ASPHALT. (In sixes, dancers crash to floor.) [Sforzando piano sfzp]
Easy as EGGSHELLS. Broken beaks, broken bells. Wingless and withered, by the blunt force of earth. Crimson blooms on each breast, spreading. Spreading, until: fade to RED. [Morendo]
Where do I begin?