A Montage to Love

Well, here it is... A montage to love––written over three years, and pieced together today.

Enjoy!

"There is something that entices me. It stops all thoughts in my head."

"It is my artwork––beautiful, and dark. When all else fails, it makes me smile."

"It tells a tale––how to live, how to love."

"It feels like a dream."

"It ends the pain, and fuels the fire."

"It swells in me––I must fight it. I must fight the flood. But as it leaves me, I realize: I must embrace it."

“Fear them, love them, hate them, embrace them."

"I long for the touch of humanity."

"I seek no more, and no less, than to be free from the suffering of loneliness."

"My wish to be touched, to be heard, to be felt, to be seen, and not to live as I do––alone."

"I yearn for your touch, however cold it may be. My blood burns in wait of your whips. Hit me, hurt me, burn me, stab me. I want all that you have to offer.

How sweet, how painful, how loving..."

"I was nothing to you––nothing but a tiny link to hold you in place. Only ever a rock––a pebble––in your world."

“Those three words.”

"Lies, lies, all lies! Everywhere I turn––everywhere I go, I can hear them!"

"But we were attached because of our lies."

"The voices in my head scream at me––they tell me I should not have gotten so close."

"I was alone––a useless vessel––left behind after my purpose had been served."

"Nobody could love me."

"I wanted just one person to accept me for all I was, and forgive me for all I wasn't."

"Is there anyone who can stop my pain, and hold onto me?"

"Is life worth living without another beside you, to care for you always, and be cared for in return?"

"In each hand, I hold a piece of me, for I am torn. In my left have I placed my heart, in my right, my mind.

Should I choose my left, baring my heart for all to see, will I find my one true love?"

"My only wish, now that I have chosen my destiny, is for another to walk by my side as I journey... And when she claims me, I shall be no other's."

"I did not care in how many places I was torn. I did not mind the pain of my past. I was in love, and that was all that mattered."

"I love her. I love her, but cannot have her"

"I feel the need––the need to taste flesh."

"Biting into her... her blood pouring through my lips..."

"I feel what there is to feel... A jolt of life, of love, of happiness."

"My flesh aches for the sweet tinge of pain."

"Stab me. Slit my wrist. Break my bones. Burn my flesh. Bite me. Shoot me. Punch me. Kick me... I need pain."

"I needed to be hurt, or else I would never truly feel alive––loved."

"The knowledge that it would not last brought pain to me even as I stood side-by-side with her. Every moment I was away from her, I could see her in my mind––still as a statue.

Even as I slept, I felt pain, for I knew she would grow tired of me. And if, by the goddess, she did not, time was short, and did not last."

"I fear there will not be another day; I pray that there will."

"If there's one thing I wish, it's to be with her and never leave her side."

"But she was in love with another, and to hope that other disappeared was a selfish wish. It would mean the loss of her other half, and she would never be truly happy again.”

“To live for love? To die for loss?

I close my eyes to dream, my heart pounding in my ears.”

"There is a thought––love.”

"It was too much for me to leave behind."

"The knowledge that if I crossed, I would never see her again, stopped me at the edge."

"I find myself smiling...”

"Love is the cause of my suffering, but love is also what keeps my heart beating. Because I would do anything for those that I love.

I would die for them.

But more importantly, I would live for them."

"To love is to kill your heart."

“We live, we love, we hate, we hurt... It is a vicious cycle that will never end."

'I love you.'

Why does such a small combination of words cause so much trouble? How does it convey enough emotion that people will die-–or live-–over it?

What is love? Just a concept-–an idea. It represents so much that cannot be spoken. Yet, to say it, to express these feelings, why use the shortest number of words-–words that mean nothing?

It can be given; it can be taken. This is what love is. It can be broken, or even stolen. Yet we put our lives in its hands––into the hands of a lie.

Love is dark, mysterious, conditional, conceited, and often faux. Still, we strive for it––we believe in it. All our lives, we are conditioned to live by its laws-–victims to its snares and easy pickings to the vultures that circle above. And for what?

To be hurt, misled, maimed, tortured... There is no other way, when you bare your soul for someone. There is no other ending when your gruesome, corrupt, and injured self is showing.

Just look in a mirror-–look hard, and you shall see it.

You will stare right through yourself… See the pain, and not think twice before you look away.

This is love. Is it worth it?

Thanks to Aphrael for the photo.

Chapter 1

Well, here is Chapter 1. Please tell me what you think!

The first day was perhaps the worst of them all. It started with a pair of handcuffs, and ended with a straitjacket and a padded cell.

“Alright, get up!” my police escort shouted––I had learned his name was Tim during my night’s stay at the station.

I opened my eyes and glared at him––sleep had almost come for the first time.

“What time is it?” I groaned––we weren’t allowed our personal belongings there or at the institution.

He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s ten. Now get up. You’ve been transferred.”

At first, I thought he meant to a district or state jail; I also thought it would be the last time I’d get to see him. Neither was the case.

We spoke quite a bit during the car ride about nothing in particular. I think I started the conversation with a comment about the clear sky––the calm before a storm, I believe it was.

He was 29––only 7 years older than I, at the time. Unmarried and convinced he never would be, he was still one of the sweetest people I had ever met. That was probably what made me like him––though he was a defender of the peace and I a criminal, he still had kind words for me.

I suppose it’s kind of sad, really, that I was actually looking forward to going to jail. My life was already over in public anyway––I beat down a priest in front of all those who had ever been close to my family or to me. And jail life was something I had only imagined in my waking dreams.

That might have been one of the reasons that pulling into the asylum’s parking lot depressed me; I lost the boost of my label as a criminal.

The inside was much the same as one would expect––light, happy colors decorated everything in sight. Even the waiting chairs were baby blue.

In a few minutes, the receptionist––whose name I never got a chance to learn, as she left a few days later––cleared us to see the doctor.

“Hello. My name is Dr. Hannelore,” he smiled. “You must be Maria?”

I told him that, yes, my name is Maria.

“Oh, wonderful!” He indicated a brown leather couch with one hand. “Please, have a seat.”

Raising my arm, I showed him the cuffs that kept me attached to Tim––I don’t think he even noticed my escort before hand.

“Oh. That is a predicament.” He paused to think for a moment.

“Officer, would you mind leaving us, for a bit?”

The next time I saw Tim was nearly a year later. By then, my stay was almost over, and I was almost free.

“Say, Maria, do you know why you are here, sitting in that chair, and talking with me?”

“Because I attacked two people who insulted my mother, and a priest?” I guess I figured that since I would be there for the rest of my life––which I really wasn’t––I might as well have told the truth while I was at it.

“Well, that is a reason, but not the one I was looking for.”

He stood up from behind his desk and came to sit on a small, backless chair directly in front of me.

“So? Why am I here, then?” I’ve always hated doctors who play with vague words to make people assess their own mental states. Dr. Hannelore was no exception.

“You are here so that we can help you.”

“And what if I don’t want your help?” I responded sharply.

“Then you need not let us.” Certainly, his uncaring answer shocked me, but the way he said it––without trying to defend himself by crossing his arms or making sudden movements––only made it worse.

I smiled sadly at him. I didn’t need his help, and I didn’t want it, either. There was simply no way I would let some narcissistic doctor––who couldn’t even bring himself to use contractions––help me, even if I did need it.

“Well, that should be enough for today.” He stood back up, and pushed a button on his phone. It beeped loudly twice––once before he spoke, and once after.

“Victoria? Could you come and show Maria to her room, please?”

He bid me farewell and a good night’s sleep on my way out the door and into the overly happy company of Victoria.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Maria!” she exclaimed excitedly––and they thought I was crazy.

She smiled as if she knew the thoughts going through my head.

“C’mon! I’ll show you around.”

The hospital was actually a nice place––it wasn’t much, but it had every necessity in plentiful amounts. Two exercise rooms were located on the third floor, and an indoor pool––closely guarded and monitored, of course––in the basement. Private rooms and small lounges on every floor, there was enough living space for a thousand people, but far less in number were those who actually stayed at the institution.

When I questioned how they managed to afford such things on the low budgets of hospitals, she quickly––in a practiced manner––informed me that each of the rooms was paid for in full by ex-patients who had been reintegrated successfully into society and had become rich or famous. The pool was from a man named Eikzel Hanz.

“Reintegration?” I asked, puzzled.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Our job here is to help people like you––those deemed mentally unstable––to return to society as free and reformed people.”

I had always thought that asylums were only meant to keep us locked away from humanity until we died.

“It’s a relatively new project,” she explained, “that the city council approved a few years ago. We take in only those who have not committed any serious crimes––like murder and rape––and help them learn from their mistakes until a board of psychiatrists deems them worthy to return to the real world.”

She stopped in front of a large, steel door.

“Well, here we are. This will be your room until such a time as you are willing to accept our help and sign a few forms. After you do, we can move you to a more comfortable room.” Smiling at me, she opened it.

“Oh. One more thing––you’ll have to wear a straitjacket until then, as well. Some assistants will be down shortly to help you into one.” She paused, considering something.

“Please don’t struggle––I don’t want your time here to start with injections of tranquilizers!”

The tranquilizers definitely helped me sleep, those first few nights.

Prologue (Maria's Backstory)

So, for this one, I was kind-of hoping for some input––which I will get to at the end of the post––if it's not too much trouble.

I sat on the edge, looking in, as people approached me, and laid their hands on me, saying they were sorry, or offering their condolences.

I was the only one who really cared––the others only came to utter lies or to look like good people. They pitied me, whispering about me behind my back, as they had always done. But now that I was alone, it was worse yet.

They didn't know what it was like––and nor would they ever––to catch someone important to me and feel them go limp in my arms, their last breath escaping from their lips, their last beat lost in the noise of my screaming.

My mother died. She was the only one who understood.

"I'm sorry for your loss," they'd say.

Quietly––complacently––I sat; the funeral was about to begin. I toned the world out, and ignored it all but to stand and sit at the instructions of the priest.

"Our dearly departed," he began, "was a kind soul..."

Some whispering behind me stole my attention from the speech. I listened closely, already indignant.

"She was such a looney."

"Yeah, I know."

"And she was so amoral––she's going to hell, I'd bet."

"You know what? I'm glad she's dead."

I barely remember what happened next––it was all a blur. One moment, I'm sitting, and the next I had leapt over my chair and choked the man––I don't think he was so glad after that.

"You didn't know my mother! You didn't have to be there when she died!" I shouted at him.

And as the man choked and spluttered, I only felt better and better.

"My mother will not be going to hell––she was a wonderful woman, and a far better person than you will ever be!"

By then, the priest had stopped speaking, his jaw was left hanging open in horror as he watched me pummel the man.

When he collapsed, I let go of his tie and started on the next of my mother's insulters.

"Someone call the police!" he managed to shout just before my punch connected with the side of his face.

Well, at least, that was how it pieced back together from my asking everyone how I wound up in a mental institution, of all places.

The police finally arrived a few moments later––by then, I had punched him out and started on the priest. They say it took six men to pull me off him.

But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of beginning a new life in the institution. If someone, a day before, had told me I would end up here, I probably would have told them they were crazy––ironic, huh?

Now, the question is... do I end the prologue after "six men to pull me off him," or "ironic, huh?"

Thanks! <3

Also, if you think a portion would be better worded in a different way or in a different place, please tell me––it'll help me improve my writing.

(Oh. Apologies on the formatting of the site. I haven't figured it out yet, so please bear with me.)

Common Ground

This is the first play I have ever tried to write. Though it is short, yes, I do hope you will enjoy it!

Comments are always appreciated. :-D

CHARACTERS

KYLE –– 23, mental patient, diagnosed with schizophrenia, male.

MARIA –– 22, a woman in much distress, diagnosed with manic-depressive bipolarity.

DR. HANNELORE –– 37, psychiatrist, tries to be a nice guy.

VICTORIA –– 25, nurse, the kind of person who would give away all the money to charity if she won the lottery

TIME

The Present

PLACE

Reception Area of Dr. Hannelore’s Place of Business

Waiting Room to see Dr. Hannelore

Dr. Hannelore’s Office

Common Ground

(AT RISE, the audience sees a double set of rooms. The room on stage left is dark, but an outline is visible. It appears to be a psychiatrist’s room, complete with a plush couch and diplomas lining the far wall. The lighted room is a waiting room––the walls are even painted a comforting shade of blue. KYLE is sitting in a chair against the far wall––he is sweating visibly, and one foot is bouncing up and down while he tries to force it to stay down with his hands. There are magazines on a bookshelf along the next wall, ranging in colors from white to black. It is high noon in the hospital, but the world seems quiet except for KYLE’s incessant foot tapping.)

KYLE

(HE succeeds in stopping his leg from bouncing, and begins to ponder something.)

Did you know that black holes form from hatred, and are made of hate, and exude hate?

(HE pauses.)

Does it really? What’s the target of the hate, though? Every bit of hatred must have a target!

(Stands, and begins pacing.)

Why? I always thought you could just feel animosity in general. Can’t you just say, “I hate,” and leave it at that?

(Turns, and walks the other way.)

No. Not effectively. I believe it is a requirement that such things have a direct object as a target.

(Stops in front of bookshelves.)

What if it was your job to hate, and someone asks, “What do you do?” You’d say, “I hate,” wouldn’t you? It would make perfect sense!

(HE begins looking through magazines––picking them up and placing them back after examining the covers.)

Well, I don’t know. It seems kind of reaching––like ellipses compared to periods. While the ellipsis is in threes, and symbolizes a trailing of thought, the period is only in ones. And, being in ones, it shows an absolute end to whatever thought was expressed––no trailing at all.

(HE pulls out a copy of a psychology magazine, and begins flipping through it.)

How does that even come close to correlating to black holes of hatred?

(HE sighs.)

I swear, don’t you know anything? You’re saying that while “I do” or “I love” are correct, so is “I hate.” I’m saying that while “I love” would be correct, “I hate” would not. The simple of the matter is the double period! That’s what “I hate” would be. It’s halfway between the two!

(HE throws the magazine onto the floor, and resumes pacing.)

You’re being absurd again. What have I told you about being absurd? It’s not good. Try to stay calm––calm is good!

VICTORIA

(Entering from stage right, speaking to MARIA, who also enters.)

… and this is the waiting room. Doctor Hannelor will call you in a moment.

(SHE looks around the room and sees the magazine on the floor. SHE picks it up and places it back in its original place on the shelf. Then, SHE looks at KYLE.)

Is there anything I can help you with, sir?

KYLE

Why yes, there is, in fact!

(HE rolls his eyes)

Don’t tell her that, you dolt! She’ll laugh at us!

(Grinning.)

See, Ms. Victoria, we have this dilemma. There’s an ellipsis, right? Symbol of three asterisks, dashes, or dots, and then there’s a period––represented by only a single dot, and nothing else. Problem is: would a double period be a valid point of argumentation?

VICTORIA

I… don’t understand the question.

MARIA

(SHE smiles widely, and rubs HER hands together nervously.)

It’s simple, really! I once spent a day contemplating just the same thought!

KYLE

Oh?

MARIA

(Blurting.)

It’s all a matter of how you look at it. From a grammatical standpoint, you can see why it would be right! A double period would be halfway between the two, and would represent the trailing end to a complete thought!

(SHE nudges VICTORIA.)

Right?

VICTORIA

Well, I don’t know. I suppose in a metaphorical sense, it could be true, but I’m not so sure about grammatically. I know for certain the grammar check program on my computer thinks it’s wrong.

(SHE looks at her wristwatch.)

I’m afraid I must be off. Excuse me.

(Exits stage right.)

MARIA

(Crosses to sit in KYLE’s seat.)

Hello. Good to know I won’t be alone in the waiting room––I usually am, you see, on such occasions as this. My name’s Maria.

KYLE

(HE sits in the chair stage right of MARIA, and stares deliberately at his feet.)

I’m Kyle. And you’re in the spot where I usually sit.

(HE grins, HIS head turning sharply away from MARIA.)

Shut it, will you? She’s nice, smart, and pretty. Suck it up! You can live in the seat over. It’s not like you’re obsessive compulsive! Just a Schizo, that’s all you are. And, you know what? You’ll never get rid of me.

MARIA

(Interrupting, tapping HER fingers on HER knee.)

I’m bipolar! They’re kinda similar, aren’t they? Bipolarity and schizophrenia… I mean, both have to do with having two sides, right? The only reason they’re any different at all is that one involves having two distinct thought-people, and one has just a lot of mood swings!

KYLE

(HE ponders for a moment.)

I’d have to agree, though I haven’t met many bipolars. Being locked up for several years does have its downsides, besides the terrible food.

(Speaks over himself.)

But the food is good!

MARIA

(Calms down. Stops tapping HER fingers.)

I have no doubt that the food here isn’t too bad. At least it’s food, right?

(Pauses, contemplating something, before SHE pulls out a pen and a sticky-note. SHE writes something on it.)

If you ever get out of here, give me a call.

(SHE hands KYLE the note.)

KYLE

(Takes note, hesitantly.)

What makes you think I ever will?

MARIA

(SHE smiles.)

Because you aren’t really schizophrenic.

DR. HANNELORE

(Enters stage left.)

Maria? I’d like to see you now.

(Exits stage left, with MARIA following.)

((The lights switch off in the waiting room, and new ones turn on in the office.))

MARIA

(Sits on a plush footrest-chair.)

Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.

DR. HANNELORE

(Sits on desk.)

Ah, don’t mention it. What seems to be the problem?

MARIA

(Looks down, suddenly sullen.)

My mother died three days ago.

DR. HANNELORE

(HIS face shows HE is surprised, for a moment, before HE returns his expression to a neutral.)

Do you want to talk about it?

MARIA

(Shakes head.)

She… died.

(SHE lifts HER feet onto the chair, and hugs HER knees.)

Not even the meds help.

DR. HANNELORE

(Gets off desk, moves to sit next to MARIA.)

I’m sorry for your loss, Maria. But perhaps we can do something about those meds, so you can keep functioning properly in society.

MARIA

Mmm. Thanks.

DR. HANNELORE

(Smiles.)

Do you have your meds on you?

MARIA

Mmhmm. Why?

DR. HANNELORE

Double your dosage temporarily. I’ll fill in a new prescription, in the meantime. It should be ready to be picked up tomorrow sometime.

MARIA

(Takes pills out of HER pocket, opens container, takes two out and swallows them)

‘Kay. Thanks.

(SHE stands, and walks towards the waiting room door.)

DR. HANNELORE

(Also rises. HE follows MARIA out to the waiting room, and passes through to exit stage right.)

((Once again, the lights switch. This time, the waiting room is visible.))

MARIA

(Walks over to KYLE, who has not moved since SHE left. HER excited mood seems to have returned, as SHE lifts her head and smiles.)

Have you thought about it at all?

KYLE

(Looks up at HER from where HE is sitting.)

Why would I go? They’re all out to get me. It doesn’t matter if I’m in here or out there, someone’s still after me, but here I know who’s coming for me. Out there? No.

MARIA

(SHE sits in KYLE’s usual seat, again.)

Because––out there––I can help you. In here, you’re alone.

KYLE

How do I know you aren’t with them?

MARIA

(Grinning.)

Because I’m a patient here, too. Would a patient be in league with a doctor?

KYLE

(Nods, as if understanding.)

True, true. I suppose it’s worth a try, huh? If I ever get out, I’ll be sure to call.

MARIA

(Side-hugs HIM, smiling widely.)

Well, I’d better be off, now! Thanks for everything!

(SHE stands, and exits stage right.)

DR. HANNELORE

(Enters stage right as MARIA exits.)

Well, it’s just us, now, Kyle.

(HE motions towards the office door.)

Shall we?

(HE opens the office door, and enters with KYLE.)

((Once again, the lights switch.))

KYLE

(Rubs hands nervously together, sits on the chair.)

There’s something I need to tell you, Dr. Hannelore. I haven’t been entirely honest with you, you see.

DR. HANNELORE

(Sits on desk again.)

Do go on.

KYLE

I’m not really schizophrenic.

DR. HANNELORE

(Rolls eyes.)

I’ve heard this one before, many a time.

KYLE

No, really… I just have a hard time trusting people… So I figured it would be easiest to live in an institution, where I wouldn’t have to try.

(He pauses.)

I’m paranoid, yes, but not schizophrenic.

DR. HANNELORE

And do you have any proof to back this up?

KYLE

How often did I lapse into an alternate personality? Once or twice every time I spoke, right?

DR. HANNELORE

Indeed.

KYLE

(Smiles.)

I haven’t spoken in one since the first conversation I had with Maria, this afternoon.

DR. HANNELORE

(A puzzled expression crosses his face.)

Are you sure it’s not the other one just being quiet?

KYLE

You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you? If I answered, “yes,” like you’d expect me to, it would be acknowledging the existence of an alternate me.

(Shakes head.)

There isn’t one. It’s all just a ploy.

DR. HANNELORE

Why are you telling me this, now?

KYLE

So I can go back out into the real world.

DR. HANNELORE

And why would you want to do that, if you’re afraid people are after you?

KYLE

(Pauses for a moment, considering HIS response.)

Though I know who is after me in here––and don’t out there––in here I’m alone. Out there, I have Maria.

(Nods, satisfied of the answer HE gave.)

DR. HANNELORE

(Begins fingering HIS small goatee, lost in thought.)

And how does that make you feel? Having someone out there, I mean.

KYLE

(Smiles happily.)

It makes me feel wanted––in a good way, of course.

DR. HANNELORE

You sure you want to go back out into the real world? For just one woman?

KYLE

Absolutely.

DR. HANNELORE

Why her? What makes her so special to you?

KYLE

I’ve been in here for five years, and she’s the first one to guess that I was lying about being schizophrenic.

DR. HANNELORE

Well, I’m proud of you. But what made you change your mind about wanting to stay here?

KYLE

I guess I just figured… Life just isn’t worth living, if you don’t have someone with you.

DR. HANNELORE

(Smiles, and nods.)

I’m going to let you go, but you will have to see me once a week, until I say otherwise. Is that okay?

KYLE

(Nods.)

Absolutely. Thank you, Doctor.

DR. HANNELORE

(Pushes some buttons on the phone, lifts it to ear.)

Victoria?

(Pauses.)

Hey, listen… I’m letting Kyle back out into the real world, so I’m going to need you to grab his stuff and bring it down here, please.

(Pauses.)

Thank you.

(HE puts the phone back, and gets off desk.)

KYLE

(Stands, and offers HIS hand to shake.)

I really appreciate it, Dr. Hannelore.

(THEY shake hands, and KYLE turns to go, and walks out to the waiting room.)

DR. HANNELORE

(Resumes HIS original place in HIS desk’s chair.)

((Once again, lights switch.))

VICTORIA

Oh, hello Kyle!

KYLE

Hallo, Ms. Victoria!

VICTORIA

So, um, here are your belongings. Congratulations on getting out!

(SHE hands a small filing box filled with clothes and electronics to HIM.)

KYLE

(Rummages through box, and pulls out a cell phone.)

Thank you, Ms. Victoria.

VICTORIA

(Shrugs off the thanks.)

Oh, don’t mention it! I’m just doing my job.

(SHE smiles, and turns to exit stage right.)

KYLE

(Puts down the box, and pushes a few buttons on the phone. HE waits a moment for it to work. Then HE pushes a few more buttons, and lifts it to HIS ear.)

Maria? It’s Kyle. I’m out.

((Curtain down.))