Monologue

A Father’s Speech

You might as well come in. I know you're there.

Sit, boy.

I expect a seasoned adventurer like you won't turn down a drink. I've been saving this one. It's been sitting in this bottle for two hundred and fifty-four years. It was given to my great-great-grandfather to welcome the arrival of his son, Leokoris Belsword I. Your namesake. I suppose now's a good a time as any.

[He pours two glasses, then walks over to where Leo is sitting. Framed by the glow of the fire from outside the window, he casts an imposing shadow over Leo.]

It's high time you arrived. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show. To think I went to all this effort to be here for your big day and you so very nearly let me down. Still, would not've been the first time you've disappointed me. Not nearly.

[He spits in Leo's wine, hands it to him, then walks to the window. The fire is nearly blinding. He doesn't seem affected.]

You've done well, as far as things can be considered. Personally, I expected your corpse would be floating face down in a sewer within a day of arriving in this city. Still, you've not done nearly well enough, but at least you've done better than your sack-of-shit brothers. Here's to that pyrrhic victory.

[He toasts, then drinks.]

You know, for as much as I hated you, you always were my favourite. Now moreso than ever. Oh, wipe that stupid look off your face, boy. Of course you were. What, you thought Grantaire was my favourite? That idiot. Please. He's a tame dog. A yes-man who, when I say jump, asks "How high?".

Seth's a good-for-nothing layabout. He has spent every day of the last five years doing nothing but huff spice and plot my death, as if he could pull it off. As for Fin, damn boy's near-mute. At this point I've completely given up on him being worth a single copper piece. Still, he keeps your mother happy.

Yes. Your mother. I have to say, Leokoris, that was an awfully unkind thing you did, dying. Broke her poor heart. Oh, Leokoris, how could you do that to your own mother? For shame, Leokoris. For shame.

Oh, shut up, boy. [playful, mocking] I was just having fun.

It was my idea, of course, faking your death. A little joke between us two. As if you could've ever had the gall to go through with something like that.

Little Leokoris. Strong enough to have it all, too weak to take it.

Oh, I gave you so much. I did everything right. And you fucked it up. How typical. How just like your mother. I blame her for this [gestures up and down at Leo].

I know who you are, boy. Because you're me.

Your drive, your ambition, that's me! I gave that to you. Look at your brothers. You think they'd have amounted to anything were it not for me? Of course not.

But you, you're different. I knew you were since the moment you were born. I saw that glint in your eye. That spark, that need to prove yourself.

I gave you that chance. The chance to rise above, so make something of yourself. Oh, I'm sure you would've been a fantastic swordsman, or an accomplished mage. But we both knew, deep down, that's not what you would've wanted.

Oh, it made me so happy to hear that you'd run away. I'm sure you suspected as much. But not because I hated you. [mocking sincerity] Because I loved you. Because I knew you'd go off to do great things. I never felt so much pride. But not for you. For myself. That was not your accomplishment. It was mine. Everything you are, everything you do, is mine. Because you're me. Except, not quite. Because there is a difference between us.

You try to be good. I try to be great. But that's not it, that's not the difference. That was me, of course, at one point.

No. The difference is I succeed.

Mourner

I miss you.

It’s strange to imagine a world that you’re not a part of. It’s difficult to come to terms with the fact that you don’t exist. You’ve been part of my life for so long, and now you’re not.

I heard a song on the radio the other day. I’d heard it before, but this time it was different. Because this time, it was you singing. And you were singing to me.

There’s so much I want to tell you.

I know it’s not my fault, my I can’t help but feel like it is. I could’ve been there for you. I could’ve taken the pain away. I could’ve made a difference. But I wasn’t. And I didn’t.

Even if it didn’t change anything, at least I could’ve said goodbye.

Memory

A warm breeze drifted between the trees, streamers fluttering gently in the bright summer’s day. Children giggled and ran through the freshly cut grass while the adults chatted, drinks in hand.

My feet swung back and forth as I sat amongst the branches of the massive oak tree, watching as things below me unfolded. Every few minutes an adult would walk over and ask how I was feeling, if I was having fun. I smiled and nodded. I was perfectly content to sit quietly in my tree and watch what the other people were doing. I originally wanted to sit in my room and read, but my mother convinced me it was not the appropriate course of action, even though I didn’t quite understand her line of reasoning.

The screen door to the kitchen creaked open, and my father walked out, candles dripping wax onto the cake’s chocolate icing. I leapt from the tree, landing with a wobble, and ran to the table as he set it down. The guests gathered in the shade; their happy faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight. I watched them as they began to sing, smiling warmly at me. For me. A bright flash came from the camera.

A tear rolled down my cheek. I placed the photo back in the box.

Mask

I don’t know who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and all I see is that lie staring me in the face. Some days I can’t see anything else. I don’t think I could bare to.

I must remove the mask. I will. Someday. But I’m terrified of what lies beneath it. I’ve worn this lie so long that I’ve forgotten who I am.

They try to reassure me, tell me that I’m fine the way I am. They’re wrong. Things haven’t been fine for a long time, and I’m sick of pretending they are. When I wanted to tear my own skin apart. To be anything or anyone but me. When I couldn’t bear the thought of someone seeing me. Because I knew what they’d think. When I put on that mask and hid who I was. Who I am. What part of that was fine?

It’s the uncertainty of it. That’s the worst part. I don’t know if there even is a face under the mask. What if it’s all that I have left? I can’t remember who I am, but I can’t remember anything else.

The mask is the only thing I have left.

Mountain

A pale white light shone from the computer monitor, dragging ominous dark shadows across the room. The radio beside my bed blinked on and off, still waiting to be set to the correct time. The window behind me looked over the quiet street below, bathed in the streetlamp’s orange glow. Every few minutes, a car would drive along, the hum of its engine echoing down the avenue.

I sat slumped in my chair, head in my hands, staring into the blank document sitting on my screen. I sighed through my nose, then leant back in my chair, sweeping my hair back across my scalp.

It’s infuriating. To be so close to success, but to fall short every time.

I know what I have to do, that’s the worst part. I can see the finish line. I know all the steps I have to take, and I’m giving it everything I’ve got. And yet, I still fail. It slips through my hands like grains of sand, and I’m trying so hard to hold on to it, but it just vanishes.

I just want to be able to explain that it’s not me. I’m trying my absolute hardest, I’m giving it everything I’ve got, and I’m still failing. And everyone’s so nice and forgiving and they try to understand, but eventually it all runs out. I’m forced to push others down just to keep my head above water. And I wish I didn’t have to, and I wish I could explain, but there’s no other way. Because I can’t swim. And I feel like I should just give up and let myself sink to the bottom of the ocean with nothing but my own failed metaphors to keep me company.

I’m trapped here. I’m chained to the wall, and no amount of perseverance is going free me. It would be so simple to just walk out of my cell and into freedom, if only someone could just remove the chain. But I don’t know if that’s even true.

Sometimes it feels like I’m just pretending, like I’m the one who locked me here. These chains must be tied to something, after all, and if I could just find it, then things would be okay. But there can’t be, because escape must be impossible, because if it isn’t, then it’s always been my own stupid fault I’m stuck here.

There’s no happy ending. Either escape is impossible and I’m trapped here forever, or escape is possible but I keep myself trapped anyway. I don’t know which is worse.

So now I’m in this constant cycle of self-pity and self-hatred. And I can’t even communicate why because I can’t put that into words, either.

So I closed the document, still empty.

Murder

I want to be honest with you. But I can’t even be honest with myself. The only truth is that I’m lying. I don’t know who I am. But it’s not this. Whatever this is. Whoever they were.

It’s my fault. They’re gone because of me. At this point, all I can ask for is forgiveness. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just wanted to be happy. I just wanted to live.

It’s not like things are better. The pain is still the same. The only difference is that now I feel like it’s my fault.

I am not that person you knew. They’re gone. Whoever you think they were, it wasn’t me.

All that time. All those memories. Wasted on someone I’m not. They took so much from me. Someone killed them for it. I want them to know it’s not their fault.

That person is gone. They have to be, for my sake. We can’t both exist. I did what I had to do, and now I have to suffer the consequences.

The past is dead, and I killed them.