Day 5: Tipping Point

Today we write about hate. Something you hate, maybe even in a style of theatre you hate. I struggled with today, not because I'm not a hate filled husk of a human, but because I couldn't think of something I hated enough to be a topic. Maybe one will come tomorrow BUT I DON'T HAVE UNTIL TOMORROW. And I like most styles of theatre, there's certainly not one I hate (even my nemesis, musicals, is usually down to execution. There's quite a few I DO enjoy so I wouldn't say I hated them really). Anyway. Not super fond of this one, it feels a bit rushed and a bit melodramatic, but I promised to post what I wrote good or bad so here we are!

                                                                 Tipping Point

                                                              By Jeremy Linnell

Mike stands rigid, right at the edge of the stage. His toes poke over the edge. He sways back and forth, glancing over his shoulder and down at his feet now and again. Next to him, siting much more casually and relaxed is Julie.

Julie: So this is it then?

Mike: Yeah. I think it as to be.

Julie: Well go on then. Hurry the fuck.

Mike: Just gimmie a minute. It’s a big step. I need to prepare.

Julie: You never gave me a minute.

Mike: I know. I’m sorry. It’s why I’m doing this.

Julie: Liar.

Mike: What?

Julie: This isn’t about me at all.

Mike: Of course it is! If I hadn’t…look. You of all people should know why I’m doing this.

Julie: Well what about last time? What was it about then.

Mike: I don’t know. I spend every day trying to figure that out.

Julie: You’re fucking miserable.

Mike: Observant. Happy people generally don’t try and kill themselves.

Julie: Why like this?

Mike: Dunno. Nice view I guess.

Julie: Selfish as usual.

Mike: Shut up.

Julie: Think of the mess.

Mike: Shut up.

Julie: You might hit someone on the way down. Another body on your conscience.

Mike: SHUT UP

Julie: I wouldn’t shout. Don’t want to draw attention to yourself.

Mike: You never used to be like this.

Julie: Oh, see. Told you. You’re drawing a crowd.

Mike: Shit.

Julie: What now Mr. Dramatic? Can’t let the punters down.

Mike: I know.

Julie: Just a few more inches.

Mike: I know. I’m scared.

Julie: Pussy.

Mike: I know I’m a coward.

Julie: Pathetic too.

Mike: I know.

Julie: I mean how much do you drink? And look at you. You can’t afford the calories.

Mike: I tried going to the gym.

Julie: Waddling along twice a week to huff on a cross trainer a little bit isn’t trying.

Mike: I sweat. It’s hard.

Julie: Walking up the stairs at work makes you sweat. What did I see in you?

Mike: I could never answer that one myself. You’re gorgeous.

Julie: Thank you.

Mike: And I’m me.

Julie: You are. <A beat> So you going to do it then?

Mike: I am. I’m sorry. I….

Suddenly a voice cuts through his speech coming from the back of the space, from behind the audience.

George: Mike? Mate. What are you doing?

Mike: Go away!

George: It’s George. Get down from there. Go back inside.

Mike: I can’t!

George: It’s easy, just one foot after the other. I’ll come up and help.

Mike: No! Just stay where you are.

George: OK. OK. I thought we were passed this buddy. It’s not a solution.

Mike: I need it to stop.

George: What?

Mike: Everything. Shit. The sadness. The guilt.

George: We were working through that. You were moving on.

Mike: I don’t want to move on! Why should I? Julie can’t.

George: I know…but it wasn’t your fault.

Mike: My suicide attempt got her killed. How is that not my fault?

George: So another one is the answer?

Mike: I don’t know. I have to do something.

George: So come down. We can talk. Figure out a plan.

Mike: Planning doesn’t change shit. I…I did what the doctors said. The self-help books. Positive life 

changes. None of it made me happy.

George: It takes time. No one’s happy all the time.

Mike: But nothing works! Every day’s the same. I’m just…chasing happy memories all the time.

George: I know. So make some new ones.

Mike: How? She’s always there. Anytime I meet someone I’m just reminded that it should be her 

I’m with.

George: That’ll pass.

Mike: I don’t want it to. She deserves better.

George: So do you. It’s ok to move on.

Mike: I’m just…tired. I can’t even look in the mirror to shave.

George: I’ll help you. We’ll get you through this.

Mike: Why? Why help me.

George: Because you’re still my friend.

Mike: How can you be my friend when you know what I did?

George: Because I know that wasn’t you. Like this isn’t you.

Mike: Jesus YES IT IS. I’ve wanted to do this ever since I knew what suicide was.

George: Then we’ll get you help. No one should feel like that.

Mike: You don’t understand. It’s there every day. It’s like…everything inside hates me. I…when I’m awake it’s like I’m drowning in it and when I sleep to escape it…I dream about it every night. Her. Me. Dreams so vivid they feel more real than anything. And every morning is like waking up in the hospital again. Realising she’s not there. And it’s my fault.

George: She wouldn’t blame you, you know. She knew you…had problems. She didn’t care.

Mike: She didn’t sign up to die.

George: No but she loved you all the same and she wanted you to live and get better. So please. If you die, all those memories you dream about die too. Then there really will be nothing.

Mike: It’s just so hard.

George: I know. I know. 

Mike: I’d like to come down now.

George: Ok. Thanks Mike.

Lights out.