Please login to continue.
SCENE ONE:
INT. GABRIELLE’S KITCHEN – NIGHT
There is a dining table with a cordless telephone and a Baby Monitor on it. There are chairs around it. There is a baby’s pram.
GABRIELLE (O.S.)
(sings, doleful)
Hush little baby, don’t say a word: mummy’s gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don’t sing, mummy’s gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring don’t shine…
Pause. GABRIELLE enters in a beautiful evening dress as though prepared for a night at the opera. She takes a glass and places it on the table. She takes a bottle of vodka and opening it, places it beside the glass. She pauses for a moment, looking at the pram and then looks directly out at the audience.
GABRIELLE
My apologies…but I was never exactly what you might call a feminine child.
(thoughtful)
Perhaps that might explain it…or at least explain some of it: all those long years she spent dreaming of pink lace and frills, bows and most delicate bonnets only to end up stuck with grass stains and mud stains and stains that she never quite knew what they were but just guessed they were something unpleasant. And she would always wrinkle her nose. God knows why: she never washed a thing by hand…come to think of it: she never washed a thing full stop: it was dear old Agnetha the “help” that would load up the machine every week, not her.
GABRIELLE
(as MOTHER)
It’s what I pay her for and there’s an end to it.
GABRIELLE
It seems strange now, looking back: it ought to be one of those childhood memories that stays in your mind all your life: your mother in the kitchen…is that terribly old-fashioned and sexist of me? Should I recant such archaic ideas here and now? No…I think not.
A beat.
GABRIELLE
So there we are…or rather here we are, my least favourite room in the house all because to the best of my knowledge I’m not sure I once, no not once ever saw her wash one solitary item of clothing herself in all of my years in her home. Her home, you’ll notice, not mine…never mine. And yet oddly enough that nose would keep wrinkling time after time after time after time like some demented Elizabeth Montgomery clone with no magical powers to speak of…excepting the one, obviously…the power to crush beneath an obligatorily metaphorical boot heel. Assuming “obligatorily” is a word I didn’t just invent, obviously…it’s a terrible habit I have, inventing words when I can’t find the one that I’m looking for. Which is often.
The cordless telephone on the table rings and GABRIELLE looks at it for a moment without moving. Slowly she reaches out, picks it up and looks at the display. She deflates visibly with a heartfelt sigh.
GABRIELLE
Oh Peter…do give it up why don’t you?
The telephone continues to ring.
GABRIELLE
(barks)
I said: “Give it the fuck up” God damn you!
The telephone stops ringing and GABRIELLE cracks a satisfied smile.
GABRIELLE
Don’t you just love the way he does whatever I say even when he can’t hear a word I’m saying?
A beat.
GABRIELLE
(frowns)
Now what did he want I wonder…
She picks up the telephone, dials 1571 and puts it to her ear, listening.
GABRIELLE
I’ve no idea who the bitch is that does all these recorded message things on here but she’s toast if I ever hear her patronising fucking montone of a voice in the real world.
GABRIELLE
(as PETER)
Hiya Baby, you’ve left already then?
GABRIELLE lowers the phone slightly.
GABRIELLE
God I hate it when he calls me “baby” and he knows it.
GABRIELLE listens to the phone again.
GABRIELLE
(as PETER)
Cool, well I’ll see you in a bit then: just wanted to tell you I love you: ciao.
GABRIELLE takes the telephone from her ear hangs up and drops it on the table.
GABRIELLE
“Cool” “I love you” and “ciao” all in the same sentence: Christ he’s a wanker. I mean “Cool” possibly, “I love you” at a pinch and “Ciao” maybe fine if he was taking the piss but all three? In the same sentence? Jesus…why the Hell did I let him into my home let alone my cunt.
(looks out to the audience)
I did tell you I was never a feminine child. Sorry to disappoint but then disappointing people is my stock in trade, always has been always will be and there’s an end.
GABRIELLE picks up the empty glass and turns it in her hand before her eyes.
GABRIELLE
I do know, of course…why I let Peter into my home, I mean. For a start he was interested: in me of all people. Of the hundred or so that were there in that bar on that night he was interested in me. And he was gorgeous: he had the kind of features you’d have to study not just look at and I’d never get tired of looking into his eyes, what a cliche you’re thinking but then you’ve never met him and you’ve never looked in those eyes.
A beat.
GABRIELLE
And it wasn’t until later I found out he was hung like a bison…and a bison blessed with a much bigger cock than normal at that: I remember a slight sinking feeling lying on the bed when he walked out of the shower and I clapped eyes on it hanging there for the first time. I mean I’d felt it of course, through his jeans in the bar, well you do don’t you: try before you buy and all that but Jesus…seeing it for real was something else and there was no way that was going to fit into me without some kind of struggle…but d’you know what? As we kissed and caressed and we whispered and I looked into those eyes…I somehow missed the fact that he was sliding up inside me until…
GABRIELLE
(gasps in ecstasy)
Jesus Christ!
A beat.
GABRIELLE
(deadpan)
It has to have been the first time in my entire life that I’ve ever known what the fuck Nora Ephron was on about all those years ago…Meg Ryan? Billy Crystal? ”I’ll have what she’s having?” yeah well I was having it right there on his bed and it was fucking amazing…feeling like I was going to break in two any moment…and then?
(gathering momentum)
Whilst I was somewhere else, on some sun-drenched beach with this monster inside of me just dragging every sense of normality and propriety that I’d ever been taught growing up from my mind with every thrust that it made I was totally clueless that there…right there…there right up inside me way too microscopic for the human eye to see…
A beat.
GABRIELLE
(cold)
It was waiting. And it was down to him and those eyes and that cock of his drawing me in and nine months later it was…well, to coin a phrase:
(belts out singing)
“Hey…world: here…I…am!”
A beat.
GABRIELLE
And there it was indeed…the rest of my life in a towel bleating like a bloody lamb as though it was in some way my fault it was there at all.
GABRIELLE sighs and sweeps her hair back from her forehead.
GABRIELLE
It was a daughter, by the way, just in case you were wondering…that means a daughter had a daughter who had a daughter…just how pissed off must the men be who take on the women in this family? Oh yeah they may lie through their teeth and spout heartfelt platitudes like: “It doesn’t matter what we have so long as it’s healthy”...but as mothers we know they want boys. Except Peter didn’t want either…he just wanted me: dizzy fucker, he should have known better but apparently, condoms take away the pleasure…
GABRIELLE
(as PETER)
And for Jesus fuck’s sake, Gabrielle: you said you were on the pill.
GABRIELLE
(to PETER)
Did I? I don’t remember.
GABRIELLE
(as MOTHER, screaming)
I thought you were on the pill!
GABRIELLE
Odd how Peter and Mother both got to the same conclusion completely independent of each other in spite of the fact I’d said fuck all to either on the subject…and yes, that nose wrinkled…her nose wrinkled that is, not mine or it’s…hers…like I’d just expelled last week’s washing out of me over seventeen hours of contracting and pushing and…odd…how I never thought Peter’s huge cock would go up me when it’s head just tore me open from side to side coming out into the world…coming out into my world…spoiling my world…ruining my world…and that’s probably the first time I started to hear her…remember her, mother I mean…and what she would say to me…
GABRIELLE stands up walks DS as she flattens her dress around her. She pulls out the chair with it’s back to the audience, steps up onto it and then up onto table, turning to face the audience.
GABRIELLE
(calling, as MOTHER)
Gabrielle? Gabrielle!
GABRIELLE
(to audience)
I’d ignore her, obviously. She had nothing to say that I hadn’t heard a thousand times even though back then I was only seven…or eight…or was it…fuck knows, who cares? Just listen and you’ll get the idea.
GABRIELLE turns away from the audience.
GABRIELLE
(calling, as MOTHER)
Gabrielle! What on earth do you think that you’re doing up there? And in that beautiful new dress I bought for you! Just you get yourself down here at once young lady: and don’t you dare make me have to ask twice or there’ll be trouble!
GABRIELLE half turns back to the audience.
GABRIELLE
Fascinating things trees…the way they seem so determined to reach up and touch the sky in spite of the fact that they must know they’re on to a loser.
GABRIELLE stretches her arms out like branches and raises them slowly upwards.
GABRIELLE
(scathing, as MOTHER)
Trees aren’t sentient, Gabrielle!
GABRIELLE drops her arms to her side with a sigh.
GABRIELLE
(scathing, as MOTHER)
Trees don’t know anything: trees just…are.
GABRIELLE looks upwards and raises her arms up again.
GABRIELLE
(awed)
Trees never just are…trees are above you sometimes and below you sometimes and sometimes they’re just there. I had a mate next door to me once who had SKY round one day to sort out her box and stuff and, so she says, when he looked out her window the trees meant he couldn’t do shit…twenty-first century technology stunted by centuries of growth: I had to laugh…I couldn’t help myself…
GABRIELLE
(scathing, as MOTHER)
Trees just help to oxygenate the air we breathe. They provide us with fruit, nuts and berries to eat: that’s their function. Their reason to live. Now please go and wash your hands and sit back at the table, I don’t want the dinner to spoil: I’ve been cooking all day and…
(calling, as MOTHER)
Gabrielle? Gabrielle? Where are you? Gabrielle? Gabrielle!
GABRIELLE slowly lowers her arms to her sides and then brings them up to embrace herself.
GABRIELLE
And just where the fuck did she think I was, I ask you? But she’d keep calling out as though somehow the louder she called, the easier it would be to find me.
GABRIELLE lowers herself down on the table and wraps her arms round her knees.
GABRIELLE
(as YOUNG GABRIELLE)
But I never wanted to be found: not up there, not by her because up there, I felt safe in my own world…safe in the tree…and those branches were so, so solid beneath me…and then there were the leaves in my face smelling like it just rained and they’d shaken off the last drops leaving only that scent…
(wistful)
...only that scent…only that scent that you think is the one thing you want to preserve in your mind as you lie back and sleep late at night like the snow on the ground and the icicles outside your window that start dripping slowly away…and then are gone…just like Raymond Briggs weeping all alone in his room….at least that’s how I saw him as I read those last pages…fucked up every Christmas I’ve had to this day he did…bless him…I still need to write and thank him for that some day.
GABRIELLE looks around sharply.
GABRIELLE
(scared)
What was that?
GABRIELLE sighs with relief.
GABRIELLE
Nothing…thank God for that.
(to the Audience)
I’ve heard things, you see? Odd things…odd things that couldn’t be real, true or here but I heard them…and they scared me sometimes…but they don’t come back, that much I really know: they don’t come back…once they’re gone they’re gone and they don’t come back.
GABRIELLE looks around sharply.
GABRIELLE
Sorry? What was that? Was that…you?
GABRIELLE shivers slightly and then slowly gets herself down off the table and walks OS.
GABRIELLE (O.S.)
(calling, as MOTHER)
Gabrielle? Gabrielle! Get down here right now: I’m in the kitchen! I’m baking, preparing and lighting the candles in memory, Gabrielle: and don’t go forgetting that, snow or no snow!
GABRIELLE enters again, her baby in a blanket in her arms. She stares down at it.
GABRIELLE
(thoughtful)
Snow or no snow…what was that, eh? Snow or no snow…what on earth did she mean, eh? Little one?
(barks)
Eh?
(sighs)
Damn…
GABRIELLE unwraps the blanket from the baby and brings her hand up to the baby’s neck, taking hold and dropping the hand it holding it to her side. The blanket falls and the baby is now held in one hand by the neck, dangling as
GABRIELLE looks down at it.
GABRIELLE
(sotto voce)
Snow or no snow.
GABRIELLE stands there holding the baby by the neck in front of her and suddenly appears to realise what she is doing.
GABRIELLE
(maternal, to the baby)
There, there little one…you just sleep now, just sleep now…snow or no snow…just sleep now.
GABRIELLE looks out at the audience.
GABRIELLE
(cold)
It’s dead of course…not sleeping at all…I mean who in their right mind would hold a sleeping baby by the neck this way? That would be cruel in the extreme and certainly worthy of a phone call to someone in authority begging them to act before it’s too late.
She looks at the baby.
GABRIELLE
But there’ll be no phone call from here…not this time: and besides…
She lays it in the pram, picks up the blanket and wraps the blanket around it, looking down with love.
GABRIELLE
...it’s way past too late and well on the road to oblivion.
Blackout.
END OF SCENE ONE.
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
This 37 word review has not been unlocked.
Well… after reading that first installment, I think I need to collect myself… There is a lot in here to digest.
Brilliant work so far… with the story, that is. There is a lot thrown at the audience and while that usually only works to scramble the brain, it works quite nicely. It has a great pacing, relatively smooth flow (despite the disjointed scenes and remembrances Gabrielle keeps throwing out at to the audience), and enough jagged edges to keep the spectator rapt. I would caution that you might want to rein in the more repetitive instances of profanity; I say this not as a prudish suggestion, but more for the sake of the raw emotion that you have waiting at your fingertips. A few well-placed ‘fucks’ can impart the fact that Gabrielle is emotionally rent, unhinged, and allow you to give ground on other areas that may need exploring (why exactly is there so much enmity for her mother, for example). A couple of times there are some uncomfortable moments where the play seems only to be fueled by the profanity, and that detracts from your work. Too, you need to apply a good wrench to the puntuation in here: You’ve got some flow problems, potential run-ons that don’t seem like rantings of a deranged mind, just run-on sentences. I understand the effect you are going for, but a little tweaking should not disturb the greater story.
I found this piece to be enthralling. It kept me reading and anticipatory. I would very much like to see where things lead from here. And I would pay money to see such. Finish this thing, polish it, then submit it. Someone will take note and interest.
Hope this helped you. Good luck, and good writing.
I think this is a fine piece. Without introducing any other speakers than Gabrielle, the writer tells a story through Gabrielle’s eyes. The use of the word “obligatorily” was amusing. Nicely done reference to Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal.
Great characterization of trees and of the mother. Good description of Peter and the development of her relationship with him. Surprise ending was effective.
Wow…I should have taken your note about the faint-hearted seriously.
Well….okay.
So Gabrielle definitley had a lot of character, an almost mentallly exited charcter. This kept the story going, considering there was only one character.
But since there is only one character, you might want to consider adding a little bit more characters. If this is to be a stage play, I don’t think people want to just see a character explaining all this. You could try to have scenes occurring while she speaks and have actors act what’s going on, especially for those flashbacks.
And it turned me off completely when she start dropping the F bomb and other curse words. I understand that is her character, and in a normal story that would be great, but having an actor say that and an audeience hear that is really overwhelming.
This being said, I think the whole peice should be rewritten as a story rather than a staged play. I think a story would suit it better, mostly becuase reading something is entirely different from hearing it aloud. But I found your characterization very impressive, and you did a job well done in that area.
This is a pretty good stage play. You have a good sense of dialouge and rythm. As this is,this could be a difficult monolouge to pull off, with all the different voices, but the right person could make it sound great. You use stage directions wisely and frequently enoguh that the actors will not get confused.
As for the plot, I am a little confused, but then again, that seems to be the point of the play. How did Garbrielle’s baby die? Are Peter and mother dead? If you want me to to know these tell me, but I don’t think that it is nessisary.
Wonderful job, with brilliant potential.
The piece was very good. I enjoyed it (despite the fact that I rarely like one-person shows). However, I have a problem with the ending.
I don’t care if the baby dies-I want to know why and how. I think you have it written a little vague. I could make an assumption that she killed it, however I don’t know.
I almost want her to kill it as we watch, but I also want to know why she is murdering the child. If it is simply because she is crazy, I feel you need to build her madness a bit more.
Punch up the ending a bit and I think you will have a fantastic piece. Well done!
Showing 1 - 6 of 6
Ratings & Rankings
Review item
Add to faves
