Through the Greenspace Around Regina

THROUGH THE GREENSPACE AROUND REGINA

CHARACTERS

ADRIAN – 22 , unemployed SHELLEY – 26, a waitress

BRUCE – 35 HANNAH – 22, a prostitute (played by the same actress as Shelley)

SETTING

Modern day, Regina

SET

Two playing areas on the stage: A diner; A payphone attached to a pole.

SCENE I

Moelwyn Mawr

Moelwyn Mawr

PETER HARRIS - Early Twenties HUGH LOYD – Forties

MATILDA BRAOSE – Fifties

Setting

Northern Wales, on the mountain Moelwyn Mawr, near the town of Tanygrisiau, in 1924

Set

An empty stage, with a giant door against the back, and two tall widows on either side; Scene III, the stage was a two large wing backed chairs, and a pile of artifacts around one of them; Scene IV, the stage has a table with two chairs.

SCENE I

Meditation X

 Can't Joan just get a break? There she is, walking down the street to grab breakfast, because her house is a mess. She doesn't have the time to cook, and even if she did, all the dishes are piled up! Joan's got it hard, and it's no wonder people feel bad for her. Once she gets to her job, it's all she can do to get some work done. She has a picture of her dog, and brown coffee mug full of pens, and a computer screen thinner than a piece of paper, all at her desk. The light from the screen, oh! it's so distracting.

Meditation IX

I was always out of character. Not to say I really had character, but whoever it was, whether a friend, a partner or a colleague, they always mentioned how I acted weird around them. That they saw me with others, and I was always gone. But it didn't really matter what I told them, whether it was a one time thing, or I managed to stave it off on multiple occasions. It eventually eroded through, and I was left without them, again.

Meditation VIII

Really, the smokey noise the trumpet, poured over the rest of night's soft chill would be enough to make anyone forget. But when I showed up late one night unable to get pas the first flight of stares, and my cry up the tower brought down my roommate, it's me who was irresponsible. Who cares if I was gone for two hours, if that cocktail mixed of grief and horror of one self, a creature of itself, had been taken by anyone else, they wouldn't be found for three nights, and then they'd be beyond anyone else.

Meditation VII

Maybe it was a prank the kids played on me. Maybe it was something they thought about when they woke up, and waited for the sounds of me. Something they giggled about once they crawled back into their beds. Or maybe my wife did.

However it happened, whatever reasoning, I've woken up, and I can't open my eyelids. I touch them and feel them moving as I look back and forth in the dark room, the slight bump of whatever is keeping them down. Whatever it is, it's stronger than my muscles, and I rise our of bed without really noticing. I sleep like a nocturnal beast, and so no light enters my room until I open the blinds or turn on light. I only knew once I did this, and everything turned red.

Meditation VI

“That's Mr Simmons. He owns the whole town.”

“If he owns the town, why haven't I seen him before?”

Meditation V

A man rode down the road towards his destination, a destitute town, against the grain of workers leaving. Whether on wagons or by foot, they never stopped, and as the man reached the outer limits and climbed down, the ranks of people still continued as far as he could see. With their destination so close, it wasn't hard to justify living where you had grown up. But still some carried empty jugs or dull tools, and our man walked by converted houses and coveted amenities.

Meditation IV

Neil the well dressed man was sitting on the bus one day when he didn't realize he was taking up two seats. There was a man whose tie wasn't quite done up right, and whose jacket was covered in cat fur standing in front of him, and so Neil lifted his bag onto his lap, and the man sat beside him. A puff of cat hair came up, and Neil wiped it off his bag. He then pulled out his phone, and began to shop for more fashionable clothes.

Meditation III

“I saw someone I went to school with today.” I was visiting my mother from the city when she said it. Of course, it isn't that much of a surprise to hear this from her, especially considering that she never left the town where she grew up. It's always how my mom opens these visits. I could finish the rest of two hours myself, any hope of it being different disappeared. Next she'll say how glad she is that she didn't turn out like them. Than, a great thirty minute talk about how unfortunate that person must be.

It's not that my mother is a recluse or antisocial. /she just thinks she's better than everyone else. Of course, inheriting the land the town is built on, as well as living off the rent from it, would have that effect on anyone. When everyone you see essentially works for you, even my noble nosed mother is going to start finding faults in other people.

Meditation II

When it gets too cold outside I count myself lucky that I have the luxury of a scarf. Nevermind that I wouldn't be able to buy a new one if I lost it, and I wouldn't even think of purchasing a similar one, in my current situation. But that isn't a problem I have to deal with now. Instead, when I want to go out, I'll take my brown jacket with its worn elbows, put on layers of thin socks, and step out the door, but not before carefully taking my scarf down from the hook it hangs from. I'll wrap it around my neck, and ready to set out, I'll leave my apartment.

Awaiting in a Parked Car

           So what is it like? When I'm enjoying my ride and watching the trees go by with their flowing greenery and the buildings spiking up past whatever sight I see. Then all at a chance we pull in somewhere, and someone dashes off for just a moment they say, faster than the changing scenery. But of course I stay in the car, and enjoy whatever else is on the other side, whether it be the black of the ground or my own reflection. I stare into it and ask myself why I don't go in, or what happens if you never return. The clock keeps going on and I wonder about the difference between a moment held by you and one watched by me, and the sun goes down and comes up and goes down again while I'm entrapped in my own eyes. But then I notice a worm coming out of my head, and see if crawling slowly over the ground pulling itself along.       

Once a month

Is what I'll try...

Cassandra and the man

Her eyes crawled open just as a pine needle caught in her hair. Cassandra had been wakened by the sun, just as it passed between the trees in its rise from slumber. The warmth was caressing her face, but it wasn't enough to dissipate her heaviness, so sleep took over and left her on the forest floor alone, more needles blown from the trees to cover her.

A forgotten project.

I'm redoing it all, this is can just be tossed here. It's a long read. It was for a big project that I'm reworking right now, and it's a story I tried to write probably a dozen times. Unedited.

Feels good to post again.

Photographer

The island had one spot of sand. Waves picked up by wind out in the sea would either lap against it or crash on the jagged rocks. Their spray and salt would whip up into the air, covering the entire island, barely three hundred meters long and ten meters above. The concave shore and spit of land gave the island no discernible shape, and unless you were pushed against it, no ship would notice it. A lump lost among even little waves, barren of life. Only cracked rock with the occasional lost sea creature, trying to make its way back to the water along the white line paths.

My clothes and beard had long been coated in the salt. The t-shirt that protected me from the sun had faded from its red to a shallow pink, stiff with the white remains of the sea. My hair stuck out all over the place in a shapeless mass twisted with my beard. The rusted lawn chair creaked as I moved in my sleep, trying to get through the hottest part of the day. It beat down on me, turning my skin brown and making it peel.

Somewhere out on the water, the wind picked up and pushed a wave forwards, making it tower past the shallows and crash down on the sand, pushing it towards the island before taking it away. I woke up to the sound, and felt the water lapping my toes. My heart raced, but I didn't move. In the distance, there was a dot above the waves, slowly making its way towards me.

You didn't do nothing.

    I pulled my jacket tight against the frosted wind. The same wind that had brought me out,  driven me from my cabin. Now, it pushed me back, froze my eyes close, making me sleepy. Hearing your song fading had brought me out, bringing only my flashlight and axe. I gripped them to keep my fingers from going numb.
    The snow had been falling all day. It didn't change when I ran out of my cabin, searching for you. Your cry had been faint, but it wasn't distant. I could feel you on that wind, as if it was your breath. I was hunting for you, in frozen temperatures with only a coat.

Creative Act #8

For my creative act this week, I've included the beginning of a short story I'm working on that is highly unedited. I did this because I think it can be more interesting to see the process of how people complete their creative acts, and thus by showing this little bit of what how I do it I can show my creative process.

It's time to get serious...

If I don't post some sort of new, edited/unedited creative work each week, whoever figures it out can give me a solid punch. Or eat my lunch. Or any other kind of punishment. I need to get serious.

Creative Being #3

I wrote another poem for this weeks creative act, and this one is different from my normal writing. I went for a rhyming tone instead of a breathy, multiple syllable one, opting to use alliteration to give it a nice sound. This isn't something I usually do, and as such I took some liberties, inserting some words that weren't part of the alliteration to make it sounds better. I also ended it with a non-alliteration line, just so it would pop out.

Ranting ran through red
while white lilies wade wherever my eyes lie,
discrepancies destroyed during my delay
to touch taste take the moment.
Action avoided to attain peace
but just belated beastly events.
Long life is if
one only owns to now
or thinks of present, and not future.

Creative Being #1

So I decided to post my poem I did for my writing class. However, instead of copy-pasting it, I chose to read it, as I’m constantly told poetry is for hearing, not reading. This isn't something I normally do, and it has helped with me editing it and getting a natural flow going. It's definitely something I'm going to try doing more, and I'm glad I did it. It’s untitled right now, as well as being in a rough stage. I also included the text below.




As a winter wind passed through my hands,
picking up my papers and spreading them
like doves trying to harbor peace,
I tried to give body
to something so abstract as this beauty.
But as even birds have to land eventually,
and paper can only float, not fly,
I left it as is,
on that February day.