Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Harlequin’s Requiem

A stage opened, and a red carpet flowed between the audience that cheered madly. And the high-class clapped nonchalantly, judging from a comfortable place above with their backs resting on prestigious seats. Their clean faces and fancy clothes: males wearing black tuxedos, women wearing wine-colored dresses. Their ornaments, earrings, rings, and necklaces were expensive enough to buy one of those low-society houses. 

But even then, despite all their superiority, ego, and wealth, all of them were there to watch a play. Entertainment was something that everyone sought.

And these plays had become famous. The actor was a genius. The fans considered his acting out of this world.

Thus, for the first time, he was given a stage large enough to fit people from all countries and ages. Everyone wished to see what he had prepared for them.

And the spotlights ceased to be, causing most to be in awe, even letting their voices echo their admiration, waiting for the grandiose figure with vast suspense. The exhilaration that was contained inside their hearts shook their very souls from the beginning. 

And then, when nothing happened, the silence grew thin. The nervousness accumulated inside the peers, and the children were the first ones to become restless. But even then, they attempted to subside the emotions that sought to haunt their diverse behaviors, ceasing them from jumping out of the chairs, which would cause their parents to scold them harshly.

It was not until the tiny whimsical whispers stopped that the show started. Certainly, they had barren the silence away. The expectation for the show to the surprise of many didn’t dim, instead, it grew exponentially so.

Those who acted, vastly knew the hearts and minds of humankind. An art that most had not cared for till this day, telling their children not to follow such dreams, be it in this branch or others like painting and drawing.

However, this actor was someone that had something that most would forget or even discard as they grew: the will to make others laugh.

Those who worked with him knew how hard-working he had been. From being the first one to reach the workplace to be the last one leaving it. And despite being disregarded multiple times before he was famous, he had never given up.

His persistence and willingness to improve and improvise had fallen to the best outcome possible. A chance like no other to premier where others hadn’t had the chance. From small stages in jazz bars to coffee shops, from stand-up comedy to more entertaining pieces. Slowly his work became known and now he found himself in the greatest stage of all.

Millions stood there waiting and among them privileged people, from those who had careers in politics to those who commanded the army, plastic surgeons, and many CEOs.

Most of the revenue from the tickets sale would go to support orphanages, hospitals, institutions of charity. Such came from the good will and heart of this man. 

He enjoyed living in the most simple ways. From sitting on the not-so-comfortable seats of public transport reading a book, or using the phone to check the news in one of many apps. 

Despite his outstanding fame, there were things that the fans didn’t know about him: his face, name, age, gender, and more. This figure was the greatest performer of all time, a humble one that never proclaimed to be the best. No, that was something the world had decided on its own term. 

And there were even people who had put a prize for anyone with personal information on such a person.

However, this harlequin had been so good at being ordinary that the media would often miss him.

Acting had been the one thing this figure was good at: that’s what the fans thought, and that’s all he had shown them.

On the blackened stage, the curtains raised, leaving a dark piano with a young adult sitting in front of it.

A rain of applauses befell the figure, yet, unlike every single time before, he did not look at them, nor did he thank them for their kind gesture. 

Instead, he started speaking to the microphone, playing a melodramatic tune.

“Long time ago, there was a girl and a girl,” his first words caused the audience to think he could have just said there were two girls.

“One of them, I don’t quite remember which, but she was unhappy,” his head swayed to the sides, showing that he, himself, didn’t feel pleased about it.

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“The saddened girl sought to change her life, but every single day, life would rebuke her efforts,” his hands left the piano and he grew mute, rubbing his eyes as if he was crying.

Some fans felt the urge to stand and see if the actor was okay: never once had he undergone such meticulous acting. They became touched to where the barrier between reality and fiction was dispersing.

Gently, his finger hit another key, a delicate one, mellowing those around.

“A few winters went through and life took her away from me,” his arms crossed one another as his breath became irregular, showing how icy his body was. 

To the audience’s surprise, there was a cloud of mist coming out of his mouth.

“My soulmate told me then that she’d use our daughter’s body to make a saddened hat, so that I would never forget my reason to make people happy.”

The audience's minds became sad but puzzled. Was it true? Had the child’s mother really done that? Some became sick that she could have used the meat or the bones to make the famous harlequin hat.

Certainly, it had an abhorrent aspect to it, and well, it was red, but an uglier version of it. A bit more like a crimson, aged tone, suiting the aspect of dried blood.

But before anyone could say a word, the actor lifted his hat, placing it on top of the piano. And then he straightened his back, delivering those white and black keys a more befitting merrier mood.

“My other daughter, however, did little with her life. Often her words were sweet whispers to my ears,” a bit of laughter escaped his mouth.

And a child’s voice followed through, causing the hat to shiver on its own, and the audience to tremble in surprise “daddy, daddy, where is my sun?”

“I’ve told you this many times before, dear. The sun can’t be up when the moon is,” his chin raised a bit, giving the air that his eyes focused on the celestial sky above.

“But I miss my sister. I wish I could be with her,” once more he shook his head to the sides. That wish was the one thing he could not tolerate. Death had taken one of them and there was no way he could allow himself to lose the remaining one. His manly voice returned, delivering the paper of the dad.

“If you did that, then the world would be left without a moon.” And then he whispered sorrowfully, “as it has been without light for so long.”

The tune halted, both hands, knuckle shaped, rubbed his eyes softly once again. Tears may have flowed down his cheeks then, but alas, the figure was too far away from the audience for any of them to be certain.

“And that night,” the audience heard him sniffing. “That fateful night, I told star about our little moon wish.”

Both hands covered his eyes, showing that whatever he had seen had been too much for anyone to bear.

“During the dark I got to know that star had completed its most wicked task, leaving moon to be together with her in death,” liquid splattered onto the keys of the piano, causing the crowd to no longer be able to hold back the saddened emotions that were inside of them.

Everyone had a thing to say, but none had anything to give. And that was, without a doubt, peculiar. After all, this figure, who was now telling them a story, had for decades made them laugh repeatedly.

The man got up, got hold of the microphone, and took a few steps forward, halting, remaining silent for a bit.

“I am the harlequin, lover of star, parent of moon and sun, and this story is my requiem.”

As soon as he finished, his body hit the stage, and they quickly ordered the curtain to descend, followed by the screams of the shocked audience.

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