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This is a weird play that I wrote. I don't know if I like it, but you can leave comments in the guestbook or email me or whatever...
THE WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD

The curtain rises on a kitchen scene. There is a table with three chairs and a counter. On the table is a bowl of banana's. Sitting in one of the chairs there is a teenage girl.

Nina: Okay. This is the worst feeling in the world. Odd though, 'cause I don't even feel anything. This feeling. See, it's like this. You wake up, or at least you get up, 'cause usually I'm not asleep, and it's 4 'o' clock, exactly. And you stare at the ceiling of your bedroom trying to find deeper meaning in stucco. There isn't anything there. So you walk to the kitchen and start thinking. Maybe a snack would help. This is my favourite snack, the banana-wich. It's comfortable. There's something asthetic about it... Nothing sexual intended by that. That's one of the things I hate about being teenage. But anyway, so you're sitting there, eating your banana-wich, and you look out the window to the east. And the east looks as it always does at 4 am. You wish you weren't there, that it were 4 am here, and you were somewhere else where it wasn't 4 am, but some other, better time. If there is such a thing. The eastern horizon is just starting to glow with the impending morning. You don't like that fact, that day will come and there isn't a fucking thing you can do about it, as much as you hate the night, you still despise the morning even more... As some sort of a refuge, you walk over to the western window and look out to see if it's better that way. It isn't but you accept that. It's 4:03 now. Your parents are asleep, if they aren't fucking... But why would they be fucking now, it's 4-oh-3 in the morning... 4-oh-4. And then you start to think about how you really don't have any power to change anything. This room is exactly how it always is at 4 oh whatever in the morning and your being here is some anomilie in a continuum of sorts and you really shouldn't be here, you shouldn't even exist and if you didn't exist the world would go on without you and nobody would even care in the big picture, not even your parents, they don't even like you, they're just there to make sure you don't do something illegal or something to that effect. This thought drives you crazy, as it always does, I think you should get that checked out, you're going a little too crazy a little too often... But that doesn't matter. You walk over to the drying rack beside the sink and you pick up a knife. Shining in the moonlight, it's shape is appeasing, and you slide your fingers down the smooth metal of the blade, imagining it cutting through the earth and leaving it in ruins. And then you think. Maybe you're the earth. And by cutting yourself into shreds, it would do something to change something. You hold the blade to your throat, as you've thought of doing many time before, and for the first time, you can hear yourself thinking about breathing. It's not so automated. A reminder that it is in fact a temporary state. You can't even feel the knife in your hands. And then you picture your grandparents having sex. Ew. I hate that. You put the knife down on the table and walk back to the western window. It looks like it did the last time you looked. In three hours, everything will be different, you parents will be leaving for work, and they'll just assume that you're asleep in bed. What the hell do they know? That's not going to happen anymore. You go back to your knife and ponder it some more. There's a slit of your reflection that you can see from it. You look horrible. It's time. You take the knife and put it too your throat, never being so sure or so unsure of anything in your life or anything else for that matter. You move the knife quickly, to avoid the pain, and fall the the floor.

Nina falls to the floor, then sits up.

Nina: And that's the worst feeling in the world.

Nina goes back to being dead, lights fade for a few seconds then come back on the same scene, with Nina still on the floor. It is now morning and Nina's parents are about to leave for work.

George: (discovering Nina) My God.

Syliva: What?

George: It's Nina. She's...

Sylvia walks to stand beside George.

Sylvia: My God.

George: (sitting down in a chair) I don't believe it.

Sylvia: SHE'S DEAD!! (She starts jumping around the body of her daughter in a dance of joy)

(They both continue to dance for a short while and then they both stop and look at each other over the body.)

Sylvia: We're going to have to deal with this... I don't know how to be a grieving parent. (Sylvia lights a cigarette, picks up an ashtray from the counter and sits down cross legged beside Nina, avoiding the blood. She then puts the ashtray on Nina's stomach.)

George: We'll get through this. Just a few days with the funeral and then we can cool it... Take our greiving time to make mad passionate love... In the little bitches bedroom. Haha... We should call someone. I've always wondered who you call when someone's already dead. It's rather pointless to get an ambulance at this point. And what are the police going to do? Arrest her for being dead? I guess just call 911 or whatever and act upset... (Starts mumbling insanly about Nina being dead, Sylvia claps, George goes and dials 911.)

George: My Nina... She's... Oh God, it's not right. She's dead. I need help, you've gotta help me, do something... Make it alright, I need her back, it's... Oh God, why? (Long pause. George starts to tap his foot on the floor.) Yeah. 43 Dayner... Yeah. Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much.

Sylvia: That's sick. You never should have given up your acting career.

George: Ah well. Such is life.

Sylvia: Kiss me, gorgeous.

George kisses Sylvia, and then carries her off stage, both of them giggling like children.

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