What price melancholia, noble grief, mysterious despair!
The only thing left is for me to write poetry. Moaning and
groaning, whining, making people's lives a misery'¦

'Ivanov' ' Anton Chekov



Dramatis Personae:

Francis
Heather
Michael
Snake
Footstool
Old Man
Female Voice




Act One

Scene one


Lounge/study
Curtains drawn, lit by single, bright bulb hanging from ceiling, with a door to the right and a door to the left, the majority of the room on the right hand side is taken up by a lounge formation consisting of an antique armchair, a Footstool, a plain wooden chair, a coffee table and a large bean bag, to the left-hand side of the armchair is a smaller study area consisting of a desk with a telephone and a desk lamp (currently switched off), and a bookcase full of books.


(The sound of bins being kicked over comes from the right side of the stage, followed by raucous laughter and drunken shouting,
Suddenly Francis, Heather and Michael stumble in, stage right, laughing heartily, Francis is holding a half empty bottle of red wine; both he and Heather are smoking cigarettes, Francis slumps into the armchair, Michael collapses onto the bean bag and passes out straight away, and Heather sits on the floor, All act and talk very drunkenly.)

Heather: So! Did you slit her throat?

Francis: Look!

Heather: Or was it disembowelment? No, no, too crude, too crude'¦ It was poisoning wasn't it? I remember that book on fungi you used to carry around'¦

Francis: Heather! For the millionth time, I assure you! I haven't murdered my wife!

Heather: Oh Francis, you don't have to keep secrets from us; we're your friends, I'm sure you had a good reason for doing it'¦

Francis: Of course I did, but'¦ No! You are false confidants! You only want a slice of the inheritance, you vile scammers!

(They laugh; Francis takes a swig of wine and passes it to Heather who also swigs)

Heather: Alas for us! I bet she doesn't have a penny, and we'll have to turn you into the authorities just out of spite!

(They laugh, then pause, Michael has begun softly snoring, Heather flicks her cigarette butt at him but he remains asleep)

Francis: In all honesty though, I don't have a single clue where she is, she's only my wife you know! I saw her about a week or so ago in the brothel, very briefly, but not once again since then!

Heather: That's probably a sign of a healthy modern marriage.

Francis: Marriage! Marriage! Am I truly married?

(Heather and Francis laugh uproariously, making Michael jump up from the beanbag in a start, Heather and Francis stop laughing and both look at Michael)

Michael: [slurring wildly] Why'¦don you shut talking'¦ bout Francis and his fictitious wife, he's not married at all, he's not the kind'¦ of'¦ man'¦.
Now damn it! Enough yibber yab, and I'll sing you a song! Eh?

(Heather and Francis giggle foolishly)

Francis: haha, yes Michael a song indeed, what's it to be? Popular drinking songs from the taverns of Gomorrah?

Heather: 120 children's nursery rhymes by the Marquis De Sade?

Michael: Aha, you basterds, have you been reading my diary again?'¦ or is it that I am like an open book, a book'¦ a book in truth that shouldn't ever be opened in the presence of respectable company, no half arsed book of flowery poesy, no book of bourgeois inflexion, no, no, a book that'¦

Heather: Boring! Sing the bloody song

Michael: Hush child, you should never inter.. intrupt an artist in his self appraisal. You could well bruise his ego and then there won't be any singing for yous at all!

Heather: My apologies, I was unaware that you were such a pompous buffoon! Please forgive me.

(All laugh)

Michael: Oh my pretty little she-bitch, you're lucky that I enjoy your sordid company so much that I'll sing despite your insolence.
To those good doctors of zimmy'¦zim [very slowly] zym-ur-gy, down at the brewery, to whom I owe all my gifts of eloquence and tunefulness, I dedicate this little ditty'¦
[Clears throat]

(Michael starts singing a folky song, during the beginning Heather jumps up, places the wine upon the floor, takes a penny whistle from her pocket and begins playing a simple but jolly jig along with him, Francis stands up and joins in singing for the last four lines)

#From out the vile suffrage
Of sanctimonious reproach
We wield our bloody sins aloft
It's purity we poach!
The cobblestones they shimmer
In honour of our hate
Quarried from the wombs of Earth
To hurl at the pearly gate
Whassat upon the finger
Of the fickle golden bride?
Her spouse is coughing mucous
From his shrivelled black insides
His rotten throat all tarry black
From stock of ruthless lynchers,
He damned the civil servants
And the chartered penny pinchers
We're callow in our wisdom
Though our flesh is baste in dirt
Brew slips beneath our nethers
Skidding turds from out our skirts
Never talk to clergymen
Those brigands on the touch
They'll have your penis on a platter
If you say too much#

Michael & Francis: #Don't heed your shaky conscience
Like piss upon your leg
But shout your muddy greeting
And we'll roll upon the keg#

(Heather and Francis applaud and laugh while Michael repeatedly bows ostentatiously, then he looses balance and falls over and they laugh even harder while he crawls back to the beanbag and falls asleep again.
Francis and Heather sit on the two chairs and quieten down, passing the wine between them, as Francis sits pondering he seems to become depressed.)

Francis: Well'¦ that's the last of my grant.

Heather: What! Already?

Francis: [despairingly] I've barely written a word and the rent for this dump is due, oh shit, I'm such a fool! I must be weak in the head to loose track of my life like this!
I've got no natural gumption, how I disgust myself!

Heather: come now, it's not so'¦

Francis: That grant should have been enough to fund a novel! My essay is barely half done and all the poetry I've written is completely crap! I'm a bungler, a decrepit, despicable'¦

Heather: Fran, Fran, Fran! Calm yourself, there's no point going sideways about it; you always land on your feet somehow, poverty fits you like a glove and the writing will come in time.

(Heather pauses and Francis seems troubled, suddenly Heather starts laughing)

Remember old Goethe: Times short, my friend, and art is long!

Francis: [smiling] True enough, true enough, my art is as long as a list of Michael's misdemeanours, not that he'd ever confess them all '¦ how do you remember such quotes after fifteen gallons of wine?

Heather: I can do better than that'¦ listen:

Da mag denn Schmerz und GenuÃ?,
Gelingen und VerdruÃ?
Miteinander wechseln, wie es kann;
Nur rastlos betätigt sich der Mann.

Francis: Wow, impressive, I didn't understand a word; but still a very cute little party trick, all those years of university education certainly paid off! If you weren't such a pie-eyed moron you'd be a very intelligent woman, I think that maybe I'd even respect you!

Heather: And if you weren't such a pie-eyed moron you'd be no fun at all, your idiocy is the only human trait you have.

(Both laugh)

Michael: [mumbling in his sleep] damn it'¦ Quentin! Give that back'¦

Heather and Francis both look at Michael, then each other and laugh

Francis: I guess you're right, things will work out, I'll start working again tomorrow if I get in the right frame of mind, I just need a little motivation really, maybe it's best that I'm poor 'cos at least now I can't afford to go out and get pissed!

Heather: That's the spirit, and hey, at least now you've got your wife out the way!

(They both laugh. Lights fade.)



Scene Two


Lounge/study
As before, though with the desk lamp on and the armchair turned away from the lounge and towards the desk.


(Francis is sitting at the desk, drinking coffee and staring at the closed notebook upon the desk)

Francis: [musingly] what strange peace I feel, everything is fit to snap, and I feel completely calm.
[drains the cup of coffee]
Writing eludes me today though; I can't seem to think straight'¦

(Telephone rings, Francis picks up the receiver)

Hello?'¦
(..)
[nervously] Ah Farooq, I've been meaning'¦
('¦..)
Yes I know it's due, but I've been having some problems with the bank; I,I, it's a cheque that I paid in but'¦
('¦)
Ok, it's just I might need a little more time than that'¦
('¦..)
Well, yes it's not entirely'¦ it's not just the problem with the bank, I, err, had an unexpected bill and'¦
(..)
Well, I might be able to raise some money by next'¦ erm, Tuesday maybe?
('¦)
Thanks so much, I really am very sorry, I appreciate the'¦
(..)
Yes ok, goodbye then'¦

(Francis replaces the receiver, he has a look of extreme agitation on his face, he stands up and begins pacing the room)

The wolves are really at the door now; I must think'¦ there must be ways to get that money together somehow'¦ think!

(Suddenly he stops and stares at the book case, then runs over to it, kneels down and begins desperately inspecting some of the books)

[with desperation] Of course, of course! Some of these must be worth something'¦
[pulling one book from the shelf]
this is a second edition! It must be fairly valuable'¦ though it was a present from aunt Sasha'¦
[pauses musingly, then springs back into agitation]
I can't be precious! Rent! Think of the rent!
[he puts the book on the floor and begins searching through the book case again, until he stops and pulls another from the shelf]
This one is pretty rare! Maybe I could sell it to Michael, he loves anything that was banned for obscenity just on principle'¦ though he's not exactly wealthy at the moment'¦ no, no he would try and rip me off anyway, I'll go to a book dealers with it, yes, I could pop down Soho in the week, I could'¦

(The phone starts ringing and Francis looks at it in frozen terror, he allows it to ring eight times and then the answering machine takes the call)

answer phone: You have reached the home of Francis Aiden, please leave a message
after the beep'¦

(beep)

Michael on phone: Francis! Bonjour mon cher, I thought you would be working today,
lured away by the off licence were we? Well it's noth'¦

(Whilst Michael is talking Francis sighs and seems relieved, walks over to the phone and picks up the receiver)

Francis: Hello Michael, I'm here, don't fret
('¦)
As well as can be expected, and you?
('¦..)
In dire poverty? You? If you want to see poverty you should take a look at my bank statement, zero seems like an unreachable zenith from the pit of debt that I have sunk to.
('¦..)
Well each to their own pit'¦ feeling any better after the weekend?
('¦)
Good, good you deserve a little pain, have you been projectile vomiting all morning?
('¦.)
Well remember to clean your mouth thoroughly, and gargle water too, you don't want your teeth to rot'¦
('¦'¦.)
[laughs mischievously] Well Heather is the expert'¦ but I don't really think we should dwell on her mental history, it's enough to make one sick in itself.
('¦)
No of course I haven't seen her.
('¦)
[slightly angry] What!
('¦.)
[laughs] you're so funny in your insults that I always find it in my heart to forgive you, thou tongue doth manna drop'¦
('¦.)
Well not great'¦ by which I mean: I've barely written a beneficial word, certainly nothing that will ever turn an honest penny
('¦)
Yes, yes, I know that's not everything, but the bills don't pay themselves
('¦'¦.)
Really?
('¦'¦..)
Wow really? And they are looking for unpublished writers? Could you get me the details?
('¦'¦'¦)
That sounds great, I should submit, if I finish that damn essay'¦ I could finish it; I could do it in a few days if I really get on it!
('¦.)
Yes, my friend, you truly are the best, well I should get on I suppose'¦
('¦.)
Well thanks for the offer, but I haven't really got much of an appetite at moment, I suppose a little fasting might clear my head a bit anyway
('¦.)
[laughs] no, no, I'm not training to be a monk! I could never deal with the whole faith thing'¦ but don't worry I'll have a good meal once I've made some headway.
('¦.)
Ok, I look forward to it, I'll speak to you soon, ok
(..)
Alright then, so long'¦

(Francis replaces the receiver, leans back in the chair and smiles)

Good old Michael'¦ I can sort this mess out, tomorrow I'll sell some books and then once I get the essay done I'm sure that periodical will take it, I'm on the brink!

(He picks up his pen, opens the notebook, and looks at the page for a moment)

Well I shouldn't rush into it [closes notebook], I'll do some exercises first, wear out the body, wake up the mind!
[laughs]
I'm such a madman!

(Francis walks over to the bookshelf, slides his feet under it for support and begins doing sit ups.)

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven'¦

(The phone starts ringing, Francis stops and pants'¦)

I'm popular today! [breathes heavily] completely out of shape though.

(He walks over to the desk and answers the phone)

Hello?
('¦)
[with forced joviality] Oh professor Voynitsky! It's a pleasure!
('¦)
Yes, well thanks'¦ god, it's been a while!
('¦'¦'¦)
Indeed'¦
('¦.)
Yep, yep, working away, nearly finished my essay at last, and the basic structure for that comedy I mentioned before is developing well..
(..)
Well currently the title is: "The adventures of Elpenor - not much of a fighting man nor very strong in the head", but that's only the working title really.
('¦.)
[laughs] I hope so'¦how goes the translation of'¦ ahh what's his name again?
(..)
Darmolatov! Of course, of course, I've never looked at him myself; I look forward to reading your translation though, what's he like?
('¦'¦)
Sounds interesting'¦
('¦)
Really!! And did you find that his having elephantitus of the testicle affected his writing, or just his self-esteem?
('¦)
Size of a watermelon! [laughs]
(..)
No, no I believe you, you're the authority'¦ and when is the much-awaited literary evening?
('¦.)
Great, I will certainly be there!'¦ Professor, I didn't get a proper chance to thank you last time we met, but I really do appreciate all of your help getting me that grant, the recommendations and everything'¦
('¦.)
Oh yes it has been a great help, I've managed to really get stuff done, the writing has really been going well now with all my financial worries taken care of'¦
('¦.)
You're too kind
('¦)
Thanks, that's good to know.
('¦)
Ok Professor, I'll see you at your do!
('¦.)
Take care, bye'¦

(Francis puts down the receiver, leans back in the chair and sighs deeply)

What a fake I am! Nearly finished!? Really getting things done?!! That poor old fool, he doesn't realise what a lowly hack I am; blinded as he is by my insincere warbling and his own sentimental generosity'¦.
And the grant! Dear god the grant, has there ever been a less deserving fraud than I? The only thing that money has funded is liver damage!

(Picks up notebook and disdainfully flicks through it)

Brazen hackery! Meaningless filth! total and complete garbage! I haven't touched on a serious piece of writing for months! I preened myself diligently through all those years of study just to become this depraved spinner of spurious trash!

(He picks up the pen and then stares at the notebook in despair, suddenly he stands up abruptly and clenches his hands to his face)

[in violent anguish] Curses!!

Francis, still standing, swipes up the phone and dials a number.

('¦)
Hello Heather, Its Francis, you must come over!
('¦.)
Well you could study here, I won't bother you, I just want some company..
('¦)
Does a person have to have a specific reason for inviting a friend over?
(..)
Good, I'll see you in a while..

(He puts down the receiver and sits down in the armchair)


Scene Three


Lounge,
As before, with notebook upon armchair.


(Francis is pacing up and down in an agitated manner mumbling to himself, wringing his hands; Heather is sat upon the wooden chair reading a book, and occasionally scribbling in a small notepad upon the coffee table.)

Francis: [under his breath] Alas! What am I to do now? I feel empty, empty! Meaningless! Worthless!

(Heather looks up from her book glaring spitefully at Francis.)

Heather: What are you yammering on about!

Francis: Do you not see? I am so alone in my sufferings'¦ I think I am going quite'¦ I can't think straight!

Heather: (yawns) Right'¦ shall I put the kettle on? Maybe a drink will calm you down.

(Exits to the left, to the kitchen, Francis walks over to the armchair, picks up the notebook, and sits down, placing it on his lap)

Francis: Damn the serpents in my breast, they writhe and strangle my poor fettered heart'¦

(Rolls cigarette with deep concentration)

With no respite for my weary frame

(Lights cigarette, and sits pondering, taking slow and thoughtful puffs, he opens the notebook and reads from it)

Oh to take the reins once more
Upon this fresh ephemeral plain
Along the sandy paths of time
Across the jagged flint of pain
Into that light of purest white
Never to return again

Never to return again? What fumbling daydreams'¦

(Heather returns holding two mugs of coffee, one she passes to Francis, the other she places on a coffee table near her chair, where she sits, picking up her book and placing it on her lap)

Heather: And what foul swarm of peccadilloes haunts you on this eve? Nothing in particular I bet, misery for misery's sake is it?

Francis: You lack all understanding'¦

Heather: Understanding? What is there to understand, you are a hideously simple creature!

Francis: You know nothing of my thoughts, I have great complexity.

Heather: Thoughts? What delusions you manifest, your thoughts are all craven nonsense, you stinking epicure! I don't give a jot about your thoughts, garbage! You are simply sober, that is all, you hate yourself when you are sober, and your great thoughts are nothing more than withdrawal symptoms. You will be back to being a thoughtless, smiling idiot as soon as you have strong drink sloshing in your guts!

Francis: You evil harpy!!!

Heather springs to her feet, clutching her book

Heather: You miserable wretch!

(They both stare at each other with faces of twisted rage, Heather composes herself and slowly sits down again)

I wish to read, if you insist on me being here, then please, have mercy Francis, sharing words with you today is like being plunged into a boiling lake!

(Heather starts reading her book; Francis looks down at the floor, appearing to be on the verge of tears, he drinks some coffee and then starts reading from the notebook again)

Francis: Oh to take the helm again
Of this most accursed frame
By the vicious'¦

Heather: Quieter please

Francis: (whispering) '¦vicious straits of time
Across the morbid sea of pain
Into that blackest gaping maw
For all in life is all in vain

all in vain, all in vain, worthless drivel, worthless, worthless, worthless'¦

(A Snake appears out of a hole in the wall and slithers up to Francis's feet, looks up at him and shakes its head disapprovingly, Francis looks at it in shock, mouth gaping, Heather is oblivious)

Francis: Christ! I am going quite'¦ Heather! What in hell?

(Heather reading with a scowl ignores him)

What foul omen is this?

Snake: Spare me please your hysteric words
and succumb to my wiser council,
or it's a slow descent to some deep Tartarus.
So I compel you beyond the winding straits of open pipes,
the pleasant hilltops,
the aqueduct'¦

Francis: Who are you? Who? Some kind of devil?

(Snake laughs and then disappears; Francis is left in bewilderment)

Francis: Aqueduct? I don't understand'¦. I may be going quite'¦ what does this portent?'¦ I can't think'¦. what was that creature?'¦ what was it?

(inhales cigarette deeply and thinks in silence for a moment)

It's external, it's not from me, it's not my madness'¦it's outside, forces outside of myself, truly Satanic!

(pauses with an expression of sudden enlightenment)

All has a mind as such'¦ we all being brothers, animal, vegetable, mineral, all formed of the same particles, all forged in the same vast furnace, all inspired by the same love of life, never doubt that love, it is truly the only reassurance in this darkness'¦

Footstool: Priest talk! You crapulent fraud! All is delightfully meaningless! You said so yourself! Forever nothing!

(Francis jumps up in alarm, staring at Footstool)

Francis: Wha!?

(A Flash of light and smoke from the left door as an Old Man appears, he has a beard and is wearing Grecian style robes, he paces across the room and kneels down in front of Francis, one hand on Footstool, looking at him beseechingly, Heather doesn't appear to notice anything, Francis is increasingly alarmed)

Old Man: But how can I ever forget?
The silent darts that plucked my gentle wife
From out amongst the currents of life
We lay together in our marital chamber
As she breathed her last soft vapour
Cruel goddess, I'll steal away to your threshold
Spreading discontent through your shaggy hounds!

Francis: Hounds? Wha'¦ I'm'¦

Footstool: Silence you poisoner! The last thing he needs is a sentimental lunatic like you about!

Old Man: Insolent beast, I'll take you back with me!!

(Old Man seizes Footstool and strides back towards door)

Footstool: No! have mercy, my eternal pitiful apologies'¦ let me the hell go! Let go you shrivelled up has-been!

(Old Man with Footstool leaves)

Francis: Heather! Please listen; I am being visited by strange visions!

Heather: (sighs deeply) intolerable pest'¦

Francis: No Heather really, I am blessed, love! I understand, O that most subtle convolvulus of languid pleasure, how you dulled the blade of my will, only to be disentangled by the fresh'¦.

Heather: Francis!

Francis: No Heather! Please listen, I beseech thee, I believe'¦ I can!

Heather: You really are the most boring and pathetic man I have ever met.

Francis: His wife is missing, or dead, killed by a goddess, who he wishes to avenge, by misleading her dogs'¦ its an allegory, I just received an allegorical vision, like Dante, like'¦ err.. like, like many great people!

Heather: [sardonically] Well Francis, I am going back home; this has been lovely I hope we do it again sometime, please don't hang yourself or anything, not that you ever actually will, have a good night.

(Heather leaves stage right, Francis follows her with his eyes until she leaves, he then picks up the notebook and starts jotting in it for a few seconds then stops suddenly and stands up with a possessed air, speaking petulantly in dramatic tones of despair, irony and vitriol.)

Francis: O Furies, drunk on the stench of my wrongs,
Sniff the guilt rising like steam from my pores,
Lay your encumbering harangues upon me,
Upheave great oaks to block my path.

I hear those litanies of past inequities!
That you wail at night like banshees!

(Snake appears from hole and stares at Francis)

My animal desire is in perdition,
Beaten daily by lofty spite,
Gore flowing like spilt treacle,
From beneath the woven fetters.

(Francis suddenly stamps on Snake, squishing it's head beneath his boot, moment of silence broken by the peeling of a church bell outside striking twelve, Francis pauses as the chimes ring out)

Now who dares speak to me of ghosts?
I'll enshroud them in my emptiness!
Suck the core from their devotion!
Leave them gasping in my wake!

O Chance, I who love you the best!
Why do you aggravate the evil in my breast?
Why do you lead me to these debasements?
Sordid ideologies of excess and contempt'¦

But hark! Hear fair Venus sing:

Female voice: Come to me my faithful child
[Offstage] I'll soon rip your life apart
Leaving cancers in your dreams
And despair within your heart.

(Francis sighs deeply as if incredibly weary and holds his head in his hands, he seems barely able to stand)

Francis: This is all too much'¦
I feel so weak'¦
When did I last eat?
Am I going mad?
I must seize this moment'¦
This is revelation'¦
I must get back to work'¦

(Francis swivels the armchair back to face the desk and sits down in it.)

Lights fade


Scene 4


Lounge/Study,
As before, with desk lamp on and curtains drawn.


(Francis is sitting at the desk writing in the notebook, he stares at the page with cold, blank absorption as he does so; he looks pale and tired.)

Francis: [muttering under his breath] quivering with expectation'¦ trembling with '¦ with the expectation'¦ of anxiety'¦

(Francis falls silent and motionless for a brief moment and then suddenly starts writing franticly, with a convulsed frown upon his brow, he does so for about a minute. Then he stops suddenly, puts down the pen, picks up the notebook and leans back in the chair examining it)

Francis: Bloody hell!

(Throws notepad onto table)

I have no control; I'm utterly doomed!

(Phone starts ringing; Francis stares at it briefly and then picks up the receiver)

Francis: Hello, who is it?'¦
('¦)
oh hello Michael'¦
('¦'¦'¦.)
err, well a little but, but, how are you doing?
('¦'¦..)
oh good, good, have you seen the whore of Babylon today?
('¦)
no me neither, must be on the rampage.
('¦'¦'¦'¦.)
that is unfortunately very true, superwoman!
('¦'¦'¦)
No, it's nothing really, the essay is at a standstill, and all I can seem to work on are these meaningless little poems.
('¦)
hmmm
('¦)
Well ok, if you like, but I don't know what you'll make of it:

(Francis lays the receiver upon the table, picks up the notebook, stands up and recites from the page towards it. He starts off speaking prosaically without emotion.)

Here to thee do I send this assorted muck
To your hidden, acidic crematoria
I know not its worth; you are the connoisseur
Demanding that I fill your gruesome chamber (coughs)
Oh life! I feel so elated; excitement ignites me
My beloved furnace you send me such strange gifts in return
And I'm trembling with the expectation of anxiety'¦

and it goes on'¦

[Voice starts to quiver]

To whom it may concern'¦
I am left completely unmoved,
Though I bawl loudly and dismally to maintain a pretence of the wild notions and excessive requirements that our kind usually manifest'¦
Lamentation has more dignity than vast and emotionless boredom.
I have heard that boredom can be an asset; that it can force one to plunge into honourable challenges'¦ though I am apathetic towards the struggle purely on the basis of its dull and earthly credentials'¦
No doubt a sign of cowardice.

[voice becomes increasingly emotional]

Boredom and cowardice are a diabolical combination! An insidious cloak of leaden inertia!
Maybe adventure is what I needed! Though the very thought of it turned me off, negation has been the cornerstone of all my deduction, I walk no Nietzschean exultant path, I am the great Nay sayer! A preacher of death!
The sky is as empty as my heart, all joy has decayed and my memory is a burial mound'¦ A spirit I am! one that has already given over to death, a ghost in a living body.

[Suddenly very melancholy]

I greave for only one thing: the death of beauty within my heart'¦
Felled like a mighty tree, it was inevitable; what can beauty mean to me when all is meaningless?
I look back on my past passions with baffled wonder; I used to be so passionate, I even believed in love!
Something had to give and now the fire has been reduced to embers, I just want to burn out, have an end to all this anxiety and tedium; the burden is too much to bear'¦

[suddenly furiously fast with animated gestures]

Faith! I have absolutely none whatsoever, all is either empty or false, meaning eludes me, all is gone for me! Even the mysteries seem dull to me, I shall die and it will mean nothing, the universe is cold, I shall become dust, in time so shall everything, and everyone, our civilisation, our existence, all shall be utterly erased, the cosmos will continue to spin in complete indifference to our plight, in death I will be no less than in life, this philosophy is the only truth'¦

[slows down, hint of sarcasm in emphasis]

Transition'¦ it's the best anyone can hope for, to become soil'¦ to escape this human drama'¦ this façade of a society bores me to tears, I have no further interest in being a part of it'¦

[With real despair]

I'm sorry to the few who ever cared for me'¦ I know that my death may bring pain upon you; it is probably best for you to imagine that I never existed'¦
I am envious of your scope of emotions'¦
Forgive me, forgive me'¦

(Francis collapses into the chair with a swoon and remains motionless, a long silence ensues, which is broken by an indistinct, muffled shouting from the receiver, Francis pulls himself up in a daze and stares at the receiver for a moment and then picks it up)

Francis :Sorry, sorry Michael'¦ I felt a little overcome'¦
('¦.)
No, no I'm fine really, its nothing, wh, what did you think?
('¦..)
Oh'¦. You'¦ were you not?
('¦)
Oh'¦ well'¦
('¦)
No no, its not your fault, if someone was at the door.
('¦)
Ah well, there is no point really, it isn't really very promising, I'll show you something when it's going better.
('¦.)
Afraid not, I've got no money and I really best get on'¦
('¦)
Yes that would be good, speak to you soon.
('¦)
Ok, for sure, see you later my friend.

(Francis replaces the receiver and then immediately buries his head in his arms, sobbing convulsively and wailing through his tears)

It's over'¦ it's over, adieu; so long'¦ this night is my last!'¦ Forgive me, forgive me'¦

(Francis stops weeping, slowly raises his head and looks about the room in agitated expectation)

[Whispering] Is this it? [pauses] Where are they now?

(Francis turns to face the audience, he stares with an almost blank expression, tinged with a subtle melancholy, and remains motionless like this for an unbearably long pause; his expression is sustained with eerie stillness'¦)

(Suddenly the phone rings breaking the silence, Francis stares at the phone but doesn't pick up, after eight rings the answering machine takes the call'¦)

answer phone: You have reached the home of Francis Aiden, please leave a message after the beep'¦

(beep)


Heather on phone: [Drunkenly] Why aren't you answering? I know you there, I mean you are there'¦ pretending to be busy? You'll be ringing back in a minute though'¦
Me and Violet have been at some rubbish fete all day, but we won a whole load of cider at the raffle, so we've been drinking,
Come meet us! We're going to a barn dance later, it's free! Fun to be had! Hail to Dionysus! And all his drunken little retinue, and why not!
Meet us at the park gates in an hour or so.
Oh! Tell that libertine Michael to come as well!
Until then you odious cretin!
Adieu!

(Francis stares at the phone for a long moment, takes out some tobacco, rolls a
Cigarette and lights it, and ponders'¦
He then snatches up the receiver and dials a number)

Francis ('¦)
Hello again Michael, do you want to go out tonight?



The End

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