02-25-2011, 12:38 PM
Characters
Mark
Nigel
Scene 1
A small table stands centre stage, and before it a chair with a young man sitting in it. This young man is Mark. He wears baggy grey jogging bottoms and a stained jumper. He is barefoot and his hair is unkempt. He is slouched on the chair with his arms folded, and has an expression of indifference. We watch him in silence for ten seconds before Nigel arrives on the stage. Mark doesn't seem to notice him. Nigel is wearing pinstripe trousers and a freshly pressed white shirt. His hair is tidy but he is also barefoot, like Mark. He seems nervous, like a prisoner new to the prison system. He stands a short distance from Mark idly hugging himself and looking round. When he speaks to Mark, we get the impression that it's more out of dutiful courtesy than a genuine desire for interaction. Though Mark answers, he doesn't look at him nor break his posture for a second. His voice is flat like a witness's swearing on a Bible in court. He is like stone.
Nigel: How long have you been here?
Mark: I don't remember.
Nigel: What do you mean you don't remember?
Mark: I mean I don't remember.
Nigel: Don't they keep time here?
Mark: They do in the beginning. There are memories at first. Moments from what came before you came here. The longer you stay the more fragmented they become. Like movie footage losing its connecting scenes. Until the narrative doesn't make sense. And all your left with is random faces and clipped dialogue.
Nigel: I don't understand.
Mark: You will.
Nigel: I'm scared.
Mark: That'll go eventually.
Nigel: Why are there no windows here?
Mark: Your memories are the windows.
Nigel: I don't... Never mind.
Pause. Nigel notices the table and chair.
Nigel: Don't I get a chair?
Mark: Depends on how long you stay here.
Nigel: Isn't there anybody else?
Mark: There's me. I'm somebody else.
Nigel: You know what I mean...
Mark: You're the first since Barry left. Others might come along soon. Or later. Or never at all. Probably later.
Nigel: So there is a way out?
For the first time Mark breaks his stoic posture, though not by much. He turns his head but doesn't uncross his arms.
Mark: What?
Nigel: You said somebody left.
Mark: Barry.
Nigel: Yeah.
Mark: So?
Nigel: So there is a way out? If this Barry left then there must be a way out?
Mark turns his head back.
Mark: Barry died.
Nigel: Oh.
Six second pause.
Nigel: Not sure I want to leave that way.
Mark: No.
Six second pause.
Nigel: Well if you don't know how long do you know why you're here?
Mark: When I was a child I visited a lot. They'd take me out of school and show me the rooms one by one. At first I thought that made me special. I was seeing what no-one else was. Then one day I was standing in the middle of this room we're in now and I heard a door close. I screamed and I screamed but they wouldn't let me out. Then the door disappeared. All that was there was a brick wall.
Nigel: And just who're they?
Mark: The same they that brought you here.
Nigel seems offended by this.
Nigel: I am a law student at this country's most prestigious university. I've worked hard all my life to get where I am. People respect me. (He rolls up his right sleeve, revealing an expensive watch.) You see this? (Mark gives it a cursory glance then turns his head back, unimpressed.) Nobody bought this for me. I bought it with my own money, that I earned doing all the shitty jobs that the scum of this country won't do. I cleaned toilets and worked in dive bars, tended the cash register at twenty-four hour off-licences, taking crap from low lives just so I could pay for my education.
Mark: That doesn't mean anything. You think they care? You think they keep records of who pays his dues and punish those who don't? This isn't a prison. This is worse than a prison. With a prison there's always a reason. Even if you've been wrongly accused you know you've been wrongly accused and that's why you're there. Here there was nothing to be accused of in the first place.
Ten second silence.
Nigel: Tell me about Barry.
Mark: He was here before you were. He was twenty and sung in a band. Fooled around with girls and boys and smoked loads of marijuana. He hated his parents.
Nigel: Why?
Mark: Same reason I hate mine. Same reason you will eventually.
Nigel: (Indignant) I could never hate my parents. They love me and I love them.
Mark: So do I and so did Barry.
Nigel: You just said that you and he hated your parents...
Mark: Yes.
Nigel: I'm confused.
Mark: It'll pass. You don't think love and hate can co-exist?
Nigel: Well no.
Mark: You're new. You'll learn.
Nigel pointlessly walks to the other side of the stage. Realising there's nothing to see, he squats down on the floor and sits cross-legged.
Nigel: How did Barry die?
Mark: He tied his shoelaces.
Nigel: How can you die from tying your shoelaces?
Mark: He tied them into a noose then hung himself from it.
Six second silence.
Nigel: Oh.
End of scene.
Scene Two
Nigel now has a chair at the foot of the table on the right hand side of the stage, which we see him sitting primly in as the lights go back up. The table is littered with empty takeaway cartons and plastic cutlery, and Nigel's shirt has a few stains down it. His sleeves are now rolled up as well. Mark is in the exact position he was when last we saw him.
Nigel: One of us should really have cooked. We've been eating this shit for five days now.
Mark turns his head and looks at Nigel incredulously.
Mark: Five what?
Nigel: Five days...
Mark turns his head back.
Mark: Oh that's right I forgot. You're new.
Nigel contemplates him in silence for a few seconds.
Nigel: Do you think they'll let me out to finish my essay?
Mark: You're what?
Nigel: My essay. I have an essay due in two weeks time and if I don't finish it my teacher's gonna go apeshit.
Mark looks at him briefly, then suddenly bursts into a wild fit of psychotic laughter. He unfolds his arms and pounds his fists on the table. Nigel jumps, knocking over his chair, then backs away slowly.
Nigel: What the fuck's wrong with you?
Through his sobs of laughter, Mark starts to speak, slowly but surely calming down.
Mark: You really think that shit matters? You really think you can still live and work and write fucking essays and lick your teacher's cunt and get straight As and go to parties and drink beer and carry on following the fucking life path that your mummy and daddy and all your friends do? No. No newbie. That isn't how it fucking works. Don't you feel it in your bones? Don't you feel it in your skin? Like some big motherfucker's holding you down like some great fucking weight is on your torso, your hands, your fucking everything?
Mark has finally stopped laughing by the end of his speech, though he is still breathing heavily, looking at Nigel with an expression of intense hatred. Nigel's face falls, he covers it with his hands then slowly sinks to the floor and curls into a foetal position, where he starts weeping uncontrollably. Mark hangs his head and sighs, then walks over to, sits down beside and tenderly wraps his arm around him, picking him up and leaning him against his torso, Nigel's face screwed up and the tears still flowing.
Mark: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it worse for you. Everything I said you'll figure out eventually anyway.
They look at each other and something unspoken passes between them. Nigel closes his eyes and Mark kisses them one by one, as if they were lovers. Nigel opens his eyes and tucks his head under Mark's chin as Mark carries on holding him.
Nigel: You never did tell me your name.
Mark: Neither of our names matter.
Nigel: Still, I'd like to know.
Mark: I'm Mark.
Six second silence.
Nigel: Don't you want to know what mine is?
Mark smiles, not looking at him.
Mark: Sure.
Nigel: It's Nigel.
Mark: Hello Nigel.
Nigel: Hello Mark.
Six second silence.
Nigel: I think I understand now.
Mark: Understand what?
Nigel: Why there are no windows.
Mark
Nigel
Scene 1
A small table stands centre stage, and before it a chair with a young man sitting in it. This young man is Mark. He wears baggy grey jogging bottoms and a stained jumper. He is barefoot and his hair is unkempt. He is slouched on the chair with his arms folded, and has an expression of indifference. We watch him in silence for ten seconds before Nigel arrives on the stage. Mark doesn't seem to notice him. Nigel is wearing pinstripe trousers and a freshly pressed white shirt. His hair is tidy but he is also barefoot, like Mark. He seems nervous, like a prisoner new to the prison system. He stands a short distance from Mark idly hugging himself and looking round. When he speaks to Mark, we get the impression that it's more out of dutiful courtesy than a genuine desire for interaction. Though Mark answers, he doesn't look at him nor break his posture for a second. His voice is flat like a witness's swearing on a Bible in court. He is like stone.
Nigel: How long have you been here?
Mark: I don't remember.
Nigel: What do you mean you don't remember?
Mark: I mean I don't remember.
Nigel: Don't they keep time here?
Mark: They do in the beginning. There are memories at first. Moments from what came before you came here. The longer you stay the more fragmented they become. Like movie footage losing its connecting scenes. Until the narrative doesn't make sense. And all your left with is random faces and clipped dialogue.
Nigel: I don't understand.
Mark: You will.
Nigel: I'm scared.
Mark: That'll go eventually.
Nigel: Why are there no windows here?
Mark: Your memories are the windows.
Nigel: I don't... Never mind.
Pause. Nigel notices the table and chair.
Nigel: Don't I get a chair?
Mark: Depends on how long you stay here.
Nigel: Isn't there anybody else?
Mark: There's me. I'm somebody else.
Nigel: You know what I mean...
Mark: You're the first since Barry left. Others might come along soon. Or later. Or never at all. Probably later.
Nigel: So there is a way out?
For the first time Mark breaks his stoic posture, though not by much. He turns his head but doesn't uncross his arms.
Mark: What?
Nigel: You said somebody left.
Mark: Barry.
Nigel: Yeah.
Mark: So?
Nigel: So there is a way out? If this Barry left then there must be a way out?
Mark turns his head back.
Mark: Barry died.
Nigel: Oh.
Six second pause.
Nigel: Not sure I want to leave that way.
Mark: No.
Six second pause.
Nigel: Well if you don't know how long do you know why you're here?
Mark: When I was a child I visited a lot. They'd take me out of school and show me the rooms one by one. At first I thought that made me special. I was seeing what no-one else was. Then one day I was standing in the middle of this room we're in now and I heard a door close. I screamed and I screamed but they wouldn't let me out. Then the door disappeared. All that was there was a brick wall.
Nigel: And just who're they?
Mark: The same they that brought you here.
Nigel seems offended by this.
Nigel: I am a law student at this country's most prestigious university. I've worked hard all my life to get where I am. People respect me. (He rolls up his right sleeve, revealing an expensive watch.) You see this? (Mark gives it a cursory glance then turns his head back, unimpressed.) Nobody bought this for me. I bought it with my own money, that I earned doing all the shitty jobs that the scum of this country won't do. I cleaned toilets and worked in dive bars, tended the cash register at twenty-four hour off-licences, taking crap from low lives just so I could pay for my education.
Mark: That doesn't mean anything. You think they care? You think they keep records of who pays his dues and punish those who don't? This isn't a prison. This is worse than a prison. With a prison there's always a reason. Even if you've been wrongly accused you know you've been wrongly accused and that's why you're there. Here there was nothing to be accused of in the first place.
Ten second silence.
Nigel: Tell me about Barry.
Mark: He was here before you were. He was twenty and sung in a band. Fooled around with girls and boys and smoked loads of marijuana. He hated his parents.
Nigel: Why?
Mark: Same reason I hate mine. Same reason you will eventually.
Nigel: (Indignant) I could never hate my parents. They love me and I love them.
Mark: So do I and so did Barry.
Nigel: You just said that you and he hated your parents...
Mark: Yes.
Nigel: I'm confused.
Mark: It'll pass. You don't think love and hate can co-exist?
Nigel: Well no.
Mark: You're new. You'll learn.
Nigel pointlessly walks to the other side of the stage. Realising there's nothing to see, he squats down on the floor and sits cross-legged.
Nigel: How did Barry die?
Mark: He tied his shoelaces.
Nigel: How can you die from tying your shoelaces?
Mark: He tied them into a noose then hung himself from it.
Six second silence.
Nigel: Oh.
End of scene.
Scene Two
Nigel now has a chair at the foot of the table on the right hand side of the stage, which we see him sitting primly in as the lights go back up. The table is littered with empty takeaway cartons and plastic cutlery, and Nigel's shirt has a few stains down it. His sleeves are now rolled up as well. Mark is in the exact position he was when last we saw him.
Nigel: One of us should really have cooked. We've been eating this shit for five days now.
Mark turns his head and looks at Nigel incredulously.
Mark: Five what?
Nigel: Five days...
Mark turns his head back.
Mark: Oh that's right I forgot. You're new.
Nigel contemplates him in silence for a few seconds.
Nigel: Do you think they'll let me out to finish my essay?
Mark: You're what?
Nigel: My essay. I have an essay due in two weeks time and if I don't finish it my teacher's gonna go apeshit.
Mark looks at him briefly, then suddenly bursts into a wild fit of psychotic laughter. He unfolds his arms and pounds his fists on the table. Nigel jumps, knocking over his chair, then backs away slowly.
Nigel: What the fuck's wrong with you?
Through his sobs of laughter, Mark starts to speak, slowly but surely calming down.
Mark: You really think that shit matters? You really think you can still live and work and write fucking essays and lick your teacher's cunt and get straight As and go to parties and drink beer and carry on following the fucking life path that your mummy and daddy and all your friends do? No. No newbie. That isn't how it fucking works. Don't you feel it in your bones? Don't you feel it in your skin? Like some big motherfucker's holding you down like some great fucking weight is on your torso, your hands, your fucking everything?
Mark has finally stopped laughing by the end of his speech, though he is still breathing heavily, looking at Nigel with an expression of intense hatred. Nigel's face falls, he covers it with his hands then slowly sinks to the floor and curls into a foetal position, where he starts weeping uncontrollably. Mark hangs his head and sighs, then walks over to, sits down beside and tenderly wraps his arm around him, picking him up and leaning him against his torso, Nigel's face screwed up and the tears still flowing.
Mark: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it worse for you. Everything I said you'll figure out eventually anyway.
They look at each other and something unspoken passes between them. Nigel closes his eyes and Mark kisses them one by one, as if they were lovers. Nigel opens his eyes and tucks his head under Mark's chin as Mark carries on holding him.
Nigel: You never did tell me your name.
Mark: Neither of our names matter.
Nigel: Still, I'd like to know.
Mark: I'm Mark.
Six second silence.
Nigel: Don't you want to know what mine is?
Mark smiles, not looking at him.
Mark: Sure.
Nigel: It's Nigel.
Mark: Hello Nigel.
Nigel: Hello Mark.
Six second silence.
Nigel: I think I understand now.
Mark: Understand what?
Nigel: Why there are no windows.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe
). Thank you as always for your kind words and critique.