Title: Pushed

Author: Peter Wood

Draft date: 13-08-15

Contact: peterwood2@gmail.com

On stage a young woman with dark hair and wearing a crown woven of flowers sits in a straight-backed chair looking out at the audience. She is creating another crown of flowers throughout. This is Ophelia. Behind her, a video projection shows the same woman walking along the bank of a fast-rushing river. It is spring, and the flowers are in abundance. She is singing.

Intercut with those images are extreme close-ups of Ophelia kissing a man. These images are fast, almost grotesque in their extremity. The live Ophelia is in conversation with the audience as well her own pre-recorded voice.

RECORDED OPHELIA

You all think I’m stupid, don’t you.

OPHELIA

Stupid. So stupid.

RECORDED OPHELIA

Poor little deluded girl, her mind cracked-

OPHELIA

Cracked. Deluded.

RECORDED OPHELIA

Killed herself.

OPHELIA

Killed herself. Killed herself. Killed herself.

RECORDED OPHELIA

To stupid to know.

OPHELIA

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Long pause.

OPHELIA

He was the Prince. The heir to the throne. You think we didn’t know, didn’t know what would happen if they found out, what would happen if we were too obvious. He could never have made me his Queen. We knew that.

Pause.

OPHELIA

But he loved me. I knew that. Never, ever doubted it.

The screen behind her shows Ophelia and Hamlet lying, naked, in bed, They touch each others lips, cheeks, stroke each other’s brows, hair. They kiss. They tenderly explore each other’s bodies. They laugh together. Fall into one another.

RECORDED OPHELIA

We knew that. We knew.

A figure enters, dressed all in black and wearing a neutral mask. Throughout the next monologue, the figure mimes grabbing another by the hair, throwing the other to the ground, etc.

RECORDED OPHELIA

Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness: this was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once.

OPHELIA

Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.

RECORDED OPHELIA

You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it: I loved you not.

OPHELIA

I was the more deceived.

RECORDED OPHELIA

Get thee to a nunnery; why wouldst though be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest; and yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all; believe none of us. Go thy ways to a nunnery.

Long pause. The background video screen fades to black on a frozen image of Hamlet’s smiling face. The dark figure goes to stand, motionless, behind Ophelia.

OPHELIA

Really, you think I’m stupid?

RECORDED OPHELIA

Stupid.

OPHELIA

You all think that you, hundreds of years later, can figure out that he was putting on an act and I . . . I who had lain with him, who had kissed him, who had held him to my breast and tasted his tears on my lips . . . that I did not know?

Pause.

OPHELIA

The nunnery was what we called the old, disused room we had found together as children in one of the secret passages that had been forgotten in the west wing of the castle. The room we had turned into our private bed-chambers and where he held me, sometimes for an entire night if my father and brother had drunk enough so that I knew they would be passed out until after dawn. Where he held me and touched my skin and whispered my name.

RECORDED OPHELIA

(whispering)

Ophelia. Ophelia.

OPHELIA

Where he would weep for his father, where he would confess his fears and his plans. Where he would make love to me.

Pause.

RECORDED OPHELIA

(whispering)

Ophelia. Ophelia.

OPHELIA

And really, how much more obvious could he be with his admonition to “believe none of us.”

RECORDED OPHELIA

He loved me.

OPHELIA

Never stopped loving me.

RECORDED OPHELIA

(whispering)

Ophelia. Ophelia.

The lights begin to fade as Ophelia finishes the crown of flowers and holds it up. She smiles.

OPHELIA

I was pregnant with his child.

In a violent and sudden motion, the dark figure pushes Ophelia and her chair over. Ophelia sprawls, broken and drowning on the floor.

Blackout. On the projection screen, stuttering, broken images: Ophelia & Hamlet together, Ophelia drowning. From far away, and fading fast:

RECORDED OPHELIA

(singing)

Drown not with tears, my dearest Love, / Those eyes which my affections move; / Do not with weeping those lights blind / Which me in thy subjection bind. / Time, that made us two of one, / And forced thee now to live alone, / Will once again us re-unite / To show how she can Fortune spite. / Then will we our time redeem, / And hold our hours in more esteem, / Turning all our sweetest nights / Into millions of delights; / And strive with many thousand kisses / To multiply exchange of blisses.

[[http://archive.org/stream/lyricsfromsongbo96bull#page/158/mode/2up]]

The images fade along with the voice.

All is darkness.

Title: Conversation #14

Author: Peter Wood

Draft date: 13-08-15

Contact: peterwood2@gmail.com

In darkness:

I

Don’t do it.

J

Fuck off.

I

You’ll regret it.

J

Fuck off.

I

No, really. It won’t fix anything.

J

I know, but it’ll distract me.

I

Not for long. And you’ll hate yourself after.

J

Yeah. Still. I want to.

I

Don’t.

J

Fuck off.

Lights up to reveal only J onstage. J then proceeds to do one of any number of acts: light a cigarette, shoot up, drink alcohol, invite someone over for sex, sniff coke, cut themselves, etc. The actor should pick the thing that is most threatening to him/her.

But of course, none of these acts are real. They are merely . . . staged.

.BLACKOUT

Title: Conversation #13

Author: Peter Wood

Draft date: 13-08-15

Contact: peterwood2@gmail.com

In the dark. Sounds of distant, very distant, explosions punctuate the play, along with a low, nearly inaudible hum of machinery.

G

I once watched. Watched. Watch. Ed. Time, tick tick tick. Time, tock tock tock. Watching and watch. What is a watch but watching time and watching: timing.

Dim light reveals a person in rags sitting crosslegged in an abandoned and decrepit building. The figure may move about and build something from the remnants of the past. They may also not move a muscle. It will depend on the ghosts.

G

The old patterns they stay stuck. In. Grained. The grains all gone, all dead. The water . . . disappeared. You and me. We are dead. We just don’t know it. I saw the patterns. Or they saw me. Unsawed me. Un. Saw. Ed. You think. Or maybe maybe I unsaw it. Saw it not. Not saw saw saw.

Pause.

G

I watched. The last. Whale. In the world. Die. Do you know what that means.

H, an exceedingly misshapen figure, perhaps not entirely human, emerges from the dark.

H

A time to sow. A time to reap.

G

Screw you. No. No. No. Do you know what it means to see the last whale in the world die. What it means to me? What it meant. What it. What.

H

Shhh. I know.

They share some tenderness. But do not entirely trust one another.

H

But it was a long time ago now. Nothing to be done. Only thing to be done now is the occasional trap for the occasional critter for the occasional dinner and the occasional prayer. I won’t let you die.

G

Why not?

H

Selfishness.

G

Cruelty.

H

A little of both. Would you like the last of the last dinner?

G

Not hungry.

H

A drink?

G

Not thirsty?

H

A screw?

G

Not clean.

H

I don’t care.

G

I do.

Long pause.

G

Please.

H

No.

G

How long? Has the sun died yet? Has the earth boiled away? Have the stars wandered so far from each other that all is blackness?

H

I don’t think so. I’ll check.

H goes to a window, rubs grime from it. Looks out.

H

No. None of those things have come to pass.

G

Pity.

H

It could be worse.

G

How?

H

You could be alive.

Pause.

H

Dinner?

G

Not hungry.

H

Drink?

G

Not thirsty.

H

Screw.

G

Not clean. Not clean. Not horny. Not lonely. Not not. Not nothing. Not empty. Full. Full of death and the long years. I need nothing.

H

Then . . .

G

Yes?

H

Why are you still here?

G

You.

H

Really. No. I promise. I’ve told you time and time again. I don’t keep you here. You are free to go whenever you like.

G

You would say that.

Long pause.

H

Granted. But that is not why I do.

G

I don’t believe you.

H

I know. That is neither my fault nor my concern. I offer you food, I know, not hungry, and drink, I know not thirsty, and my body, I know, not clean not shaped not accessible not attractive. Fundamentally and thoroughly not. I know. The offers all stand and will be repeated.

G

Why?

H

I have nothing else.

Long pause.

G

But the patterns. You . . . me. Nothing but patterns and no no free will no nothing no no and no. We feel, we think, but no. It’s all biochemical patterns set, set. Tick tock tick tock tick tock. I watched. Watch. Ed.

H

I’m here.

G

No. You aren’t. Not really.

H

Yes. Really. Solidly.

H jumps up and down or hits a surface with head or palm, or otherwise attempts to demonstrate solidity.

G

All a dream.

H

No. None a dream. Dreaming what’s got us here and dead and burned eyes and blackened tongues and swollen bellies. Dreaming. Feh.

H spits. G cries.

H

Shhh. Shhh.

H attempts to touch G, G shrinks away and hisses.

H

Fine. I’m off to check traps. Will you be here when I come back?

G

You know.

H

Really, I don’t.

G

Yes.

H exits.

Lights fade.

G

I don’t have anyplace else.

Title: Conversation #10

Author: Peter Wood

Draft date: 13-08-15

Contact: peterwood2@gmail.com

A

Not here.

B

Why?

A

Because I . . . because you . . . because we.

B

No. That’s not why.

A

It is.

B

You’re lying. If not to me, to yourself.

A

I hate you.

B

I know. But more than that. And yes. Here. Always here. This place for that time and the way you smelled and the way I tasted and the way we moved and the way that it all crashed down around us and made us feel alive.

A

Until we died.

B

Well, yes. There’s that.

A

Destruction can only work for so long. Then it’s just destruction and emptiness. A long hollow world where the sky is grey and the sun is grey and the ground is grey and there is only a distant distant sound of blood pumping but even that is dying dying dying. And we are left here. Empty. Hollowed out by each other.

Long pause.

A

How I loved to be hollowed out by you. Emptied. Drained. Your eyes, your need. Leaving me--

B

Gone.

A

Yes.

B

Here?

A

Yes.

Title: Conversation #11

Author: Peter Wood

Draft date: 13-08-15

Contact: peterwood2@gmail.com

C

There’s a spider in my head.

D

That’s what she said.

C

That doesn’t even make the slightest sense. And I’m not joking. You think I’m joking. Not. Joking. Also, not metaphor.

D

Umm, for real? I mean, that’s not really possible right? Didn’t they do a Mythbuster’s about that?

C

I don’t know. It’s not a material spider, that’s the thing. It’s not going to show up on any kind of scan. The Doctors will never find it. But it’s real and there, even if immaterial.

D

Oh. Um, maybe we ought to get you some help?

C

Look, you asked what my secret was and I’m telling you. Now you think I’m crazy and now you’ll go away and that’s fucking why I don’t tell it to people but I thought, I hoped you were different.

D

I . . . hey, don’t . . . please. Stay. Stay. It’s . . . Ok, so you have an immaterial spider in your head. I . . . look, I can’t say I totally believe it’s real right? I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to thinking that maybe you have some kind of weird mental disorder. No, come on. I’m being honest. But that doesn’t mean I think you are crazy or bad or that I don’t want to be here.

Long pause.

D

Ok?

C

Ok.

Pause.

D

Does it talk to you? I mean--

C

No. But sometimes it sings.

Pause.

C

And I think it’s name is something like Evangeline. And I think it’s actually some kind of weird projection from a different dimension and I just hope it doesn’t hurt, being caught in my head and I think I love you.

Title: Conversation #12

Author: Peter Wood

Draft date: 13-08-15

Contact: peterwood2@gmail.com

E

It’s always been about you.

F

I love you.

E

You don’t fucking know me.

F

I love you.

E

What’s my favorite book?

F

I love you.

E

What’s my favorite color?

F

I love you.

E

Do you know how to make me feel safe?

F

I love you.

E

Do you know what makes me afraid?

F

I love you.

E

Have you ever bothered to learn the geography of my childhood? Of why I am sometimes emotionally distant and what you can do to bring me back from that distance? Of how I first fell in love or guilt operates as a factor in my life? Have you ever even asked me why I pull away from you instead of just making me feel guilty about pulling away from you.

F

I love you.

E

You don’t. You don’t even know me.

F

I love you.

Long pause.

F

I love you.

Long pause.

F

I love you.

E

Come here.

They kiss.