Every Rose Has Its Thorn. . .

* Based on Thea Astley's "Hunting The Wild Pineapple" *

If you were to ask me what is the difference in gossiping - or hearing stories for that matter - perhaps I could say that one is based on truth, while the other stems from an unreliable source. I will gladly correct those who are wrong. Ironically, one would expect such a quiet town would have quiet people. If you live here, silence is normal. The only thing that keeps us all sane is the constant clubbing blocks of rain that pelt the roofs over our heads. Tonight, however, is different as Tripp has dropped by in his usual way to thrust his latest coral trout under my nose. As I sit patting my 'little handicap' and enduring the unpleasant experience of perspiration trickling down the back of my neck, I produce him with some much-needed whiskey. Again, as the night thins out and the alcohol levels drop, I persuade him to unleash one of his stories that are prominently 'stacked' in his boot. Tripp once told me the story of Leo and Sadie and what used to be their little set up approximately fifty miles from here. With persuasion, he draws me another map.
Let me draw it for you.

There's always been a lot of sad chronicles that have been linked with Sadie ever since she was employed by Leo. The storm that had engulfed her shack, not to mention her pride as well, was the last straw. Just as its thunderous roars ricocheted off her shack, Leo's snide remarks soon ricocheted off her tender skin. Oh how demeaning it must of been to have been forced to surrender herself to the likes of such vile weather and that of a man such as Leo (then again, doesn't every rose have its thorn?)! He had found her starkers; and reluctantly gave her shelter while Sadie bore the face similar to that of a mutt who had disobeyed their owner during bath time. Sadie knew that she had lost her independence as a woman. She had become complacent - that was the reality of it. And it rubbed. And rubbed. And rubbed. Sadie never forgot her humiliating experience which seemed to never leave her thoughts. It empowered her mind like an infectious rash.

It wasn't until months later that Sadie would have the will to stand up against Leo and leave to return to her old life - before him; before what she had had to endure. She could no longer handle the emotional suffering that had been inflicted upon her. You could say that during her flight back to her hometown, there was a sense of regained independence and instantaneous direction; she was recapturing the woman she once was, no one could touch her.
If only it had been that simple to regain her old teaching position - isn't life a bitch sometimes? Sadie soon found herself in a desperate attempt to support herself. Thankfully, like all damsels in distress have a spontaneous rescue from a knight in shining armour, luck came her way as she bumped into Fabio Galipo one day - the young piano player whom Leo once tutored.

At first he approached Sadie like a little child - as if he were too scared for what he had to say; but after a moment, his expression changed - more curious; more intrigued.
"You don't look too well Miss Klein" he had said to her, purposely drawing out the 's' in 'Miss', "Is there something wrong?". His voice had been unheard by Sadie's ears until now. It was unbroken, yet bordering the edge of plummeting into the deepness of puberty; slightly mocking, yet somewhat sincere.
He sounds just like Leo, Sadie told herself. What if he had seen him recently? Would he tell Leo about her struggle? How would she know that Leo won't be after her? The hows of it had been the most outrageous reflection and Sadie cursed herself for thinking such thoughts. Galipo seemed to understand her struggle by simply looking at the two scruffy carrier bags that were dangling off her arms, their weight taking its toll on her hands.

"I'm in need of money, Galipo" Sadie casually remarked, yet with a tone of melancholy, "I need a job". She felt slightly embarrassed to have to confess to such a thing. What came next surprised her.
"If you want, I can help. I know a place where they could find you a job, that is, if you're willing". She felt flattered by the clarity of the dark eyes gazing simply into hers. Why would someone such as himself help someone such as her - someone who he barely knows? She contemplated whether or not to actually believe the boy, but yet he seemed to genuine. . .
"Where?" Sadie asked helplessly as her luggage began to give her sores on her hands.
"At the church - the papistry. My teach, er, well ex religious teacher could use with a helping hand, particularly a woman's touch. Although, it's not the best job in the world"
"Tell me"
"Cleaning"
"I'll take it" Sadie found her mouth uttering those words before she could actually think.

It was her job to go and seek Father Rassini of the church in order to acquire a position there. Galipo's helpfulness still lingered in her thoughts. Who said a so called 'smart-arse' can't have a decent heart? She pondered. Father Rassini had reluctantly accepted Sadie into the church (a bold move for a man of such category) and seemed to narrow his eyes at her when she had mentioned Galipo. She was then to begin work immediately and was familiarised with the various rooms - all of which looked the same except for one. A table stood exactly half-way along the room and on it rested a bowl in which four flowers floated equidistant. A bible was also lain beside the bowl. Sadie was told that it was important that this room be kept clean at all costs, due to the priests gathering in the vicinity for meetings.

There was a kind of humming silence as Sadie inspected the room before getting to work; a dustpan and brush in one hand and a cleaning cloth in another, which was slightly interrupted by the light chatter of rain on the church roof. For hours on end, she bent over backwards to clean what seemed like the never-ending mess that surrounded her. Who would have thought that churches could be so unclean? Sadie would often ask herself. After a few day's work, she was able to pinpoint every particle of dust with her newly developed eagle-eyed vision and it wasn't long after that until she was dubbed "Sadie the Cleaning Lady" by some of the boys in the papistry.
However, this never fazed her.
She was used to such remarks and to such a workload due to living in such a crummy environment that working back in the city seemed like a breeze. A disappointment was that she was still employed by a man who took on the role as an 'alpha male' - a man who saw women as "Tea makers of God" (except for the Christ's mother of course), that of which Sadie knew she would have to sort his attitude out herself. However, she felt it easier to gain certain advantages from the man of holiness for he was deemed to be more of a 'pushover' than Leo ("If I can use Father Rassini's words against him, then I'm in for a chance of equal opportunity").

"I'll have you know," she had said one morning after attempting to banter for a raise with him, "that women deserve just as much as the men do if they were allowed in this church. They should be given churchy jobs too. There's a whole bunch of successful women out there that men don't notice. They don't seem to realise that women are just as capable as carrying out tasks designated for males." Sadie folded her arms abruptly, letting her duster hang loosely in her hands, "Take me for example. I was forced to work hard labour for a slimeball, which any man could've done."

Father Rassini clasped his anointed hands together delicately; although it was obvious that he would have liked to give her a hard lecture or two about the way in which the church is formally run. "I understand the situation at hand, Miss Klein, but unfortunately we have no need for the church to be run by wom'"
"Besides," Sadie had purposely tossed aside what he was about to say like an unwanted toy, "You of all people should know what it is like to be a woman of these times. You have witnessed our suffering and unfair treatment. Take Canon Morrow's poor wife for example. . ."

The Father fell silent in disbelief. The woman could be a vixen when she wanted to. After a moment of wringing his hands together nervously, he spoke, "How on earth did you find out about that?". His words were formed through bated breath. The face in front of him bore a smug expression.
"I assume you are aware of the woman's harassment?" came Sadie's reply, ignoring his original question.
"Yes, yes. I understand"
"So then you would understand that sometimes women need to be praised and appreciated for their hard services". The man of holiness, although a little too dedicated to his work, was not an unintelligent man and immediately caught on to Sadie's ways.
"I see where this is going. . ."
"Just a little raise, Father, with perhaps more of a longer tea break. Surely my cleaning standard deserves that." She stopped for a moment. "Oh, but we wouldn't want the renowned Father Rassini to be seen as giving into a "tea maker of God" now would we?". Father Rassini began to speak, but something ruptured in the woman's posture that skittled his protest. Was it the lines forming on her face that told of suffering? Was it the fiery look in her eyes? As, such sweet schadenfreude. . .Sadie enjoyed watching him squirm uncomfortably.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Father Rassini eventually said, at a loss. His pleading eyes searched for an answer. He now knew what it was like to be the subordinate authority.
Sadie tickled her face with her duster in a self-mocking attempt to stifle her mirth.
"Every rose has its thorn. . ."

The Cat

* Based on D.H Lawrence's "Three Novellas" *

“Oh blast–!”
The decrepit pitch fork fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “Oh bollocks! That’s done it”. Nicholas Rhodes wiped the sweat off his fair brow. “I will never understand how on earth you can pull this off”. The young man – or youth, for he would not be more than twenty-two, sat down on a bundle of hay and stared at his companion.
Nicholas was a delicate thing compared to Simon...“farm-work”, as he liked to call it, was not his forte; the sudden death of his old man essentially shattered any future arrangements. Ah! And if the strain wasn’t enough– the farmhouse was rundown. Furthermore, Nicholas resented his father’s terms to the inheritance: “marriage”.
“It’s easier than working with those new machines you’ve got” Simon said, running a dirty hand through his dark hair and picking up the abandoned pitch fork again. “You simply need to muscle up–that’s all. You’re not eating much again” There was pain in his voice. Both men were unchanged by the war having not volunteered to take part– with Nicholas being of ill-health and Simon’s pacifist beliefs. Simon Taylor was the ‘man about the house’ and the martyr, with Nicholas increasingly depending upon the new machinery on the farm. At times, Simon wondered if he was even needed on the farm, now that Nicholas had new equipment to tamper with.
“Why bother with such traditional methods–? This is a new age, Simon! These changes are going to make me rich. ” Simon often thought that Nicholas felt too superior to handle grubby farm work. The boy leapt off the hay and clasped his fine hands together, “I didn’t realise that money could be such a burden on my future plans. Ha-ha-ha!” Nicholas had an odd way of answering, as tone of his voice often echoed his anxiety and frustration with meeting the requirements of the inheritance. Simon’s eyes scanned the shadows under Nicholas’ eyes and immediately pitied him. Nicholas’ bright blue cat-like eyes fell to the floor momentarily–then met Simon’s, quickly, with an inquisitive manner, added more quietly: “And you?– What about you and your future?”
Simon steadied his chin on the handle of the pitch fork.
“It’s easy for me: I don’t think much about it.” He said simply, “Every morning I start a job. I live from day to day, you know, finding pleasure in the little things in life. When my job is done and I forget about it: simple.” Nicholas furrowed his brow as though he were confused. He pondered for a moment before arching his back gracefully as he stretched.
“Don’t you agree?” Simon asked with a lopsided smile.
Nicholas glanced sideways and sheepishly remarked: “I’ll trust you to finish off the hay piles...”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

That afternoon, Simon found himself stooping over the brilliant discarded leaves of the hazel tree. They lay around him like a fallen nimbus of glowing yellow under his feet. Their brilliance raked away into a neat pile. He turned to address the young voice that called him softly:
“Simon–!”
Simon lifted his head, mesmerized by the melodic, soft voice and stared at the figure approaching him. Charlotte Beetes, a young friend of the pair, trotted up to him, her short skirt wrapped around her slender legs; Simon’s heart began to thump uncontrollably.
1916 and 1917 were the years when the old spirit died forever in England–the war left its mark on her working class family. Charlotte’s father died from ghastly wounds and her mother resorted to working for a living: nursing wounded soldiers. Although they still had a roof over their heads, her mother now carried the burden of being the sole provider for her family. And yet, this rarely fazed Mrs Beetes. Charlotte’s mother was well suited to her role as a humanitarian. The war may have brought its tragedies, but it also gave Charlotte and her mother an opportunity for change. Charlotte had choices: no longer predetermined by societal expectations. Charlotte did her best to contribute to the family’s needs: determined to shine in a new society where women were known as independent decision-makers.

She paused a moment to catch her breath. “I haven’t seen you in a while– Not like you to do such menial work. Why the sudden change?” she asked, bundling her hair in a knot behind her and leaning on the fence that separated them.
“It’s the inheritance, you see–" Simon said vaguely.
“Ah! –Yes, I heard he was having complications–Do tell! What has become of him?” Charlotte’s emerald eyes lit up like a child’s: inquisitive with a touch of mischief. Simon sighed heavily – his shoulders slumped. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but he’s overworking himself. Time has passed and it’s running out. He’ll wear himself out if he doesn’t take it easy!”
“You don’t say!–So what else has he been doing?”“He has been too ‘busy’ making money” Simon mocked, raising his eyebrows. Disappointed, Charlotte pursed her lips together.
“I guess Nicholas is a bit obsessed with his ‘work’! Mind you, he’s always wanted to be rich. He is too impatient for traditional farm work.” She pictured Nicholas’ effeminate feline movements toying with machinery and shuddered.
“Well,” Simon began, lowering his voice just above a whisper, “He’s an ambitious lad– he’ll do anything. He’ll need to make a move soon to fulfil the terms of the legacy. He may even ask you to marry him.”
“Me–?” Charlotte asked, suddenly overwhelmed by the suggestion. Her heart began to beat frantically: had she even felt attracted towards Nicholas Rhodes? Oh–! She had never even considered marrying such a lad in the future: nothing had prompted her. She knew his money would provide stability, but was it enough? Should she marry Nicholas Rhodes? Could she be content with security and not with love? She felt her chest tighten. Did she have a choice? Oh! But how society would jeer if she should refuse him. Martyrdom was not in fashion. Charlotte closed her eyes.
It made her wonder– could she refuse him?

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

That night Charlotte dreamed of a slender black cat. His crisp blue eyes beckoned her to him. He appeared threatening. He did not move, but instead watched her, making her feel intimidated. His coat shimmered under a lamplight–He felt nearer than it looked. When she turned away from his pearly white grin, he stalked her, ready to pounce. No matter how fast Charlotte ran the cat always caught up with her. She felt trapped. Charlotte woke from the nightmare. It lingered in the back of her mind throughout the day.

When the first snowflake fell a month later, Charlotte had forgotten about the cat and Nicholas’ complications. She continued her visits to the two young men, occasionally being invited in for tea. She soon found herself feeling differently towards Simon. Her heart seemed to melt when in his presence. She became aware that her feelings had changed.
“That’s it–!” Nicholas cried one afternoon. Simon was cleaning the mud off his boots. He looked up half attentive.
“What?” he replied curiously.
“I’ve decided to marry Charlotte.” Nicholas paced around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. “She’s a friend– She’ll be glad of it. It’ll settle my problem, as well as hers. I’ve got the money. Yes–! Ha-ha! I’ve got it all planned out. Surely she has realised my tea invitations had a purpose my invitations”. Simon jumped slightly, startled by his assertiveness.
“You can’t be serious! Did you ask her–?” he uttered in disbelief, “Do you even love her?”
“Love? What is love when I can provide security?” Nicholas claimed.
“Can you live with someone you don’t love?” Simon pressed.
“Well–she’s pleasing to the eye. She’s a friend. Love may grow in time. She doesn’t have to love me: she will do her duty by me and that’s all that matters.” Nicholas exclaimed to himself arrogantly, biting his lip. His eyes glazed over as he pondered.
“Charlotte won’t settle for this: women tend to want more these days. What if she rejects you?” Simon curled his top lip.
Nicholas sat down in front of Simon, looking into his face. “Well, if she’s silly enough to turn me down, there’s always Alice Green from town.” He suddenly rose and began to pace uneasily around the room. A shadow cast on his fair brow as his hands slipped into his pockets. No, Nicholas did not love Charlotte, but he wanted the woman. He was fixated upon having her. He felt it was his destiny to have her, in order to keep the inheritance he rightfully earned. Deep within himself he felt a growl stirring. They were not going to take his inheritance away on this silly whim. She would do her duty and marry him. He was sure she would do it. He had his mind set on her. She would come to him. Of course she would.
But was it his decision alone?

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

That evening Simon saw Charlotte on her way back from town, her arms full of parcels. Trampling the withered leaves underneath his boots, he made his way over to her and took a parcel from underneath her arm.
“Have you heard? Nicholas has chosen his bride.” Simon said unemotionally.
“Really–? Who is it?” Charlotte asked, fidgeting with the remaining parcels. He bit his lip before answering.
“He wants to marry you” he said softly.
At that point, everything around Charlotte seemed to press on her. She was stunned into silence. Something was missing. Her thoughts were torn between the expectations of duty and a loveless marriage. After all, the youth was a man of means: he would provide benefits– security. Perhaps it was easier to accept him. On the other hand, a large part of her mind rejected the thought. She was not in love with Nicholas Rhodes.
“So he plans on proposing, does he?” was all Charlotte could bring herself to say. She felt herself lose her grip on the parcels.
“He plans to see you tomorrow.” Simon confirmed regretfully.
There was a long pause before Charlotte answered.
“We shall see.” She said, looking at Simon directly. He was surprised by her words.
At that moment, Simon looked into her face and stared hard, as if searching beyond her eyes. Charlotte’s heart began to beat frantically, yet she remained still–paralysed. She could not understand why she was unable to move. She tried to open her mouth to speak: no sound came out. It was then when she heard the deep, throbbing stroke of Simon’s heart thundering in her ears–signalling to her. She could hear it pounding upon her very soul. She could feel that they were together.
Their hearts spoke to each other: words were not necessary.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The snow seemed light the next morning, like traces of scattered clouds. Nicholas was the first to greet Charlotte when she arrived. He adjusted his shiny black gloves and gave her a wave. “Charlotte–! Good morning!” he called. Charlotte slowly made her way over to the pair, preferring to stand particularly close to Simon for comfort. Nicholas put his gloved hand up to her cheek, exploring her face.
“Your gloves...” Charlotte commented, stepping back: unnerved by the softness against her skin.
“Oh–! Do you like them? Oh!–Never mind the gloves. How are you? Let me look at you. Ah–! Yes! You look more wonderful than ever. Far more wonderful!” he exclaimed, capturing her face in both his hands, “We have so much to discuss. Can’t you guess?” Nicholas grinned like a Cheshire cat. Charlotte pursed her lips together and said nothing. “I think we should marry. I have no doubt you’ll accept.”
The sound of his words, and the calculated utterance in his voice made her heart shudder. She stiffened herself and drew away. She would have nothing to do with him or his inheritance. It was a moment before she spoke.
“You assume I’ll accept? How dare you?”. Those were the words Nicholas did not want to hear.
“What do you mean?”. Charlotte looked at Nicholas hard: his face was white.
“I do not love you Nicholas: your cold hearted proposition does not appeal to me. I have choices that are of greater value. Your money will not buy you happiness. Love cannot be bought. Women these days want more out of partnerships, rather than mere security.”
Simon entwined Charlotte’s hand in his own. She continued: “Besides, there is someone else. Simon and I are to be married. He values a relationship, not a contract.”
The pair began to leave hand-in-hand.
“There’s always someone else who would accept me: Alice Green!” Nicholas spat.
From behind, Charlotte could feel Nicholas’ anger penetrate the back of her shoulders. She gave him a look of self-satisfaction: she had retained her identity and broken the barriers of gender inequality. Suddenly, the apprehension seized Charlotte when he looked straight at her with his blue eyes and that bright, unseeing look. Her unpredictable dream-cat stared back at her. Charlotte quickly composed herself.
“He’ll be alright,” she said quietly, “Cats always land on their feet.”

* Image Source: www.tundafunda.com/393/?level=picture&id=3299 *

I Promise

* Inspired by Joanna Murray-Smith's "Honour" *
[Contains mild course language]

SCENE 1:

[The stage in darkness. A young male's voice can be heard.]

NICHOLAS: [Sighing with a sense of disappointment] Oh. . .hi
[Pause. A young female's voice is now heard]
KATRINA: Hello. You seem upset. [Pause] Is everything okay?

[The stage lights up, but remains dim, suggesting night-time. Two teenagers sit on either end of the stage, back facing each other, with KATRINA sitting on a bed and NICHOLAS on a couch. Both stare at something in front of them, which is unknown to the audience]
NICHOLAS: You know me. It's always the same story. Nothing is ever okay. [Beat] Whatever, as long as you're having fun, why should it matter to anyone else? It's to benefit you, right?
KATRINA: Are you implying something?
NICHOLAS: Not at all.

[Beat]

KATRINA: I'm not following. I don't understand.
NICHOLAS: Oh, just about how I haven't even spoken to you in about a week or so. [Pause] Which in reality is not a good thing. The more we don't talk, the more we distance ourselves from each other. Before you know it, our future plans will be non-existant. You can kiss them goodbye.
KATRINA: Nick, I've only been gone for three days and when I come back, you're upset? I thought we left on a good note last time we spoke.
NICHOLAS: Yeah, but I know that when you get back into work and school, you won't even bother talking to me anymore. [Adding coldly and quietly] I know how you think now, as opposed to how you were before. There's nothing left.
KATRINA: You can't keep presuming the worst -
NICHOLAS: [Snapping] I can presume anything I want. I sure as hell have the right to.

KATRINA: [Defensively] Don't you think it's a bit unfair on my side? Presuming things about what I'm going to do?
NICHOLAS: You can do whatever the hell you want. You got rid of me so easily. So therefore, you have no problem with that.
KATRINA: [Sighing] We were fine before. . .and now THIS?
NICHOLAS: What do you expect? You want nothing to do with me and I'm still upset about that. It's not the same. [Pause, shifting down a gear] Whatever. Just like everyone else, you've grown tired of me constantly whining about my life. So whatever. Just leave me the hell alone.
KATRINA: Nicholas. . .
NICHOLAS: [Rising up a gear] I don't need to feel this. . .PRESSURE on me because I know I'm going to be casually talking to the person I used to love most in the world, and that she has no intention or desire of having feelings for me anymore. So whatever. [Pause] Go find some other guy to be with. Leave me the hell alone.
KATRINA: [Rising to NICHOLAS' tone] Why can't you see things from my point of view? I asked that you respect my decision in deciding not to be in a relationship at this point in time.
NICHOLAS: You don't ever see anything from MY point of view. So whatever, have fun being alone. [Getting angry and teary] You'll never, NEVER know what it feels like when I'm alone. It's a wonder why I even bother talking to you right now. You just don't get it.
[Beat]

KATRINA: I'm not perfect Nick.
NICHOLAS: [Laughing credulously] Oh, you're FAR from perfect. [Pause] You're flawed: the most flawed person I've ever met. You put EVERYTHING on me! You-you even did it when we WERE together. Why do you think I considered HER in the first place? Because WE were falling apart.
[Beat. KATRINA sits in silence for a moment, obviously hurt by his words]
KATRINA: [Cautiously] What do you want me to say?
NICHOLAS: I don't expect you to say anything. [Pause] Just go. . .
[Stage fades into darkness]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SCENE 2:
[The stage is brightly lit, showing NICHOLAS and KATRINA closer to each other, yet, their backs remain facing each other. Again, both stare something in front of them, which is unknown to the audience.]
KATRINA: [Biting her lip] I'm thinking.
NICHOLAS: It doesn't take 5 minutes to think.
[Beat]
KATRINA: It depends what you're thinking about.
[Beat]
NICHOLAS: [Rising to the challenge] Yeah I suppose. Like if you're thinking about if the rest of your life will be spent by yourself or with the one you once loved most in the world. [Shaking his head, obviously fed up] Whatever, I can't handle this happening EVERY time I talk to you.
[NICHOLAS stands up and storms off to the right of the stage, revealing a laptop in front of him]
KATRINA: [Quietly] I can't talk about this anymore Nick. . .

[As the stage goes dark, NICHOLAS can be heard]
NICHOLAS: Why is it. . .that the one person in the entire world that completely understands you, is the one person you can never be with? I love her much. I don't know how much longer I can stand without her. I can't even begin what I feel now, without her. [Pause] Without anyone. I keep promising myself that things will get better, but they don't.
[Beat] I just want to be with you, Katrina.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SCENE 3:
[The stage is brightly lit. KATRINA sits on her bed and studies some roses given to her. She fondles them nervously for a moment before placing them out of sight. NICHOLAS sits upright on the couch. Both have their backs facing each other. Both are on laptops.]
NICHOLAS: [Struggling for words] They're. . .kind of representative of how I feel towards you, I suppose.
KATRINA: I don't know what to say.
NICHOLAS: [Sadly and quietly] You never do, anymore.
[Beat]
KATRINA: Something happened Nick.
NICHOLAS: [Expecting the worst] What? [Nervous laugh] You fell in love with some other guy?
KATRINA: You could say that.
NICHOLAS: Explain.
[Beat]
KATRINA: He and I, are together now.
[Silence as NICHOLAS is stunned. He appears heartbroken for a moment. KATRINA sits nervously, staring at the laptop. NICHOLAS quickly readies himself and begins to furiously type]
NICHOLAS: Cool. Whatever. Good for you. [Pause, more ridiculing] You're a beautiful girl, Katrina. Why waste your time on someone like myself?
KATRINA: [Becoming annoyed] Oh don't start-
NICHOLAS: [Ignoring her comment] After all, I mean fuck all to you anymore.
KATRINA: [Beat shifting up a gear] Just because I'm with someone else, doesn't mean I've disregarded you. Do you think I'd be talking to you now if I didn't care about you?
NICHOLAS: [Ignoring her comment again] You know, I've never literally thought about killing myself before, but now I am seriously considering doing it.
KATRINA: [Incredulously] Because I'm with someone else?
NICHOLAS: Sure, yeah.
KATRINA: Don't talk like that. It's not fair-
NICHOLAS: [Aggressively] I can talk whichever way I bloody well like!
[Pause]
You think it's not fair? Hm? You really think it's not fair? You know what's not fair? My god-damned fucking life. It's never been fair! So screw you, okay?! I don't care about you anymore.
KATRINA: [Becoming angry] Don't you talk to me like that. It's because I'm seeing someone else, right? Is that all what this is about?
NICHOLAS: No, my life has been worse off already. . . but you just pushed me over my breaking point now.
KATRINA: Oh my god. . stop it. Do you hear yourself?
NICHOLAS: I have no intention of talking to you anymore. It ruins my entire mood when I talk to you. Seriously. . . Have you noticed that? Have you?
KATRINA: [Ridiculing] Oh, but you complain when I don't talk to you. I can't win either way.
NICHOLAS: I'm sorry I can never stop relating things to you, okay? But at some point you bloody well loved me over anything else. [Beat, shifting down a gear] And now. . .now you treat me as if nothing ever happened between us.
KATRINA: [Gently] That's not true.
NICHOLAS: It sickens me to the point of depression.
KATRINA: Nicholas, it's called moving on.
NICHOLAS: [On a roll] I can't trust anyone anymore. I'm just so alone. [Pause] I've been hurt so many times, and I act like I don't care. But. . .but it rots away inside of me each time. I'm afraid I'm going to turn into something I don't want to be.
[Beat.]
I'll never meet anyone like you ever again. . .
KATRINA: We've been great friends who have rubbed off on each other.
NICHOLAS: Bullshit. I'm not even half the person you are. I can't play this "Friend Game".
KATRINA: It's not a game Nick.
NICHOLAS: Did you ever think, that perhaps I would feel hurt, by you informing me of such events?
KATRINA: [Shooting back] Would you have rather I kept it to myself?
[NICHOLAS remains silent]

Exactly.
[Beat, NICHOLAS realises the hurtful truth]
NICHOLAS: [Shifting down a gear] I don't mean to yell at you, and I do apologise for calling you names. It's just, I don't know what to think anymore.
[Beat]
Katrina, can you promise me. . .one thing? Just one.
KATRINA: Anything.
NICHOLAS: No matter what, we'll be together in a few years?
KATRINA: I promise.
[Stage fades to darkness]

Confusion

* Collated thoughts, not necessarily mine *

Tell me, if I'm supposed to trust you, then why do you deceive me?
Vicariously - Obviously you didn't realise I'd see.
I thought you were the light at the end of the tunnel,
Now - I'm not so sure.

If you claim to be the person who you really say you are,
Then why the change?

The wings have been tampered with and pulled for long enough,
The battle scars have not fully healed.
With so much unrest in an environment,
It becomes tempting to head to higher places.
Confusion is always near - A presence is either welcomed or ignored,
It appears appreciation does not exist until a much loved object is removed.

It's a time for work and a time for determination,

Slowly I'm finding reasons to quit.
You'd say to hold on, and now I hesitate,
After all. . .

Give me something to believe in.

*Photo by me *