MEMENTO MORI - MONOLOGUE EXCERPT
ACT I
Scene 1
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Centre stage, a lone table covered in letters, writing equipment and empty bottles. A single chair is upturned behind it. SL is a wooden cabinet.
A spot light lights the table and its soft edge fades as it reaches the confines of the stage.
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A man is lying down USL, he staggers to his feet. He paces around the upper stage agitated, mumbling nothings to himself. The man grows more and more frantic and unsettle till he reaches his breaking point, storms up to the table and swipes the bottles off the table. The bottles hit the side of stage right and crash to the ground, broken.
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Hunched over the tabled, head bowed and with his spirit almost broken, the man begins to speak.
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MAN 1
I wish I was dead.
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(Pause)
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That's a bunch of bullshit, I wish I was dead.
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(Pause)
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I wish I wasn't feeling what I'm feeling right now, now that's the fucking truth.
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(Pause)
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I wish that the noise in my head would subside for any length of time. That the incessant screaming would stop so I could stop crying. Maybe then I could think without wanting to vomit, or breathe without choking on the air.
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(Pause)
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I wish I wasn't feeling what I'm feeling right now because I don't know how to handle it, I can't even begin to process it. If I could then I wouldn't be here talking to myself again, then I wouldn't keep on putting my fist through the goddamn wall, because then I wouldn't be here wishing that I was fucking dead.
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The man grabs the chair and holds it before slamming it down to the ground and slumping into it.
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Aggressive speech transitions to hopeless pleading, the man’s body language mimics this; becoming more animated and less decisive as they travel down this mental rabbit hole.
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It never stops, It just never fuck-ing stops. I'm just so angry all of the time and I'm sick of it. I am fuelled by pain, animated by hurt and it is killing me. The pretence is vile, every falsehood and nicety, each 'I'm fine' and 'don't worry' is another burden to hold and I fear I won't be able to carry the weight for much longer.
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The man slams their head down to the table.
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Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP.
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They throw themselves to their feet and storm to the pile of broken bottles. Frantically searching for a bottle to drink from. They grab a shard of glass and bring it back to the table. Passing by the table the man searches the cabinet in desperation, almost ripping out the draws and tearing the doors off their hinges as they do.
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An empty bottle is found within the cabinet and man staggers back to the table collapsing in front of it. They attempt to produce booze from the dry bottle, broken, they drop the bottle beside them.
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BE QUIET, just leave me alone. I just, I just want a minute; please, is a minute to much to ask for? I'm not trying to steal an hour, I'm not that much of a fool.
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(Pause)
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Internally, the man attempts to reason with themselves. As he speaks he drags himself up the table and use it to prop themselves up.
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Its fine, it'll be fine. I just need... I just need a drink, or to wait it out, I've done it before. I can...I can. I can, I CAN'T FIX THIS.
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The man grabs the broken glass off the table and then falls back to the floor.
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(Pause)
I'm impotent. Every day I find I am watching myself from this hopeless abyss. I have to sit here and watch myself fail, watch myself fall, again and again and a-fucking-gain. Nobody sees, nobody cares. I think I'm already dead, I'm just too blind, or too stubborn to notice.
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The man plays with the broken glass.
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I won’t pretend it’s all bad, If all I knew of was suffering I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t know any other life. The glimpses of relief, the smiles, the joy, however small, however fleeting provide context, understanding of how much pain I am in. Their emotional heights only serve to deepen the pit, extending my harrowing descent.
I’m standing now at the edge, the divide and I don’t know whether to try and take more weight, or to throw in the towel and concede. That’s a lie, I know which option I prefer. Even if it is some sick twisted joke, I can’t deny that death is so much more alluring than life. Life has lost its appeal.
Why am I bothering? There is no escaping this. Time for the one choice I have left that is truly mine. Well come on then Death, invite me in, and put the kettle on.
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The man lifts the broken glass to his throat.