The [Freak] Show, vol. 7

(May '02 Issue)


Insomniac Theatre

act 16, scene 11: death, destruction and the ensuing panic
[the curtain rises. a house is represented, white and blue. a deck extends from the left side of the second floor, a blue car is parked beside the house. a young man enters from stage left. he is carrying a match in a trance-like state, as if in a dream. he strikes the match on a rock and kneels beside the right corner of the house. he steps away as the corner catches fire. soon the whole house is engulfed in flames. the young man shakes and appears to realize what he has done. he enters the house as the front wall burns down (to afford a better view). in the house there is a bedroom with two people, an elderly man and woman, asleep. the young man stares at the two for a moment, then, bearing the flames, grabs the man and pulls him from the room. he re-enters the room, grabs the woman and pulls her from the room. the smoke is now so dense as to limit vision. all that can be seen are three slumped bodies in the corridor. the curtain falls.]


--==++==--


act 20, scene 3: a touch of sanity
[the curtain rises. a young man with a scarred face is sitting in a leather chair in a therapist's office. behind him, only the feet and crossed legs visible, sits a therapist]

client: [finishing his train of thought]...so I guess that's why i feel lonely.

therapist: i see.

[silence]

client: [turns around] well?

therapist: well what?

client: aren't you going to psychoanalyze me or something?

therapist: do you want me to?

client: isn't that why i'm here? isn't that why i'm paying you?

therapist: is it?

client: fuck. stop asking me my own fucking questions. i don't need that shit. i just need to know what the fuck is wrong with my head.

therapist: [calmly] ok, let's tone the language down. there's no need for profanities. calm. ok?

client: [visibly calmer] yeah. ok.

therapist: so where were we?

client: i don't know, you're the one taking notes.

therapist: why don't you tell me why you feel inadequate.

client: i'm not sure why. i mean, i think i'm sure, but i'm never sure of anything anymore. i have all these reasons in my head, but i can't tell anymore if they're real or if they're just something i've made up to make myself feel a little better about feeling...inadequate.

therapist: why don't you tell me some of those reasons.

client: [counts off on his fingers] i'm fat. i'm ugly. i'm socially inept. i flirt with every girl i meet except the one that i'm interested in. i'm stupid. i make a complete ass of myself any chance i get. shall i go on?

therapist: no, that's good for now, we can start on those. why do you make a complete...fool of yourself?

client: i don't know. i think i'm an attention whor...sorry. i crave attention. i just can't get enough of it. it's the laughs that drive me. i feed off the energy of other's laughter, whether it's directed at my antics or because i'm being geniunely funny. it doesn't matter at the time. if they are laughing, i'm performing.

therapist: that doesn't sound so bad.

client: probably not to you, but to me, after it's over, i feel like a complete jackass. i go out of my way to humiliate myself, just for the sake of a laugh. it's embarassing.

therapist: so why not stop?

client: i've tried. believe me, i've tried. at least, i think i have. i mean...i don't know. whenever i'm not up to my usual antics and stuff, people say that i depress them, that they like me better when i'm happy and goofy. i mean, just today someone told me that i scared them when i wasn't goofy. i mean, what kind of thing is that to say?

therapist: maybe it's true.

client: maybe. who knows. but when she said that, it hurt. it was an insult. i'm not usually one to get insulted easily, but that one hurt. it's like it was my fault for trying to tone it down. maybe that's why it's so hard to kick the habit.

therapist: it could be.

[silence]

therapist: let's try another one. why do you think you're stupid?

client: because i am. i'm not the brightest bulb on the tree. et cetera et cetera.

therapist: how are your grades in school?

client: that depends on your opinion. everyone else says they're good, but i don't think so.

therapist: why not?

client: because i know i can do better than that. i can always do better.

therapist: doesn't sound to me like you're stupid.

client: but i am. that's the thing. everyone else says i'm smart, but i'm not. smart is a relative term designed, no doubt by psychologists like yourself, to instill competition between people so that they do better at whatever they're doing. same thing applies to school, and the whole letter grading system. everyone judges your intellect by what your grades are, but in reality, grades are but a fraction of your intelligence.

therapist: how do you mean?

client: well, take for example a man who walks through high school on a cloud, straight A's. no problems for this guy. breezes through college, university, bachelors, M.Ba, Ph.D, et cetera et cetera. i mean this guy is quote un quote "smart." brilliant. genius. whatever you want to call him. then this guy meets a girl that he really likes, and he doesn't know what to do. he stumbles, mumbles, bumbles. doesn't get the girl. no social apptitude whatsoever. now imagine a guy who scrapes through high school. barely. teachers pass him to get him out of their class. but he's a ladies man, all the chicks dig him. he gets to college strictly on the basis of his father's cheque book, and parties four years of his life away. gets ALL the girls. coolest guy at school. now, who would you say is smarter?

therapist: the guy who earned all the degrees.

client: [becoming more adament now] how can you say that? how can you possibly judge the two? you're comparing two totally different things that are not related AT ALL. how can you compare the ability of the first guy to pass tests and write papers against the ability of the second guy to be the most popular guy on campus? sure, you could say that the first man is smart, because of all of his degrees. but that's an academic smart. like i said earlier, he's socially incompetent. outside of a textbook, he's lost. whereas the second man is at the total opposite end of the spectrum. he doesn't do well in school, and he probably doesn't care. but socially, he's a god.

therapist: i see your point.

client: exactly. so when people say i'm smart, i say i'm not. so i can pass a test. big deal. when it comes to the social aspect of life, which many would argue is more important, i'm an invalid.

therapist: but there are those out there who no doubt they wish they could have no difficulty passing tests.

client: well sometimes, i'm glad that i have no problems. but other times, i'd give it up in a heartbeat for the ability to talk to a woman without feeling weak in the knees.

therapist: that's just something that takes practice.

client: something i don't have the patience for.

therapist: what do you mean?

client: well, i don't like not being able to do something. so when it comes to women, i wish i could just automatically know what i was doing, so i wouldn't make a complete jackass out of myself.

therapist: some would say that learning how to deal with the opposite sex is half the fun.

client: well personally, i'd rather not go through the pain and anguish of not being able to undo a bra strap in under an hour.

therapist: fair enough, but know this: matters of love do not come easily. in fact, for most people it takes many many years of heartaches to find the one person that they are meant to be with for the rest of their lives.

client: i'm just afraid that i will never find that person.

therapist: well to be honest with you, if you don't try, that's probably exactly what will happen.

client: i know.

[silence]

therapist: i know we're out of time for today, but i'd like to just emphasize one thing before we part.

client: what's that?

therapist: the key to your problems lies in your head, and in your heart. all of the problems that you listed for me before, whether they're true or not, can all be fixed, if you want them to. if you feel you're fat, try eating healthier or get more exercise. if you feel you're socially inept, work at practicing being in public places and socializing. go to a pub with some friends, have a good time. social ineptitude is not solved by sitting at home and moping. as far as you feeling ugly is concerned, that problem is strictly in your mind. happy people are more beautiful, regardless of facial features. it just sounds to me like you need to get out, have some fun with friends, and just generally have a good time. i think if you do that, everything will just fall into place. it's all interconnected, it's just a matter of keeping a nice balance.

[silence]

therapist: is there anything you wish to say before we finish up?

client: i don't think so.

therapist: very well. it's time to wake up, you're going to be late for class.

[the boy opens his eyes. he's lying in bed, the sun just beginning to creep through the blinds. the clock reads 7:59. he smiles. the curtain falls.]


--==++==--


act 80, scene 3: existence
[the curtain rises. on the stage sits an old man. beaten and bruised by time, his breath shallow and raspy, face and arms scarred.]

old man: [to invisible audience or God] why do i exist? why? what purpose do i serve? am i here to amuse you? to be criticized by you? is there such a thing as fate? judging by my life, it's really hard to say.

[the curtain falls]


--==++==--


act 81, scene 1: temptation
[the curtain rises. a pawn shop, a fat man behind the counter, one patron. the patron, an old man, is dressed in a tuxedo and is looking at weapons.]

patron: how much for that one?

clerk: $100.

patron: i've only got $72.

clerk: this one here is $50.

patron: how much for ammo?

clerk: how much do you want?

patron: one.

clerk: one box is $20.

patron: no. one bullet.

clerk: i can't sell you one bullet.

patron: what can you sell me?

clerk: i can sell you one box.

patron: i don't need a whole box.

clerk: its the box or no bullets.

patron: fine. give me one box and the gun.

[they exchange money and merchandise. the man exits the shop, puts down the bag and withdraws the gun. he opens the box and takes one bullet, loads the gun, and cocks it.]

clerk: [charging out of the shop] what the fuck are you doing?

[silence]

clerk: look, man. the last thing i need is to clean your brains off of my store. if you're going to do yourself, go somewhere else.

[the man replaces the gun in the bag and begins to walk away.]

clerk: wait.

[the man turns stops and turns slightly.]

clerk: i didn't mean that. i..i don't want you to kill yourself.

patron: but i want to kill myself.

clerk: why?

patron: my wife of 55 years died two days ago.

[silence]

clerk: i..i'm sorry.

patron: now if you'll excuse me, i have something to take care of.

clerk: no...i can't let you do that.

patron: and why is that?

clerk: i don't know. it's my job not to be involved in the business of my patrons. but when another human being is attempting suicide, i think it is my job as another human being to try to stop him from doing so.

patron: well it's none of your business..

clerk: yes it is.

patron: look, young man, if i wanted your help, i'd ask for it. i don't need your help. just let me do this.

clerk: i can't. and you know that.

[the patron, now beginning to shake slightly, reaches into the bag and withdraws the still loaded gun]

clerk: whoa. look. i'm not looking for trouble. i'm just trying to help.

patron: you can help by going back into your store and minding to your customers.

clerk: as far as i'm concerned, they can fuck off. i'm busy.

patron: no, you're not. you were just about to go back.

clerk: no.

patron: [turning to face the clerk, gun still in his shaking hand] go away.

clerk: you don't need to do this.

patron: were you not listening? [beginning to become angry] my wife just died. i have nothing to live for.

clerk: i don't think that's true.

patron: and what would you know. you're too young to know what it's like to lose someone you have cared for for half a century.

clerk: granted, but i know that you don't need to do this.

patron: i'm sick of listening to this. [starts to turn and walk away]

clerk: stop! stop. [patron stops] please. let's just talk this out.

patron: there's nothing to talk about.

clerk: there must be. there must be something else in your life worth living for.

[silence]

clerk: do you have children?

[silence]

clerk: you must have children. how many?

[long silence]

patron: four.

clerk: four. are they not worth living for?

[silence]

clerk: [becoming more sure of himself] how many grandchildren?

[long silence]

patron: nine.

clerk: wow. four children, nine grandchildren. are none of those worth living for?

[long silence, the clerk begins to walk slowly toward the patron]

clerk: are they worth living for?

patron: i loved her so much. [begins to cry softly]

clerk: can i have the gun?

[the patron slowly hands the gun over, the clerk holds the patron gently as the patron weeps. the curtain falls]



--==++==--


act 211, scene 5: the end of the world
[the curtain rises. two small children are playing marbles gleefully in a playground. one has curly red hair, bright as the mid-day sun. the other has straight black hair, dark as the raven at night.]

raven-haired child: that's my marble.

fire-haired child: no, it is my marble.

raven-haired child: no. it's mine.

fire-haired child: no. it's mine.

[screaming now, pulling the marble back and forth]

both together: it's mine!

[the marble escapes their clenched fists, falls to the ground and shatters. the children gasp, the curtain falls]


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