(This mentions suicide)
Scene 1
A university campus, just gone five.
It’s already dark and the moon is out,
distorted as though the sky has been
blocked out with a pane of frosted glass.
There’s something not right,
what with the moon and
the lack of light on campus.
I enter, running away.
I: I’m wondering how fast I can move my legs
without running. I just need everyone to get
out of my way. It’s too dark and the moon’s
not right. How rude am I?
How rude am I?
The shadows are walking – slowly –
too slowly, and I just need to get out of here.
I ran out of classroom, the first one out.
How rude am I?
I want to apologise for who I am as a person.
It’s too dark to be here, amongst the shadows.
The people are the darkness,
everything is the darkness.
How rude am I?
SHE needs to calm down.
The dark is nothing but winter coming on,
and it’s only in poetry that winter
symbolises death, misery and decay.
The trees are losing their leaves,
but there’s no loss if it keeps
them safe.
Campus is a dark place,
but SHE needs to calm down
because it’s her who’s
made it haunted.
Scene 2
A hill, steep and sluggish.
I is still half running,
stepping into the road
and back onto the pavement
before the headlights can catch her.
I: It would all be fine if I could just get out on time.
Why do I need to keep running away?
I want to run.
(She was hit by a car, smashed a leg.
What happened?
I wasn’t looking, because I was rushing.
I just stepped out because I didn’t care anymore
because I just needed to get on the train.)
I hope I’m not making noises.
If the headlights catch me,
will I look scared?
What do I look like?
I crosses her fingers, still half-running.
The house is fine. The guinea pigs are fine.
It hasn’t been set on fire.
(What keeps you alive?
My guinea pigs.)
No, imagine everyone else talking about
all the things life has to offer.
(What keeps you alive?
Laziness.
Laziness?
I can’t be bothered to **** myself.
That’s all that keeps you alive?
Yes.)
No.
No. I wouldn’t do it anyway.
This self who talks like that is the fictional self
in my head, the one I want to sometimes be
who can talk about things
and get into these perfect situations
where she can talk about things.
You can’t look at the time until you get to the bottom of the hill.
Scene 3
A road, leading to the station.
I looks ridiculous half running,
as if the university is
going to grow legs and
start chasing her.
I can barely breathe
because she’s got ten minutes
to do a five minute journey.
SHE needs to calm down,
but cut her some slack.
The moon doesn’t look right tonight.
I: (I missed the train so I go up,
over the bridge and wait
for the freight train and then
I throw myself under it.)
I try to think how much it will
hurt but I can’t imagine it.
I won’t do it.
Nearly there now.
The moon doesn’t look right.
SHE really can’t imagine it.
I: Time to daydream.
I puts herself in another body
and goes about in their life
whilst her feet touch
the ground and her body
touches the air.
Her mind is
literally
elsewhere.
Scene 4
A station. The ground
is dusted with grit, ready
for winter – the practical
winter, not the poetic one.
Enter I. She finds her place on the station.
Her legs hurt.
The train is due on time,
and sure enough, it
curves round the corner,
lighting up the tracks.
SHE *really needs to calm down.
Well, you get prose poetry right? So why not play poetry?? (Because it's weird, that's why) I don't know. It came up in a seminar today that you can't put stage directions in poetry, so I had to try.