Everyday

Everyday
I promise that
tomorrow will be different.
That
I won't be self destructive
and
I will get things done.
That
I will listen to my logic
and
be kind to myself.

Everyday
I find that
today will be no different.
That
I will fall to self destruction
and
get not a thing done.
That
logic speaks too quietly
and
I forget quite how to be kind.

Everyday. 
- 5/11/2011

Consider this

Consider this. You’re an angel, bright white like the sun, shining only in the inherent absence of night; otherwise reflected off cold stone. 

Consider this. You’re frozen in a lake of glass, eyes glued open as shards bury deep into the flesh and viscous fluid. 

Consider this. You’re a daemon, cast out of hells most violent flames, your soul too bitterly dark for even Lucifer’s mercy. 

You try. You extend a hand and grip with all your force. But the petals drop of the rose with each passing second. And nothing you can do will stop the inevitable. They all die. Your contaminated heart leaks poison through each severed vein but it’s not enough. It still ferments and boils in your blood. You’re poison. People come into your life and they’re touched by your evil and they simply can’t live any longer. It sucks their life out and streams of tears and pain and anguish. It enters their souls in the form of cancer and wounds of the mind and scars of the psyche and drains every last drop of hope from their existence. Your evil does that. And no amount of repentance and begging will save them. 

Consider this. You’re a sinner, shaking and sweating in the pew as you await your turn for confession. 

Consider this. You’re a child, a small innocent being amongst the ticking reeds and scratching brambles. 

Consider this. You never were real.

Play

Stephen
Exhibits psychopathic tendencies throughout. A sadist. Speaks sarcastically and cynically.

Peter
Emphatic and caring. Takes pride in the world he lives in and is disappointed in its failings. Speaks warmly and with vigor.


Title (working) Roulette
Leaves blow around a long narrow road. The weather is overcast and dull. A creaking gate can be heard swinging back and forth, back and forth. The street is empty, with no signs of life or energy and the houses are nondescript and unkempt. 

Our focus is drawn to a single garden path. The gate swings back and forth in the wind, creaking and groaning until a hand grips it tightly to end it’s despair. Raising our eye line, we are drawn to a half-hidden face of Stephen shadowed beneath a black trilby cap. The face has stubble and dark hair curls that curl around his cheekbones.

On the ground beneath his feet lies a muddied newspaper, the headline speaking of murder. We observe his lip pull into a sneer. He begins to speak, voice gruff and slightly hoarse, possibly with a New York accent, or strong cockney. 

Stephen (VO):

****ing waste of paper. Another murder. Who gives a crap? What’s new?

The man kicks it aside, pulling the gate unsuccessfully shut behind him. The creaking continues as he walks down the cold street, black jacket tugged carelessly around him.

Stephen (VO):

Why bother informing us another pathetic soul’s gone from this earth… taken by another ****ing animal. Eradicated.

Beat

Should it surprise me? Look around you. See the dirt? The sex and lies and perverse fornications. The murder and porn. The drugs and blood. Where’s the light? Not here, that’s for sure. Not been light here for a long time.

Beat

Evil lurks in the corners. Bites at you. Sucks you dry and spits out your emaciated remains for Satan to burn.

As the man walks, his gaze scans the environment, taking in the people and buildings around him on his journey. 

Stephen (VO):

Think it’s always been dark here. The black tarmac floors. The grey concrete building. The dirtied grass and burnt, dead trees. Leaked sewer waste in pools of arcane depths. The colour of a coal that fuel hell’s most vicious flames.

Beat

Look at those fools. Rubbing their dripping noses, nostrils still full of crack, swallowing mouthfuls of semen and disease. They sure know how to live.

Behind him, a woman slams her door shut. 

We switch to a cul-de-sac. A man, Peter, dressed in light jeans and a white shirt exits his house, shutting the door behind him. As he travels the path to his gateless driveway, we see a child in the foreground, bouncing a ball, much at the same tempo as the gate creaked previously. The man waves at the child as he passes then focuses his attention on the paper delivered on the floor. Sighing at the headline of murder, he throws it carefully under his porch should it rain. Shaking his head, hair neatly trimmed and brushed back, he speaks in a clear unaccented voice as he travels down his road on which the leaves are carefully swept to the sides.

Peter (VO):

Such loss never ceases to sadden me. I think often how I’d feel if it were to be my family, or my friend. A life lost is a life missed out on. What could have been achieved? What has been lost?

Peter (VO):

The world seems so dark sometimes; one can hardly begin to find the light. But it’s there.

Beat

It’s hiding in the colour of the autumn leaves that fall from the trees. It’s in the smile of an innocent child. It’s in the wearing away of the tarmac – journey’s traveled and wonders experienced.

As he walks, he takes in the environment and people round him, greeting each with a wave and a smile.

Peter (VO):

People are capable of such wonderful things. I love to see the light shine in their eyes upon a grand realization. I enjoy the cogs that turn as it’s formulated and planned. I cherish the moments of unity and pride when a society, a world, creates something good for one another. It makes things seem so… weightless.

There is a flash.

Stephen appears on the corner of the crossroads. He takes in the vision of a car crash and the people still trapped within with a distinct lack of care. 

Peter approaches form the other side and does the same. His reaction is fear and worry rather than the sadistic uninterested of Stephen. 

Stephen (VO):

What a mess.

Beat.

I’d hate to be the guy that has to clean this **** up. That blood’s gonna stain.

People gather and stare. From within the wreck, muffled cries and pained screams are heard

Peter (VO):

I feel fear run down my spine. My muscles tense and my heart beats faster. Panic. I don’t know what to do. The screaming seems too loud. It doesn’t feel real.

Stephen (VO):

Wish they’d stop ****ing screaming. Not gonna help. Look at those skid marks. Speeding. They’re gonna be in trouble. Doubt insurance will cover this.

Peter (VO):

My heart beat rises again as I take in the blood. I’m reminded of my own mortality.

Stephen (VO): 

It’s such a messy world

Peter (VO):

How one change of choice can affect so many outcomes.

Stephen (VO):

****ing people merely pawns to some game.

Peter (VO):

One gamble. Put it all on Red

Stephen (VO):

Game of chance. Poker face.

Stephen and Peter (VO): 

It’s like Russian Roulette.

Stephen (VO):

Only no one wins.

Stephen (VO):

He catches my gaze across the mess. Our eyes meet briefly. I don’t know how not to vomit at the sight of such empathy, so I smirk. And roll my eyes. The sun blinds them. All I see is the light.

Peter (VO):

I meet his gaze across the carnage. The coldness of his black eyes frightens me. I don’t know what to do in his presence. I don’t know how to respond under the gaze of evil. I close my eyes. The world is obscured by blackness.

In the distance, sirens can be heard, the ‘nee’ ‘naw’ sequence following the same tempo as the gate and ball. People do not move from the scene as we pull out and fade to black. 

End. 
28/02/2010
Jodie