A Reflection of Suicide

A man (1 Man) sits alone on the stage. As well as the man there is a desk with some desk like things such as papers and a clock on it. He picks up a letter opener, he slits his own throat. Stage goes dark. Lights come back on. It is the man paused just before he kills himself. Another man (2 Man) walks onto the stage, smoking a pipe.

2 Man: You (gestures at audience with pipe) are about to witness a man kill himself. Usually such an act would hold no importance for the world at large, but as this lucky son of a bitch has an audience, his ultimately sorrowful and selfish act is now a piece of art. (Begin rifling through stuff.) An expose on the human condition, if you will. Well how aggravating. He has left no note. Wait perhaps it is on his person. (Searches 1 Man.) Suicide notes do make this business a deal more poetic. A last remark to the world. An explanation as to why he couldn’t stick around. A cosmic break up if you will. (Pulls something out of 1 Man’s pocket.) No note, inconsiderate bastard, but I have found something almost as good. A wedding band. It’s almost cliché. So many people kill themselves over love. The lack of love, the loss of love, the guilt of love. Perhaps his love left him, or he left her. I suppose she could have died, but that would be lacking scandal. Anyway this seems too big of a ring for a woman’s slender finger. Wait, ah let me see, Yes! This wedding band fits his finger exactly! Perhaps we could presume his ring had merely fallen off, but what would be even better? He had a lover, possibly male because he has since realized he is gay, as his passion to his wife had dwindled to nothing. He felt guilt at cheating on his wife, and sorrow because he could not be with the woman/man he truly loved. Oh, wait, what is this. A sacred text, and it looks well worn. Bloody hell! Perhaps it was not a suicide of love after all, but of a more cosmic nature. He’s been confronted with an overwhelming doubt of what to believe. Can he not reconcile what he needs to be truth with what he knows to be truth? Arg! Look at him. Look at that expression. What am I supposed to do with that? There is no sorrow, no anger, no look of contemplation or a world weary traveler. Damn it all to hell, this man has left no clues for us to ponder. No, wait…that could be the point. His cloths are neither extremely fine not poor. This setting is almost to void of personality, to even be cliché. The only fault in the set up was that there was no way to obscure his gender. He is the blank page, the half told story. Reflect upon this setting and fill in the details with bits and pieces from you own bleak experience. His pain is your pain. Your pain is your own work of art. By providing this scene a reason based from you own shallow life, you give your existence a false sense of purpose. Yes. That works quite well. (He pauses for a moment and takes the letter opener from 1 Man’s hand.) I suppose I could stop him, prevent him that nasty blood stain this will cause. He ends his life so casually, and I could save it just as casually. (Thinks, puts letter opener back.) In all honesty though, that would destroy the depth of this piece and return him to the dull life that drove him to this action. Besides, this gives his life some poetic meaning. Surly that is worth a bloodstain or two (exits.)

1 Man kills himself again. Lights go dark.