Curators

“It’s time to step in line,” a hooded, black figure droned as he walked down the dimly lit street. Although the figure seemed to address a crowd, the street was deserted except for a single, flickering streetlight. In his hands rested a monstrous broom moving back and forth, back and forth. The strokes of the boom did nothing but re-arrange the dirt he flicked into the air. Each move he made seemed deliberate, like a painter’s brush stroke on a developing canvas. Every stroke of the broom painted the foreboding street with his presence. His slow, steady movements cut the air with their firm deliberation each time the broom left the ground. The menacing, black figure seemed to glide along the pale sidewalk as he said, “Does your future hold greatness, or are you a member of the masses?”.
His words came a chilling effect sweeping over the shadowy, deserted street. “Put your best up to the test. When we select you, we collect you,” proclaimed the hooded figure, “Don’t move aside when you could stand in pride.” His words ricocheted off tall, decrepit buildings as he approached an impossibly narrow alley. “Come to the test where we select the best of the best.” Dust and dirt clouded the air of the alley as he glided through. “Your future awaits. Join the elite.” At the end of an alley was a menacing, black door marked with a number sign. The dark figure opened the door and began to slowly sweep the alley’s grime inside, blackening the entrance. “Get in line. Let us select, select, select…” The figure said as he finally passed through the doorway. He turned around, and slowly scanned the alley as if looking to see if anyone was looking. Then the figure slowly removed the hood from his head of buzzed, brown hair. His hazel-green eyes pierced into the darkness one last time as he finally inched the door to a close.