You live in a time where fascism has swept the globe and, among many horrible side-effects, live theater and dance has been prohibited. This sent lovers of live theater and dance into underground clubs where they could, under penalty of death, continue to enjoy those old shows they used to love. It’s rare that a show reaches its curtain before the death squads come in and murder everyone on stage and in the audience, and the showgirl ranks have been dwindling down until tonight, when you are the very last showgirl.
“That means I’m also the greatest showgirl alive,” you tell your stage manager.
“That’s right kid,” he says. “Now get out there and—“
“Fuck that,” you say. “Think I managed to last all these years just to get shot? I can only hang onto my title if I never dance again. And dance again I never will.”
“But the people need you,” he says.
“The people also need their churches to have not been leveled,” you say. “Everyone should grab what he or she can. I am the greatest showgirl alive, and I always will be.”
You can hear the crowd clapping for you to come out and entertain them but you refuse. They keep clapping until it gets louder and louder and finally they burst into a cheer. Music begins, and they clap to a rhythm. You go out and see what’s going on.
There on the stage is a little girl, one of the audience member’s daughters, still wearing the frock she wore to the theater. She’s dancing like an angel, like the world depends on it, and watching her it is clear that you are neither the last, nor even, the greatest showgirl alive.
“Fuck!” you say. “I was only able to enjoy it for a couple minutes.”
The little girl is suddenly shot dead by soldiers.
“Yes!” you shout. “I’m the greatest showgirl alive again!”
You go home, satisfied that its too late for anyone in the city to put on a show, which means you’re the greatest showgirl alive until at least around 7 PM tomorrow. May there always be roses under your-- Whoops, someone just started dancing again.
Happy You Are The Last Showgirl Day!
