Talent Daniel Guyton

Attic

By Daniel Guyton | 2004

(Lights up on the NARRATOR, center-stage and silent. Behind him is a giant mirror. The lights are dim and somber, and shadows dance upon his face. He moves downstage slowly, and addresses the audience in a low and somber voice)

NARRATOR
I was standing over there a second ago.
(Small pause)
Now I’m standing over here.
(He crosses stage right)
I figure if I keep moving, you’ll never see my face. I mean, really see it. Because you can’t see a face unless you stare forever. And even then, it always disappears. A stubble in the chin, a beam or sparkle in the eye. I stared for hours once, inside my room, at the mirror on my wall. And my ugly face just stared right back. I couldn’t see a thing. I wonder if it has a point, you know? Staring at a mirror.
(The mirror cracks in half, and the two sides slowly separate)
Can’t see the WORLD AROUND ME, but when I stare into my eyes, I feel like Nostradamus.
(He snorts, disdainfully)
Read between the lines! I’ve got… wrinkles on my forehead. And bags beneath my eyes. The world is different from tomorrow. It… seemed… better yesterday. I’ve never swallowed from the gut before. But, my throat… just couldn’t close.
(He breathes heavily. He stops.)
I hope you like my play.

(He crosses into darkness, stage right, as the mirror completes its separation. Behind the mirror is an attic, highly cluttered, with a mattress on the floor, a tiny window at the back, and a single door stage left. All sorts of boxes, objects, Christmas trees, skis, etc. clutter up the space. It is the home of the forgotten junk. WILLIAM bursts into the room)

* For the rest of the play, please purchase at www.originalworksonline.com. :O)