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Description
Actress kneels upstage center.  Stage begins in a black out.  The actress speaks out to the audience in confidence.

Actress:

Many have said that the stage reflects our lives.  Well, I wonder what this stage says about me?  It's rather opaque, is it not?  One might say it is a bleak, empty void.  Might one say it is even hellish?  There is no fire, no brimstone, and no red demon with horns.  But it is very lonely, quiet, and dismal.  At least I imagine this to resemble Hell.  Separation.  Not from the world, for that would be a joy.  The separation is from God.  Complete, and total disunion and estrangement.

I wonder, does the stage surrounding me display my life, or my heart?  Maybe the two are quite intertwined?  Either way, I am void, much like this stage.  I am dark.  I am dreary.  I live in severance.

Why?  Not many have cared to ask, so I ask it of myself when the stillness becomes unbearable.  Why do I live in such incognito?  Why am I such a recluse?  And what is it that I seek this silent refuge from?  Who is it?  Why is it?

This world has scorned me, as I have scorned it.  I am at odds with life, and the war we have waged is unforgivable.  My perception of life deviates from life's perception of itself, and thus, life's perception of me has narrowed down to hatred.  I have become obscure in the world's eyes.  Now, here I kneel-alas wholly unnoticed.

I have seen things with tainted eyes, and I have been seen with eyes of spiteful red.  The world I've seen through crimson tears, and I have been seen through shooting arrows.

So how is it that I have come to lay my life on this stage, ending my days sequestered?

Because life did me wrong, and to protect myself, I slipped away into abyss.  Here I kneel in nigritude, blockading myself by a thin, tinted, glass cage.  Maybe it would be smart of me to build a mountain wall if it is protection I seek, but I suppose there is a small voice in my depths, which cries for more than this death I have sought out for myself.  A small voice, which hopes to scream louder than my demons.  Loud enough to be heard through this seemingly soundproof fortress so that one might come and break the walls down and release me.  Loud enough to even shatter the walls myself and be free.

The little soul in me secretly wishes to jazz up this stage with majestic lights...this stage...

My life?  My heart?  Which could it be?  Is this despair that of a glass heart, clouded dark, or a life lending itself to the qualities of desolation and demise?

Or maybe, it is both.

House lights turn on to an empty stage.