A few days later, for the first time, I went below stage. It might seem odd, but it was a space most of the others used for their rituals to the unknown gods of the underpass. I had little to do with it. Now things had changed and I"d been thrust into the role of leader I needed to know what role this place had in the overall jigsaw of the community. I also needed to speak with Kirsty and this was where she had retreated.
Out in the wings of the stage was a wooden door covered with roses. Some were crudely daubed using red or white paint. Some were cut out of magazines and glued on. One or two looked like they were real, dried rose heads. There was archaeology at work, layers of roses through the ages, black and white roses covered by glossy colour. There was even the faint smell of rose.
