redxrivers

Running From Reality ACT ONE SCENE 1 The stage is in darkness.  Nothing can be seen at all.  Lights go up on the Cheshire Cat  on an empty stage.  As it speaks, it jumps and leaps around the stage, seeming completely crazy. CHESHIRE CAT It would be only right that I tell you I’m odd.  Weird.  Crazy as a loon.  But of course, you knew that.  Light up on frozen ALICE, Cheshire Cat circles her. And Alice, sweet, innocent, pure-hearted Alice… she still had her sanity.  But you already knew that too, didn’t you?   Light off of Alice.  Cheshire Cat picks up poem off ground.  The sanity… and a simple poem… that is where

Wretch. Decrepit miser. Miserable old fool. A pale hand pulls a brush along pure canvas, smearing colors in its wake.  Blues and purples, reds and yellows, all heaved into a terrible concoction.  A horrifying sight to see, and not one solid dash of green.  A dash of gold, and silver too, are added to this queer disgrace. I watch in secret with hesitant breath, your gray complexion more ashy with every stroke you make.  Each movement more slow than the last and now I see a faint tremble in your hand.  This terrible struggle you fight, and yet you continue, your subject too proud to notice your suffering.  But not I.  I see it, I feel it.  

Words. The world’s simplest weapon. One word can bring a king to his knees, Another brings two hearts together. Still others destroy lives, Create loves, Murder creations. Power Belonging to those who can craft The beautiful words, Those things that create and destroy whole worlds With a single Breath. And who can see the end? Who can deliver that which we crave? Only a master of the weapon, A lord of the words Can bring an end to the suffering of so many. But The Master sleeps; The weapon lies; And so shall the world, Lying in its false beauty. Until words can save us from ourselves.

Snow.  Soft and yielding in almost every aspect.  Such white serenity.  And yet it was not without its own horrors.  Ice.  Sleet.  Freezing winds and biting chills.  Even the smallest of storms could catch any small heat, locking it away deep within the ice and cold.  Trapped like this, held away from any heat.  Never to feel the lick of sunlight, never to breath the warmth in the air or smell the crisp scent from gardens leaning into precious sunlight. How had it come to this?  Such a terrible feeling, to be so very alone in the world.  The prison itself ever changing, allowing the sight of everything in, but never the interaction, never th