( A dark, dingy room. The curtains are drawn. She sits on the desk in one corner, pen in hand. There is a certain repose in her motion, in her language. Paper strewn all over the floor. The bin in the other corner is overflowing. She begins to write.)
ATTEMPT I
SHE: This one is for me. This is my final expression bereaved of brevity yet not excruciatingly elaborate. I struggle to tread middle ground. I shield my face against the warmth of the golden rays, the sparrows serenading my being, the azure sky infinite yet in my outstretched arms, the foliage brilliant in its hue, the verdant landscape thus. In spite of me, it puts a smile on my face, a twinkle in my eyes. I look into the stream, hopes mellow and thoughts benign are reflected.
If only I could shield myself against the atrocities of my lot, the phantom of my dreams shattered, deafening me with that stilled silence, the void infinite yet so tangible in my outstretched arms, the insecurities magnificent in their hue, the broken spirit thus. In spite of me I clutch the pen and start writing my final expression...bereaved of brevity yet not excruciatingly elaborate.
Who am I kidding? When did I ever tread middle ground?
(She crumples the paper into a ball, aims for the bin......and misses. an exasperated ejaculation.)
ATTEMPT II
SHE: This one is for you. It is ironic when the reason to live gets engaged in the excuse to not. You wage a war against yourself to triumph over your incoherence, you claw at that elusive lucidity and meet with failure. So final, so motionless. Yet in my confusion, I found a purpose. You. I found a purpose to breathe, to infuse into your very being my life, my urgency. To caress your hopes, to nurture your love, to possess your anxieties, your apprehensions and trample over them, to hold your fears in my arms and hurl them into oblivion. I strive to be one body, one soul, one unified equation challenging the very fundamentals of this frenzy surrounding you and me, and it is a chimerical concoction,a blow so hard it leaves me breathless.
Leaves me breathless.
(This one she doesn't crumple. She reads it, re-reads it. A solitary tear starts to trickle down her cheek, hanging suspended from her chin for a moment too long. She wipes it away with a latent, passive ire.)
ATTEMPT III
SHE: This one is for everyone who loved me sometime, somewhere.
If I am accountable, if I'm responsible for leaving you with memories and nothing more, for permeating your life, establishing bonds and then fleeing in such haste, for the insidious effect of the hatred generated in you due to this decision of mine......I apologise in earnest. If I have any claims I urge you to abnegate those memories, to renounce those fragile bonds, to abdicate the domain of wrath, of negatives......I urge you in earnest.
Because I loved you not long, not enough, not forever.
But you can love me long, love me enough, love me forever.....
(She burrows her head in her arms, seeking solace from the intimacy of her own body. she lifts her head, stares unblinkingly at the photograph of her family on the table, picks the paper up without looking away and tears it to shreds.)
ATTEMPT IV
To whomsoever it may concern.
I am ending my life, no one is to be held responsible.
I am ending my life, no one is to be held responsible.
God bless.
(An inadvertent smile escapes her lips. she embraces the heavy air hanging all around her and quotes Oscar Wilde out loud, "Simple pleasures are but the last refuge of the complicated.")
The last refuge.
The End.
