Stage left bore the weight of too many scuff marks and deep grooves along the floorboards, splinters lifted where feet had struck too hard, too often. Chester the Chimpanzee stood at the edge of it all, slightly hunched, arms loose at his sides like the tension hadn’t drained, only paused.

His green overalls were creased from years of strain, straps frayed, a button missing where the fabric had split down one side. The red banjo, battered and chipped, hung from one shoulder by a snapped strap, the strings long since silenced.

His eyes weren’t glowing, but they were open, unfocused. The kind of open that felt wrong. Mouth slack, just ajar, revealing teeth too human in shape and too uneven in texture.

His joints sagged in a way that looked tired rather than shut down, like something had burned out mid-charge. One arm hung lower than the other, bent slightly backward at the elbow. Fingers twitch less, curled just enough to create a faint impression of impact, even in stillness.

Around him, the soundproofing foam on the wall had peeled back. Dust collected where he hadn’t moved. Chester didn’t sit. Didn’t slump. He stood hunched forward as if he might leap again at any moment. If only his legs remembered how.

But for now, he was quiet.
And somehow, that was worse.