“The King is dead, long live the King!”
Quentin Prendergast spoke the words out loud and clear to his reflection in the mirror.
His death was imminent, and if he was lucky, his end on this earth could be counted in months.
Death and taxes were the two certainties. He had paid his taxes up to date, but soon he must complete the contract.
“To be or not to be?” was not the question. His impending demise had taken that phrase out of his hands.
“To act or not to act? that was the question!”
The physically fading Broadway and Hollywood star, slowly and carefully stretched himself up to his commanding height of six feet tall, before gazing at the heavily rouged reflection in the mirror.
He stared boldly ahead, drawing on all his thespian experience, and then addressed the haunted image that stared back at him with perfect elocution, timing, and emotion.
“Should I play the part the crowd expect, portraying the image they crave, or do I announce to them the uncomfortable, uncompromising, unbending truth!”
