The curtain rises, revealing a mask. The audience is bewildered and decides to blaspheme.
Everything strange tends to be censored.
The second act is much less clear. On the platform, there are more individuals with masks, motionless and seemingly lifeless. This is so displeasing that they start throwing food.
A curious person stands up from their seat and, dodging the food, heads towards the stage.
Unsure whether to continue and confront the actors, they ultimately proceed. When they arrive, the world collapses around them.
Nothing was real. There was no one on stage, just a large screen. They realize this when they touch it because from afar, it seems like there are real actors.
The most astonishing moment comes when they turn on their heels and observe the audience. Now they understand.
What everyone sees is a photograph of themselves. A captured reflection.
They begin to struggle for breath and collapse on the floor. It is then that they know the truth, when all their defenses drop. The play ends when others notice the screen as food reaches it without passing through.
Some hate oddities—the very thing that makes each one special—so much that they end up discriminating against themselves. In pursuit of superficiality and perfection, they forget to live.
The masks hide their insecurities and ironically, in those moments, are the first to harm without compassion.
Insecurities? No, irreverences.
Showing something repressed is a common desire, and due to the social pressure they create along with others, the world becomes hostile. Passions extinguish, talents fade, progress halts.
And that’s when a play, which could be a vibrant literary success, gets ruined by antipathy and lack of coherence.
What is the name of the play? Falsehood.