Sleep

This is a monologue that I wrote, just for fun. I was planning on performing it for a competition, but it just never happened. It's just a rough draft that I wrote a while ago, so don't judge it too harshly, eh? It's also a lot better when it is being performed, since the wording is based on how I personally would express things.

Here's the scene: A psychiatrist's office. Javon, an annoyed looking 18-year-old, enters the office from a door across from a wooden desk. The psychiatrist, Doctor Kent, is a stubborn, blunt, middle-aged man. All of the following is said by Javon.

I'm doing well, thanks. I'm Javon Skye. [Sarcastically] New patient.

Actually, I'd prefer not to sit, Doctor... Kent was it? You see, I've already gone through three counselors, two doctors, and four other psychiatrists besides yourself, and, quite frankly, I know that there's nothing that you can do to help me.

My mind set?! My mind set isn't the problem. The problem is that trying to fix me by sending me to see psycho-analyzers is like trying to cure cancer with an ice-pack.

You're right. I've never actually discussed it with anyone, and I never will. There's no point. I have trouble sleeping--That's all. You can't help me. I'm gonna go ahead and leave now. [Tries door, it has been locked from the outside. Turns to Kent, anger rising]

Did my parents put you up to this? They think that if I'm locked in here then I'll just give and tell you? [Pauses] Look, I'm not telling you for your own... protection.

Oh, you think that's funny, do you? I mean, what could I possibly say that could be that bad? If I tell you, lives will be lost. Are you really willing to make that happen?

Well. That's... different. How much are they paying you if you get me to indulge my little... Secret?

As there is clearly no alternative in your eyes, I will tell you. I admit, it will be great to finally get it off of my chest.

[Looks Kent straight in the eyes, as he speaks he slowly returns to the desk, eventually sitting back down] As I'm sure my parents have told you, I don't just have trouble sleeping. Every so often, in the middle of the night, they hear me screaming. [Then as a sidenote:] They don't even bother to check in on me anymore.

The wording "every so often" doesn't exactly describe the pattern that actually exists. My parents just haven't noticed it. I scream, in fact, every sixth time that I fall asleep, though I have reason to scream much more often than that.

You see, there's a brief moment between being awake and being asleep. It is that instance when you feel weightless, when you're only half-conscious. I no longer experience that sensation, such is the nature of my curse. It has been replaced with... [struggles to come up with a word to describe it for a moment] with death.

Let me start from the beginning. On the night of my tenth birthday, my grandfather took me aside and revealed to me that I had been born with the family curse. That it afflicted every other generation. He told me that it would take effect that very night. Even though he told me exactly what was going to begin to happen to me, nothing could've prepared me for the first night.

My parents tucked me in as usual, it had been a great birthday, and I had already pushed what my grandfather had told me out of my mind. It seemed impossible. Right before sleep overtook my young body, though the curse proved itself to be real.

I screamed for the first time as I felt my throat be roughly slit. I saw no assailant, I only saw the blood on my hands that had flown to my neck, and felt the warm liquid streaming onto my chest. My parents rushed into the room as I continued to shriek. They came to my side and began shaking me, insisting that it was "just a nightmare."

And then I died.

And then... I woke up.

I had experienced the first death in a cycle of six. During breakfast my parents mentioned my "nightmare", and my grandfather's words creeped back into my memory: If I told anyone about the curse, I wouldn't wake up the next morning. So I told my parents that I didn't remember anything. [Painfully] To this day I still tell them the same thing.

Of course, I mentioned that it is a cycle of six. The second time I give in to sleep, I drown. Water suddenly fills my lungs and spills out of my mouth. I can see the water, hear it, feel it, taste it. But no one else can. [Bitterly] I'm the only one who can't breathe. I'm the only one that gets to perceive myself fighting desperately for air, and losing that fight for my life.

[Begins to sound slightly hysterical] The third death, in sadistic contrast to the last, is thirst. Imagine, Doctor, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. You're struck by sudden helplessness. You feel your organs shriveling within you, and you die along with them.

The fourth "rest" is to be crushed. You can't imagine the pain. Every bone in my body strains and shatters just for sleep, a necessity. The fifth is to freeze. Strangely, it is my favorite way to die. The cold  itself numbs the initial pain it causes, and I quickly lose the ability to comprehend that my body is shutting down.

I remind you that I only scream every sixth night. After eight years with this curse, I have learned to anticipate and mentally prepare myself for the first five. [Leans forward, finally looking Kent in the eyes for the first time] But I tell you, there is no way to prepare yourself to watch and feel your own flesh being consumed by flames.

That is why I still scream.

And that's only half of the curse. [Hysteria growing] You see, I'm not a fool, Doctor. My mother once made a comment when I was sixteen years old which doubled my curse. I learned that I could get rid of my curse at any time by passing it on to anyone else. But how could I bring myself to do that to someone? How could I knowingly cause another person to go through so much pain?

The comment that my mother made was one she said to my father, I just overheard. She said, "I was thinking about Javon and I remembered that my mom mentioned that his grandfather
(may he rest in peace) also used to scream in his sleep. So I called her up to see what made him stop. She said that he screamed almost every night for six years, but suddenly stopped another six years ago. I can only hope that Javon will grow out of it as well."

[Suddenly deathly serious] I realized something that day. A series of six deaths, the sixth being the worst, and he stopped after six years. Six... six... six. My grandfather, he didn't just tell me about the curse that I "already had" when I was ten; he gave me the curse. You see, Doctor Kent, six years completes the curse. After that time frame, the curse can be passed on simply by telling someone about the existence of the curse.

I kept the curse for eight years. When I said that lives would be lost if I told you, you probably didn't even consider that they would all be your own.

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I'm tired, and now I can sleep. 

Escape

Escape

      It was a first for me. Memories of three young girls' lives being ended by a midnight locomotive flit in front of my eyes for a pale instant. My breath pulls inside me in a single sharp gasp before I manage to regain my composure and release the stranglehold on the air inside me.
      Relax.
      I take a step. A small, careful step from one dank wood tie to the next. My breath now comes in long, ever-steadying sighs, inhaling the autumn air that glides through the rays of the full moon to reach my cold-burning lungs. The ties of the railway, which disappear around a silent bend, suddenly have a certain serenity to them.
      With each progressing stride I lose myself a little more in the mix of the navy-tinted palette that blends the reflection of the sky on the river to my left. Each subtle wave seems to beckon me to enter the shallows, to forget my cares and drift into the pseudo sky it wears as a gurgling, imperfect mask.
      "Almost there."
      I jump, though only barely enough to be perceived. I stumble backwards slightly, tearing my gaze from the hypnotic rhythm that carpets the impostor moon. Having nearly forgotten that I was not alone, I stare at my companion's figure which moves with practiced steps, smoothly travailing the knobby, weatherworn planks which serve as our path. I steal a final lingering glance at the raw motion of the damp stolen sky and hurry to catch up to my friend who now blends with the shadows up ahead.
      I wonder what my friend is thinking right now--such a hard life, so many reasons to be unhappy, but always moving on. I am surprised to finally be on my way to "the place" I have heard so much about.
      I scan the ground ahead of me as I proceed, carefully measuring each step to land on the slightly-giving tracks in front of me. I come to a clearing: my destination. I look up from my restricted view of gravel and pine. I see a silhouette sinking slowly into the river.
      "What are you doing?" I cry, running towards the shape which now consists only of a still-clothed torso, and a head above the surface. Peace radiates from the pair of familiar golden eyes as they sink beneath the swell.
      My mind doesn't stop to rationalize before I have leapt off of the boulder which shoulders the stream; time lags as my body splinters the lunar mosaic resting on the surface. I remember how much I hate being wet just as I feel the weight of soaked jeans resisting my attempts to stay afloat.
      I find myself alone in the now rough waters, only deep blue surrounds me as I cling to a crevice in a  rock that braces itself in the center of the river. I stay there only momentarily, knowing that no person can physically stay under a choking current for so long. I push off of my stronghold and plunge back into the liquid struggle.
      I fight to swim to where I last saw those eyes, I get there and instantly stop thrashing against the current.  Because suddenly there is no current. The water is warm here--and eerily still. I can feel myself being drawn downward, just as I witnessed before, and even as my mind threatens to split its seams with panic, I can feel my lower body relaxing. As the water reaches my throat fear consumes me as I anticipate the claustrophobia I associate with being separated from cherished air.
      But it never comes.
      I hold my breath as long as I can, and then discover that it isn't necessary. I keep expecting to drown, to feel the water filling my lungs, but my breathing comes easy.
      I settle in a sitting position on the river's floor. Focusing through the water is like staring through layers of antique windows. As my eyes adjust  I can make out the body of my friend, eyes closed, sitting across from me on the sandy bottom in perfect tranquility.
      Surreal. It is the only word that describes the experience.
      Every time I had been told about this place, it had been described to me as an escape, but only now do I realize the literal sense of the word. After an indeterminable amount of time, the eyes across from mine open for a moment, a quick blue smile accompanying them. We both stand and with little effort rise towards the surface.
      We reenter reality and ride the flow to shore. I drag myself onto the boulder that I had used as a diving board and blink in surprise at a red and gold sunrise. Serenity, apparently, is no respecter of time. I stand and look back into the river, which now shows a smiling mask of the dimly sunlit sky. I resist the urge to plunge back into the impossible escape.
      I think of the life that has been given to my friend. The hardships that I can't even begin to understand, the times that I've been surprised by a lack of tears as experiences were described to me. "How can you know about this, and stand not to just escape forever?"
      After a long pause, my answer was spoken to the ground at a near whisper.
      "Life... is far from perfect. It seems like every person I've looked up to for acceptance has turned their back on me, has given up on me already. Some nights I sit up wondering why I shouldn't just give up on me, too. I don't even really have a family; all I've grown up with is people fighting around me. But I have to rise up. I have to rise above my parents' practically nonexistent expectations for me. Yes, I come here to escape every once in a while, but I can't turn my back on life, because if I turn my back on myself--then I truly do have no one."