Life with crippling uncertainty
The air stood tall in my lungs. A straight-back strickened leader with forceful conviction. It could not support itself in the insides of me. My chest collapsing from within like quicksand eroding the foundatiion of the once tall breath. I faulter as the two warring entities flail to defeat in the inner workings of my lungs. The weight of him falling hard against my chest. The resulting breaths that followed produced a surge of pain that periodically paralyzed me to my core. I could not help myself from heavy breathing nor kill the urge to subside. Though, through each breath I was dying. At this rate, my inevitable demise would ravage my arteries before they could stand a chance to fend for themselves.
I took interest in pretty flowers that would not bloom. Drooping heads of living plants without petals to shield their bodies. Life and purpose pass through their roots, same as always, but these delicacies are not prone to the eyes of adoration by any other. There are many heirs to this misfortune. A flower that does not bloom is almost as worse as a man who will not choose. Crowns of illustrious colors in Spring are, time again, doomed to being the same old thing. I was enchanted by flowers that do not bloom. Their consistent misfortune alluded to a measure of empathy residing within myself that too felt fraudlent, inadequate, and not enough.
The problem, as I saw it — rather, when I did, only occurred when I attempted to apply logic to the thing. A manner of the heart in the realm of logic is a fallacy. This metaphysis, however, presented itself in the physical form as well. With each dying breath I discovered because with each breath one is closer to death. After breath and during suspended death, I was either under — or over-breathing, the conundrum of which created shortness of breath. The joy of this discovery was short lived becuase its revelation occurred between my pantings, when I was neither in need of or aware of breathing. I had taken a modest sip of life and retreated within my lungs as I had trained myself to do. It is a hallucinatory self-imposed system of surviving that requires careful focus and intentional breath. An act of presence, that acknowledges my gratitude for life while accepting the foreboding knowledge of death’s showmanship in my life. There was stress a common reminder coupled with a physical alarm of the fragility of my being. During my meditative succumbing, I discovered the vitality of controlled breathing. I never had a history of asthma or disturbed breath within my family. It was not until recently that feel and fill became synonymous. The excess of information I intook dismantled my very understanding of complacency. Real life and false life too became indistinguishable in a narrative I when available, deliberately scrutinized.
How can an onus of time relish in the keepsakes of destiny? If my will were enchanted I surely would have left the battle long ago in exchange for something less demanding.
Alas, the study continued; I kept at it with careful attention to the movement of lungs. My lungs and precious body as a system of instruction in unity and cohesion. Though the heaving that would follow after a shallow and modest breath did not make proper sense to me.
Uncertainty is the enemy of progress, or so I had been taught to believe. I tried innumerable amounts of times to justify my deficiencies to a critical jury. No matter which witness I brought to the stand, I could not sway their opinion of me. It seemed as though my misguided attempts for sympathy were pleas to a complacent and emphatic emotion. Alas, the jury was unwilling to budge. I knew if I were to win my case, I could no longer go at it alone. I gathered what resources remained of my savings and employed an adequate defense team reminiscent of my childhood rearing.
Act I: Summoning Empathy to Your Defense
The Defense Attorney walks languidly into the courtroom, his face mostly hidden by shadows. A dim light illuminates the outline of the judge’s wooden podium and adjoining witness stand. Suddenly an iridescent light appears centerstage. The Defense Attorney begrudgingly makes his way to the halo of this light. Initially, his body faces away from the audience. As he gathers his thoughts, small murmurings of a disgruntled man become audible. A hand rises to reach for the solace of hair residing on the back of his head. A slight sway of the hips is led by the Defense Attorney’s wayward acceptance of his begotten task. Pattened leather oxfords tap the foundation of the courtroom, the sound of which turns the man 180-degrees. The Defense Attorney is slender, malnourished, and unequivocally uncertain about each word he beckons. Alone, on stage; the spotlight shines directly on him.
Defense Attorney
*voice quivering*
I am filled with an unequivocal amount of self-doubt. My situation is based on a fallacy, I have taken.
The Defense Attorney pivots his central position and now faces the audience directly.
Defense Attorney [monologue]
*Voice distressed*
I am a relic of the past, a memory of the man I once was, summoned in cloaks of a better person, for proper judgment.
*pauses*
I have been hired by an Empath to make a case for their failing breath.
*points to the left of the stage*
*Enters from the left stage, The Empath*
I must find diplomatic ground to reach my client’s sensibilities. Their sense of justice is subjective and may cost me the case.
*Enters from the right stage, The Stenographer*
If I cannot build an impartial defense, I will lose both my client and the case.
Defense Attorney [monologue cont.]
The stenographer never takes an eye to me. Contact with my conviction never purses the pinches of the keys. I make my way closer with each point my coattails pivoting and pleading for their attention. As if swaying their regard can win me a fair narrative. Their impartiality is more apparent than the actual jurors. The choir of throats I try to appeal. I join in and interrupt a four-count measure. I clear my throat with a large swad of mucus. It echoes in a once silent room. A room in which I can only hear my footsteps and the intermittent choir rehearsals. Their recital and repetition feel opportunistic and slightly off-key. The lead juror is known for their modesty, however, his throat calls the LOUDEST in the jury! The others follow suit, one after the other, as if rehearsal’s rehearsing is in vain.
Time: 6:41 P.M.
The courtroom is now in full view. The remaining characters make their way to their positions. The stenographer, behind the type-writer. As they do this and sit, the judge lifts from underneath the stand. They take their seat. The Defense Attorney leaves the centerstage and walks to the defendant, the Empath. As they do so they are met simultaneously from the opposite direction by the Prosecutor. The orchestration of movements is crucial for the accurate depiction of the play. Each movement is a dance. Next, four jurors walk in sync with one another. One foot after the other: Right foot, step, drag-the-left-foot. Right foot, step, drag-the-left-foot. They continue this dance until they reach the bench. Each juror has a tissue in hand. They place it up to their face and back down again.
Lead Juror
*clears throat*
Unidentified White Juror 1
*clears throat*
Unidentifiable Bi-racial Juror 2
*heftily coughs*
Indistinguishable Black Juror 3
*clears throat*
Scene. The camera fades to black.
Time: 6:58 P.M. 0:59 CST
Act II: Back in Time
The opening scene finds both the Defense Attorney and The Empath enthralled in deep conversation. The Stenographer is positioned to the side of the Defense Team; their back is to the audience. Together, the Defense Attorney and the Empath, attempt to prepare an adequate defense.
The Empath
I can no longer breathe properly. Please help me create a case for a normal breath.
Defense Attorney
You are in much distress, this much is apparent.
Stenographer
*types on typewriter*
The Empath
*out of breath*
You are a keeeeen
*wheezes*
observer. Maybe you can help?
Defense Attorney
Perhaps.
Stenographer
H-e-l-p — question mark.
*continues typing*
The Empath
I feel intensely.
*breathes emphatically*
Defense Attorney
*nods empathetically*
Stenographer
*lifts head from typewriter*
The Empath
So much so that it messes with my heart.
Defense Attorney
*Silence, followed by more nods and gentle head shakes*
Stenographer
*lifts head momentarily*
H-e-a-r-t — period.
The Empath
I am now unsure if the feelings I have, are filling my lungs with too much air or not enough air.
*manages to take a frail breath*
Defense Attorney
Please, I am familiar with these proceedings.
The Empath
*breathes warily*
Defense Attorney
*clears throat*
Lead Juror
*clears throat*
Unidentified White Juror 1
*clears throat*
Unidentifiable Bi-racial Juror 2
*heftily coughs*
Indistinguishable Black Juror 3
*clears throat*
Defense Attorney
Allow me to determine.
The Empath
I want to. But I want to do so properly.
*breathes emphatically*
Defense Attorney
Death is impeding.
The Empath
Death is inevitable.
Stenographer
*lifts head*
I-n-e-v-i-t-
*pauses*
t-
t-
a-b-le. Able.
Defense Attorney
*clears throat*
Well —
Lead Juror
*clears throat*
Unidentified White Juror 1
*clears throat*
Unidentifiable Bi-racial Juror 2
*heftily coughs*
Indistinguishable Black Juror 3
*clears throat*
Defense Attorney
A decision has to be made.
The Empath
Put me out of my misery. I beg of you. I cannot bear the air another moment.
Prosecutor
Your honor?
Defense Attorney
Judge w —
Prosecutor
Omission, The Empath said they cannot bear the air. Your honor, omission!
Judge
How would you like to die, sir?
The Empath
I do not know, sir. Please, decide for me.
Prosecutor
Your honor, this is a democracy.
Judge
For goodness sake. Your sentence is death by suffocation. The prosecution will remove the air remaining from this room.
*Judge hits the gavel*
Time: 7:06 P.M. :47 CST
The gavel makes contact with the _. It touches it once. twice. three times, before the chatter, dissolves.
A bed grave is moved further away from the defendant. Time has imploded on itself and the distance it has traveled in a forward motion now begins to work against itself. The minute hand slaps the hour, counterclockwise.
Time: 6:59 P.M. :01 CST
Defense Attorney [monologue]
The stenographer never makes eye contact with me. I make my way closer with each point pleading for their attention —
Defense Attorney [monologue]
As if swaying their attention can win me the narrative and case —
Defense Attorney [monologue]
Their impartiality is more apparent than the actual jurors —
Defense Attorney [monologue]
The choir of throats I try to appeal —
Defense Attorney [monologue]
I join in and interrupt a four-count measure. I clear my throat with a large swad of mucus. It echoes in a once silent room.
Indistinguishable Black Juror 3
Defense Attorney
Put me out of my misery. I beg of you. I cannot bear another moment.
Prosecutor
How would you like to die, sir?
Defense Attorney
I do not know. Please decide for me.
Prosecutor
We cannot, for this is a democracy.
Judge
For goodness sake.
The Empath
I have nothing to say.
*Scene. The camera fades to black.*
Act III: Demise
Time: Indivisible
The Defense Attorney dissolves into thin air.
Defense Attorney
*exits off stage*
*enters, Void.* Void is dressed in all black from head to toe.
The Empath
The air does not sit right in my lungs. I open my mouth wider to take in the full girth of my punishment, but can not bear its length.
Void
*stretches open the mouth of The Empath*
The Empath
*mouth widened*
It was my dream to be righteous.
*swallows deeply*
I had hoped — that my actions would lead me to benevolence
*swallows*
and I too would be reconnected with the God I had left behind in my younger years… There were so many episodes where a lack of discernment cost me heavily. I look back on those times now with a greater sense of empathy.
*attempts to take a deeper breath*
When I was alone in my youth, and the voices of a stranger did not puppeteer my disillusionment, I carried on in a fantasy of grandeur. I convinced myself that I could operate in a constant state of uncertainty with little to no consequences. I did not foresee how the unknown would transfix a fantasy of its own. This oversight has cost me greatly.
Only Void remains in the courtroom.
*Scene*
