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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

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We recently learned in our media class about the four indicators that reveal a country's use of propaganda to justify its actions/build a national and international consensus over its stance. This is exactly what Israel is doing now. Please read this to learn more about the Israeli propaganda (with sources) :

i. Establishing a distinct "us" versus "them"/"the others" divide: The Israeli media has been actively engaged in crafting a narrative that portrays Palestinians as sub-humans and animals, that deserve to be killed, butchered, and deprived of essential resources such as water, electricity and fuel. This dehumanizing narrative serves to rationalize the grave atrocities committed against Palestinians, reducing them to mere statistics, rather than acknowledging them as fellow human beings who have the right to be protected as well.

A recent example of this dehumanization (that encompasses children as well) is Israel's Prime Minister's words in a now-deleted tweet, on Oct 16, stating: "This is a struggle between the children of light and the children of darkness, between humanity and the law of the jungle."

This is also a common practice in Western media as a whole. In the context of conflict, the choice of words plays a significant role: Israelis are often described as "killed," and Palestinians are referred to as having "died" (example of BBC). The distinction can be seen as a way to omit Israeli responsibility, portraying the deaths of nearly 10,000 Palestinians as a result of circumstances beyond its control, rather than the outcome of deliberate and targeted actions.

ii. Use of emotion instead of logic: a stark example would be the whole international outrage that was first sparked due to the false claim that Hamas had beheaded 40 babies. This fake news was confidently shared by U.S. President Joe Biden, who later admitted that he had never actually seen any pictures of such events, neither did anyone in the IDF because there was never any instance of 40 beheaded babies (source) (also trust me if Israel did have any pictures of killed children they would not hesitate to share it)

CNN journalist who first shared this fake news has later apologized for being "misled." (which isn't the case that was a conscious choice of the news agency but that's another conversation)

Israel knew what it was doing by sharing this particular false information, they knew that the simple imagery of such a horrifying notion, even without concrete proof, would be a strategic tool to garner international support through emotional manipulation.

They are still trying to use emotion when it comes to children particularly to sway the public opinion : Israeli government spokesman has shared images of "fallen teeth of burnt children." This post has been debunked by dentists, pointing out many contradictions in the pics that conclude that these are props and not the teeth of actual children found in rubbles. (source)

(Meanwhile, there are factual documented videos and pictures of dead Palestinian kids and babies, decapitated, injured beyond belief, tangible proof of the war crimes Israel commits and yet the public outrage isn't the same, because Israel has already established that Palestinians are lesser people)

iii. Attempting to Influence Both Elites and Ordinary Citizens: In addition to their efforts to secure international support from world leaders, Israel has employed a multifaceted approach by spreading advertisements that regular civilians view. These ads serve to rationalize their actions, and they are strategically placed ahead of unrelated programming, including children's shows or games.

This tactic aims to integrate their ideology into various aspects of our lives, in order to promote their agenda and inundate us with recurrent pro-Israel messages. This strategy capitalizes on the psychological principle that the mind tends to retain information it encounters most frequently. (a more detailed video explanation)

iv. media manipulation tactics : For example, the night before Israel bombed the Baptist hospital in Gaza killing more than 1000 people, BBC published an article with the headline "Does Hamas build tunnels under schools and hospitals?" giving way to a "justification" for the heinous, war crime act that is bombing a hospital, under the guise of targeting Hamas hidden bases.

The use of the Israel-Gaza war as a headline for the news leads us to believe that this is a war with two equal (or slightly disproportionate) parties who are both able to defend themselves. Whereas this is a genocide led by Israel (a powerful military with international backing by the world's most powerful nations- U.S, U.K, France, Germany.. to cite a few) and CIVILIANS. Because those are the people that Israel is targeting, by bombing hospitals, schools, mosques, churches, refugee camps.

It is a genocide, an ethnical cleansing, an attempt to eradicate entire families, then to relocate the survivors out of Gaza, making it impossible for them to reclaim their land, and resulting in a total takeover of Palestine by Israel.

Another manipulation example (because there are so many) is the first and most prominent question that many Western journalists ask their guests: "Do you condemn the attacks of Hamas on Oct 7?"

This question completely disregards the root of this entire conflict, which is the 75-year ongoing colonization of Palestine. By omitting all the previous crimes against Palestinians that led to the attack (the killings, the wrongful imprisonments, the torture, the stealing of land…) these 'journalists' actively manipulate the public opinion, portraying the Hamas attack as unprovoked, when you cannot possibly expect a colonization to have 0 resistance.

And an honorable mention to the zionists who are trying to morph the anti-Israel stance into an anti-Jew one. This isn't about religion, I've said this once and I will say it again, Jews around the world are condemning the actions of their government. Just recently, Jews were arrested in NYC for standing against Israel. (source)

This is a humanitarian cause. We're humans, this is the one denominator factor that unites all. We read about previous genocides in history. We wondered how people could support the killings of innocent people, men and women, and children and babies. It is happening right now again, and media propaganda plays a significant role in shaping public perceptions.

I couldn't include everything here but please, I urge you to use your critical thinking. Don't believe everything the media tells you, and this is coming from a graduated journalist. We learn about propaganda and how to counter it, which also means we learn about how to manufacture it.

So don't be gullible, boycott the companies who support Israel (mainly HP, Siemens, AXA, Puma, Israeli fruits and vegetables, Sodastream, Ahava, Sabra. check BDS for more information) and urge your governments to support the ceasefire. We have a voice and we should use it, even if we're uncomfortable, even if we're scared. Do it. By staying silent you become complicit in genocide.

#free palestine #palestine #gaza strip #free gaza #propaganda

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jovialtorchlight · 9 months ago

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THE WITCH--A ONE ACT PLAY by JONNY BOLDUC

The Witch

A play by Jonny BOLDUC

CHARACTERS:

JONNY: Male, 20-50

A young man. Troubled, disheveled.

WITCH: Female, 20-50

A mystical and enigmatic guide, similarly troubled.

JACOBY

Male, 10-18

A scared young boy.

GLEN:

Male, 20-50

The embodiment of evil.

CHARLIE:

Male, 40-70

A barfly who dies.

THERAPIST:

Any gender, 40-70

A kind professional.

SAWED MAN:

Any Gender. 20-70

A soul claimed by evil.

EMT/BYSTANDER

COP/ GUARD

BOUNCER/NURSE

JONNY:

Lights up on Jonny, centerstage. He is in a flannel shirt and has a pitchfork, dressed like he just he is in a barn. He addresses the audience directly. He is telling a story.

Three months. Doesn’t seem real. The days blur by like a roar. What did I do today, even? Well, I went out to the barn. Our barn. I found two dead, newborn goats in a corner. Black and brown, tiny, the size of puppies, twins. The mother looked at me like she always did; huge marble eyes dilated, sideways, like they were about to bulge out of her skull.

My farmhouse, a farmhouse that used to be ours, was down a small hill from the paddock, a half acre fenced off with a barn built at the crest of the hill. I could see it from the small wooden slat in the stall door. The baby goats were born in a bad way. It wasn’t their fault. It was November, and even with a heated blanket and the insulation of the hay, the cold air wrapped around them, their spirits slowly fading. Even in April, the normal birthing season, on the cusp of spring, it was normal to lose a few babies.

November seemed to take farm life with greed. Earlier in the month, a fisher cat had chewed through the wire of the coop and slaughtered 13 turkeys, leaving decapitated bodies piled up against the doors of the coop.

Half of life is keeping wolves from the door, I thought as I bent over to cradle the dead goats in my arms.

And the wolves are drawn to the scent of blood.

And there was no shortage of wolves, or blood. The whole farmed reeked of pain. At first, everything was coated in a thick film of memory. Even the pots and the pans, the coffee maker. The pang of “that was once ours.” The knowledge that she touched this mug, cupped it in her palms, let the steam rise into the chilly morning air, leaving the floating scent of coffee lifting through the house.

I snapped back to the dead goats in my arms, limp, limbs flapping around awkwardly, the mother staring at me.

It’s hard to figure out what a goat knows. Did she want a snack of grain? Most definitely. Did she miss her babies? Maybe. Sometimes, they seem like bleating animatronics, only interested in food, screaming, and breaking shit. Other times they stare at you, long tongues lopsided, eyes sideways, looking at something beyond you, understanding what exists beyond what’s here.

The Witch taught me how to feel that connection. That communion. Not the evil, biblical pentagram shit. But a link to something beyond. Once you know it’s present, you can feel it.

Animals are a vessel. And it’s not a dark energy they draw from, a dark message from an abyssal place. It’s just another place, another place we go when we’re done being here. Most of the time, it works out fine.

The witch also taught me that everything can be perverted, can take on a new form, a terrible form. Scene jumps to a parking lot, where the Witch, rubbing her hands together for warmth, is stranded outside of her car.

JONNY:

Hey there. Battery dead?

WITCH:

Startled.

Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you. Yeah, it is.

JONNY:

I have cables in the back.

WITCH:

Oh, you don’t need to--

JONNY:

No problem at all.

JONNY attaches the wires to the invisible car.

SFX: Car starting

WITCH:

Freezing.

Thank..you.

JONNY:

You got some snowflakes in your scalp.

WITCH:

What?

JONNY:

Akwardly.

I assume it’s not dandruff.

WITCH:

Uh…

JONNY:

I mean, uh, it would be ok if it was dandruff--

WITCH:

Laughing.

It’s not. Thank you. I’ve been waiting for almost an hour.

JONNY:

Not a problem. Get in your car before you freeze. See you around. WITCH exits. Lights dim on JONNY. I’d like to say that it was love at first sight, that I knew she was a witch, that I felt her presence and knew that she was going to gradually teach me that I was fundamentally wrong about the universe, about the way things worked, about life and love and joy and terror.

But as I drove out of the Walmart parking lot, the sky was just the sky, the cold was just cold, and the emptiness of a half lived life swam around me. Days, as they often do, turned into weeks. We kept circling each other. Sometimes I noticed her, sometimes she noticed me; at least three or four times a week. In gas stations, waiting rooms, checkout lines. It became a bit of a joke shared by two near strangers; we were always together, by complete accident.

It was a hot July day, and I was at the town beach, lying on a towel. I had been reading a book, but I closed it, and laid it on top of my eyes so the beating of the sun wouldn’t blind me.

Monlouge breaks. We are at a beach, several weeks later. JONNY sheds his shirt and pants to a layer of swimgear underneath. WITCH is sitting on a beach chair wearing dark sunglasses and a sunhat. JONNY lays down on a towel.

I could feel my skin tightening into a sunburn, so I sat up. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw her.

JONNY:

You again? Jonny smiles.

WITCH:

Yep. looks like it. Grins back.

JONNY:

I’m starting to think you’re following me.

WITCH:

Grin fades. Her tone is suddenly very, very dire.

I’m not. Are you following me?

JONNY:

“Uh...no. And look, I’m sorry if I spooked you. It was a half-baked joke. Starts to get up.

WITCH:

It’s okay. I didn’t think so. I just had to be sure. What’s your name?

JONNY:

Jonny. What’s yours?

WITCH:

Ignoring the question. She concentrates out into the audience, her voice falling into a sharp whisper. She points. That boy out by the floating dock is going to drown. Things are about to fall into place.

JONNY:

Back into narration.

Six or seven children were standing in the corner of the floating dock, trying to sink it. They did; and the other half of the dock rose into the air.

A boy who looked to be about ten was standing on a particularly pitched part of the float. As it rose sharply, he slipped, smashed his face off of the wood, and, before his friends could catch him, slipped off into the water.

Before I registered what I was doing, I was in the water, running, as fast as Icould; diving into the water, stroke after stroke, kids screaming, parents from the beach yelling.

Lights up on a boy, some distance from Jonny.

Rapid fire delivery. Frantic.

JACOBY:

He was swimming quickly, and he was at the dock, I gasped and I swallowed more water and he dived under and he opened his eyes

JONNY:

I couldn’t see anything, just a chain attached to the slimey underneath of the dock to the bottom of the lake; breath running out, I followed the chain to the rocky bottom;

JACOBY:

But I wasn’t there either. He looked back up, and saw me, face down, under the dock. He

JONNY:

Pushed from the bottom upwards, running out of breath. I grabbed the boy’s limp body, and dragged him out from under the dock with a final push before I inhaled a lung full of lakewater. I felt the fire hit my lungs, I pushed his body up above the surface of the water and some hands grabbed him and while I wheezed and coughed—

O.S VOICE:

OH GOD HE’S NOT BREATHING!

JONNY:

No, I thought, I just saved him, just grabbed him, I should have saved him, and I thrashed as I lost strength and before I lost consciousness I felt hands grab me and pull me—

People rush around JONNY, who stands still, slow motion in the middle of the chaos. Two EMTS lift Jacoby onto stretcher and hurry him offstage.

Everything should have been fine. EMTs were having lunch at the hotdog stand up the road; they heard the screaming and came on the scene while I was underwater. The boy was under the dock for just under a minute. The guy who jumped in right behind me was a lifeguard. The guy swimming behind him was a former Navy S.E.A.L.

On that hot July day, everything lined up. We should have been able to save that boy—I’d learn later, from his mother, that his name was Jacoby—and he should have been the one, blue lipped, shivering, on the back of the ambulance, having his vitals monitored, coughing up water.

While I was unconscious, I had a dream.

BLACKOUT. Lights come up. Three distinct spotlights, the rest of the stage as black as possible. JONNY, the WITCH with her beach-chair, and JACOBY each occupy a space onstage.

JACOBY:

Sobbing, stifling sniffling. Where’s my mom?

WITCH:

The spotlight follows her as she moves to JACOBY. She embraces him, and puts a hand on his head.

She’s not here now, but you can visit her later. Why don’t we go take a walk? There are some people up by the hot-dog stand who would love to see you, Jacoby.

JACOBY:

Oh...okay. JACOBY begins to move, but he suddenly whips around and stares at JONNY.

Terrified. Who is that? Out on the dock? Is he the bad? Is he going to--

JONNY:

No, no, buddy, I’m a friend, I tried to help you--

JACOBY:

He shouldn’t be here. JACOBY looks as if he is going to bolt.

WITCH:

Stern, like a mother. Jacoby, you need to turn toward me. Please. You don’t have to be afraid. He is a friend.

JACOBY:

JACOBY begins to writhe. Lights make it look like energy is bursting from his skin.

WITCH:

JACOBY!

JACOBY:

It’s so hot…all this light…I can’t…

Red. Everything is washed in red. JONNY begins to narrate.

JONNY:

Breathless.

I felt myself burn into him, felt my consciousness blend into his—for a moment--Add strobe effect—I had to stand—had to stop this— I felt my chest tighten as his eyes fixed on me and I felt the way his smashed face felt when it hit the dock and scraped against the wood and how his head pounded and he slipped and the way he tried to swim up before he lost consciousness and the way the water filled his lungs—I saw the writhing and the fear, the red open sore of the sky, the dark hue of the beach suddenly vast and endless, a void, drawing me and the boy in like a magnet, like we were being pulled; I had to stand up, do something—

BLACKOUT. In the blackout, which lasts a second or two, JONNY moves next to JACOBY and the WITCH.

WITCH:

Thank you, Jacoby. Thank you for trusting us. Now, I need you to get out of the water, Jacoby.

JACOBY:

I don’t know if I can. Subtle hints that he is escalating; perhaps a strobe flashing once.

WITCH:

You can. You can, Jacoby.

JACOBY:

Turns to JONNY.

I’ll do it if he jumps in.

WITCH:

Addressing JONNY. Friend. You don’t have to jump.

JACOBY:

Petulant. Yes he does! I won’t do it if he doesn’t!

JONNY:

Narrating. I looked down at the water. It was black, oily, bubbling. I glanced back at Jacoby. I didn’t know what was going to happen to him if I didn’t jump. But the fear in my chest told me he would be lost, swallowed up by whatever this oily water was.

Breaking back.

Alright. On the count of three.

BOTH:

One.

Two.

Three.

JONNY jumps. BLACKOUT.

SCENE 2

JONNY:

Laying down on a stretcher stage center, with an EMT leaning over him... Lights dim on JONNY and an EMT.

JONNY coughs.

Where is he? Where’s Jacoby?

EMT:

Woah, take it easy. Who’s Jacoby?

JONNY:

Speaking hurts. The kid. Underwater. Jacoby.

Silence. After a pause.

EMT:

His parents said they didn’t know you. How do you know his name?

JONNY:

A bad liar. Somebody yelled it. How long was I unconscious?

EMT:

Three minutes. No matter what happened to Jacoby, it wasn’t your fault. You tried to save him.

JONNY STANDS. EMT’s exit, wheeling the stretcher off. The BEACH scene is over, and JONNY is narrating.

JONNY:

For a while, I convinced myself that the the dream was my mind responding to the influx of trauma and the lack of oxygen and the exhaustion. A few days passed. Jacoby’s family called me a few times, told me it wasn’t my fault, that I was a hero for trying to save him. They asked me to come to his funeral. I couldn’t. I could barely leave my apartment. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jacoby. Or the black, oily water.

And in my dreams, I was standing on the edge of the dock, staring at the bubbling void and Jacoby's blue bloated bloody face rose up from the depths and he was sobbing, asking me why I didn’t swim faster, why I couldn’t save him.

When I drank, I fell asleep and I didn’t have dreams. So I took to drinking.

Hard. We are now in the interior of a car. There is an open bottle of whiskey barely concealed underneath a coat in the drivers seat. JONNY is driving. He mimes falling asleep. SOUND FX: CRASH. JONNY stumbles out of his car; from the opposite side of the stage, the Witch stumbles out of hers. A small crowd forms around.

JONNY:

Drunkenly. Anyone have any---uh, Listerine? Or Tik Tacks?

JONNY and the WITCH notice eachother.

WITCH:

It’s…you.

JONNY:

Sure is. Your eyes are bloodshot as fuck. Also, you smell like…a…whiskey…factory. I do too. Damn it. Tell me, when I jumped, did Jacob…

WITCH:

He made it.

A bystander approaches.

BYSTANDER:

Are you both…drunk?

JONNY:

Then why am I…

WITCH:

Having the dreams? You jumped in.

Blue lights flash.

JONNY:

I had to. I had to jump.

WITCH:

Smiling. Once we sober up and post bail, we have to talk.

COPS ENTER.

JONNY:

The Witch was right. We both got arrested. My coat fell off the bottle during the force of the crash. I glanced at it. It was almost empty. I did a quick calculation; I had been drinking heavy for six months. I didn’t even notice when the bottle was gone. The bottle was the first thing the cop saw. I saw him put on some gloves and grab it. Another cop car rolled in.

COP:

Not really a question. You been drinking, sir?

JONNY:

Addressing audience. I shouldn’t have said anything. Should have waited for my lawyer. But I just wanted to get it over with.

Addressing COP.

Yes.

COP: To the Witch.

And you, miss?

WITCH:

Yes.

COP:

Do you two know eachother?

BOTH:

No.

JONNY:

That was the first lie we told. Addressing the audience as he he is cuffed and led away by the COP.

We both blew the same blood alcohol level. Way over. Both JONNY and the WITCH are sitting in the back of a cop car. We decided, subconsciously, that the back of a copcar wasn’t a good place to talk.

It is silent, cut by bursts of SXF: Radio chatter. JONNY leads his head back, and closes his eyes. The WITCH is asleep as well.

For the first time in six months, when I closed my eyes, I didn’t see Jacoby. I saw her face. I understood her. I knew she was as tired as I was. She had the same dreams of Jacoby dying. When we got to the jail, we were separated. I spent a night in County, sobered up, and posted bail. First time. No convictions. Not even a speeding ticket. $500, only bail condition not to drink.

I knew I’d probably be back behind bars. I already knew I needed a drink. I should have called a lawyer first thing. Called my parents to tell them I’d got into trouble and probably lost my job and needed help and I was so sorry— But I didn’t . The first thing I did—and I mean the first thing—was to try and find the Witch.

COP is now a GUARD who is handing JONNY his belongings.

JONNY:

The woman I was brought in with--do you know if she’s been released?

GUARD:

Fuck off. Get out of here. Here’s your stuff. One uncharged phone, a lighter, and a wallet with 14 dollars in cash.

JONNY:

JONNY leaves, and sits at a table, drinking a coffee. There was a Cafe down the street. I got a coffee, and sat. The morning’s paper was on the stand. We were sure to be in there. Sure enough, I flipped to the local section of the paper, greeted by my mugshot, and hers. Headline read, “two arrested after drunk drivers slam into each other.”

But I had something important. Her name. I never told her that I learned her name from her mugshot. I left my coffee on the table, and left the cafe without paying for the paper.

As JONNY leaps up from the table, he walks, and delivers these lines to the the audience. As he does, a basic apartment with a chair is set behind him.

It was a two hour walk back to my apartment, but I made it. I charged my phone. About 100 voicemails and missed calls, from my mom, my dad, my sister. My work. I was fired.

SOUND SXF: Phone ringing. Witch appears with a phone on the other side of the stage.

WITCH:

Hey, I found your number in the phone book...I found your address, too. I’m coming over.

JONNY:

What?

WITCH:

Bursts through the door. Looks around. Her tone is playful.

Wow, this place is a shithole. All carpeted, right? Even the bathroom?

JONNY:

Yeah, how did you--

WITCH:

Been here before. Your closet is full of booze bottles and pizza bozes towering like a pyramid. You’re not going to get your damage deposit back, and you’re fine with that. The “living” room is a futon pad on the floor with a TV and a Playstation hooked up, and your bedroom is a mattress on the floor. You use an oversized flannel as a blanket.

JONNY:

Uh. Yeah. How--

WITCH:

You still hungover?

JONNY:

Yeah.

WITCH:

Well, clear the pizza box off that chair and we can talk.

JONNY:

Hastily moves a pizza box.

I’m sorry my apartment is such a mess.

WITCH:

I was just giving you shit. Mine is just as bad.

JONNY:

Sits across from the Witch. They are silent, but not uncomfortably.

I don’t know about you, but I’m so goddamn tired.

WITCH:

Me too. But it feels like we’re both back from the brink of whatever the hell had happened to us. Like we’re finally sitting down, gasping for breath, not drowning, happy to be safe.

JONNY:

Or at least pretending to be safe.

WITCH:

Right.

JONNY:

So…what happened on the beach?

The Witch puts her head in her hands, slumps down. She looks up.

WITCH:

It’s hard to explain. It’s no so much a ‘what was that,’ as a ‘where were we?” type question.

JONNY:

Jacoby…was dead, right?

WITCH nods.

Were we dead too? Did I die-

WITCH:

Snapping. No. No, we weren’t dead. Jacoby died, we survived.

JONNY:

I’m sorry. I just thought:

WITCH:

I’m sorry. Jonny. I’ve been...going to that place...for a long, long time. As long as I can remember. And I’ve never had anyone else come with me. Usually, it’s easy. I offer a hand, tell them everything is going to be fine, and we walk. Sometimes, things get fucked up. The...bad thing comes.

JONNY sits in stunned silence. The WITCH gets up, goes to a fridge, and grabs a beer. She treats the kitchen as if it’s her own, as if she knows where everything is.

Usually, when things get as bad as they did with Jacoby, I can’t save them. I...I try the best I can. But you...you saved him. You jumped in the water. I’ve never seen anyone do that before.

JONNY:

Sorry, what? What did I do? How did I save him?

WITCH:

He wasn’t going to go. He was going to get claimed by that...black shit, the oil. You helped him go beyond. I want to see if you can do it again. But I need you to promise me something.

JONNY:

Gazes at her.

Anything.

WITCH:

You have to trust me. Please trust me. JONNY nods. The WITCH smiles, downs the entire beer in three gulps, and bounds out the door.

JONNY:

As he follows, he breaks, and addresses the audience. I would have followed her anywhere.

SCENE 3

Lights up outside a dive bar called the “Blue Goose.” JONNY and WITCH are standing.

WITCH:

This is my favorite place. Shoulder to shoulder, shoes stick to the floor if you stand in one place for too long.

JONNY:

Are we going inside?

WITCH:

No. Someone is going to come out of that bar. They’re going to trip on the sidewalk, and when they fall, they’re going to get hit by a car.

JONNY:

What? We have to stop it--

WITCH:

I’ve tried. So many times. But we can’t. When it happens, let me do the talking, please.

CHARLIE stumbles from out of the bar. CHARLIE is in his late ‘60s. A BOUNCER trails behind him.

BOUNCER:

Go sleep it off, Charlie.

CHARLIE wobbles, tries to catch himself, and falls over, onto the road. SXF of screeching tires. Bouncer screams.

JONNY:

A car raced over Charlie’s body with a thud, limbs caught in the wheels, bones snapping off like twigs. Parts of the man spilled out onto the road, crushed open like a smashed jack-o-lantern. Then, everything shifted.

A striking shift in lighting. Stage is black again. A spotlight lights JONNY and the WITCH, and a separate beam illuminates CHARLIE.

CHARLIE:

Looking down at his hands. What happened? How am I sober?

WITCH:

I’m sorry, Charlie.

CHARLIE:

Who are you? Points at JONNY. Who is he?

WITCH:

Friends. We’re here to help you, Charlie. There’s a few people waiting for you around the corner.

CHARLIE:

Who?

WITCH:

Nancy.

CHARLIE crumbles to the ground, sobbing. A light pulsates for a second, the same pulsation that happened with JACOBY.

WITCH:

I know. You miss her. She’d love to see you, Charlie. But we have to go. We can’t stay here.

CHARLIE:

Why?

WITCH:

“Because it’s not safe.”

CHARLIE:

Okay.

He rises. As he rises, a sickly green lights up the stage. SXF of a screech tires. CHARLIE convulses, tendrils of sick light and smoke burst out of him. The scene is sickly green chaos.

JONNY leaps in front of Charlie, and pull him in close, as if to protect him. SXF of a car whizzing by.

To JONNY.

You saved me.

JONNY:

We need to go. Before it comes back.

They walk offstage, the WITCH holding JONNY’s hand. JONNY comes back onstage, addressing the audience.

She slept over on the couch that night. With her there, even in the other room, I could sleep soundly. In the morning, I took her to get some coffee.

WITCH comes onstage and they both sit at a table.

To the WITCH. So, where do you live?

WITCH:

Presses her mug tightly into her palm. Nowhere. I got kicked out of my apartment after I was arrested.

JONNY:

TO audience. I knew it was crazy, inviting someone I had just rear ended in a drunken bender to live with me. But I felt like I knew her. Like we had already met, that some deep part of me had studied her before, like she had spoken to me and I had listened.

To WITCH. Do you want to move in?

WITCH:

Smiling. Sure. The WITCH addresses the audience.

WITCH:

Jonny moved in with me. We cleaned the place up. We went to court, lost our licenses for six months, and I managed to get a job at a Subway around the corner. His parents helped us out with rent until Jonny got a job at a newspaper. We managed to be happy. JONNY learned how to help people die. He learned how to exit death if things were getting bad, how to sense if the bad thing was coming.

The first time we kissed, it was a few days before Christmas. We had been semi-platonic up until that point. We were watching the Grinch. Not the Jim Carrey one, the old school cartoon. I found it romantic, I guess. I leaned into him.

Our first kiss was on the pullout couch I slept on, and after that, I slept in the bedroom with him. The next morning, I got up before him and made eggs. She came into the kitchen, got a running start, and jumped on my back. I spun around, shifting her, and kissed him again. I grabbed his hand. And for a year and a half, we never let go. We were happy. Together.

And we kept going to the other place. We kept saving people, walking with them. Someone would die. We would be there. We would help them along.

One night, I went to work. And Jonny fell asleep on the couch. WITCH exits.

JONNY:

A dream. Jacoby wasn’t there. I knew something was wrong. The dead can come in dreams, and they often do, and when the Witch and I would talk to each other about visits, it was almost like we were talking about old friends. Alvin was doing fine. Jen had managed to move on. Curtis was getting there. Mike was a piece of shit, but he was slowly learning how to not be an asshole. The dreams followed a format. But Jacoby never showed up. He wasn’t ok.

Lights up, mirroring the beach scene, JACOBY standing on the dock.

JACOBY:

Robotic. I’m going to sink it. I’m going to sink it. I’m going to loose my balance. I’m going to fall in. I’m going to drown, bloated, blue--

JONNY:

NO!

JACOBY:

You have to jump in. You have to save me. You couldn’t. I was under the dock, drowning, and you couldn’t save me. Step in. Save me.

JONNY:

JONNY steps out of his spotlight. He yelps in pain. It is like stepping into hot coals.

WITCH:

O.S

Jonny. Don’t. Please. You can’t save him.

JONNY:

You said he was okay. He’s not okay.

WITCH:

VOICE quivering. Please, turn around. You can’t do this.

JONNY:

Dives into the oil.

WITCH:

Screaming. JONNY!

JONNY, in the black, makes terrible noises as if he is choking. WITCH exits. Lights flood black on. JONNY is gasping, hands to his neck, emerging from the dream.

JONNY:

I need a fucking drink. JONNY goes to the pantry and grabs a bottle of whiskey. He grabs a shot glass, but sets it down, and insteads opts for a pint glass, filling it, and chugging it. He does the same, again. He is now addressing the audience.

I felt heavy, like the gunk had latched onto my soul. I was back in the days after Jacoby died, back to thinking that if I drank I could get rid of the stain of not being able to save him. But this was different. This time, I couldn’t save Jacoby’s soul. Reality snarled at me, bit me in the face. I was a drunk. I had a criminal record. I was broke, in way over my head. And who was she, this woman I was obsessing over, the woman who I called the witch? I had the distinct feeling that I was being drawn into something that I couldn’t quite understand. I was fucking with people’s souls. Something deeper than myself, something far, far more important than me.

I didn’t want to be drawn into anything. All I wanted to do was drink myself to death. The stakes were incredible, and I knew that I was utterly unable to deal with whatever the hell happened again if it happened again.

JONNY goes to the fridge and takes a bottle of chilled rum. He puts it in a paper bag.

I left my apartment with the intention of finally fucking dying.

EXIT. END SCENE.

SCENE 4

Dark streets of Lewiston, Maine, between three and four in the morning. JONNY is stumbling, wandering. A lost soul. The WITCH speaks from offstage.

WITCH:

Lewiston, Maine is an old factory town, mills empty; a town rooted in the whirling mechanics of the past, where the fog stopped rolling and the factories shut down. A bridge connects Lewiston and Auburn. Jonny had been blacked out, and subsequently, came too on the bridge.

The jump might not have killed him, but the river, in the winter, was fierce, overflowing; rapid. If he jumped, it could be over. And I guess that’s what he wanted. He wanted whatever happened to him, whateverhe almost did to Jacoby, to never happen again.

JONNY reaches a guardrail. He lifts a leg over it. The Witch appears on the other side of the stage.

Turn around.

Blue lights flash.

JONNY:

It has to be now.

WITCH:

Jonny, turn around.

Jonny stumbles, passes out beside the guardrail. He’s safe.

JONNY:

They pumped my stomach and they stabilized me. While I slept, I was back at the beach, this time, on the shore. I looked down at myself, and I was coated with tarry oil; I couldn’t breathe, my lips were sealed shut by the glob, sticking to my skin, and I failed, trying to gasp, mouth sealed shut; and I couldn’t see through the oil that had solidified on my eyes, I was buried alive, standing up, and I was flailing, and I was going to die—

I felt myself scrubbed away. I felt the tar removed, but by bit, first from the mouth, so I could breathe, the eyes, so I could see, and finally, I stood whole and clean.

Someone was scrubbing my back. I turned around. It was the Witch.

WITCH:

Furious. Why didn’t you turn around? You promised you would trust me.

JONNY:

I..I couldn’t. Whatever happened to Jacoby was my fault. I shouldn’t have been there…

WITCH:

Look at me. It’s not your fault. But you have to listen to me. Please. I only have so much to give, and tonight, you took most of it. When you see me, I’m going to be weak. I’m not going to be myself. But still, for the love of everything, you have to trust me.

JONNY:

I...I always trust…

WITCH:

No. Angry again. If you trusted me, you would have turned around. Whatever that thing was on the dock, it wasn’t Jacoby. It wanted you to dive in, and you fell right into it.

JONNY:

I’m sorry…

WITCH:

Anger dies. Sadness rises. I don’t forgive you, not yet. I… I...can’t carry this weight on my own. Anyone can be ruined, Jonny. I love you. You can’t be the one who ruins me.

JONNY:

To the audience. I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by family, with an incredible guilt. And not because I had just tried to kill myself. But because I had hurt the one who had tried to save me. The one who wanted me to be ok. I could almost feel the Witch, almost feel how that oil had set into her, how I put that heavy stone on her chest. I spent a day in bed at the hospital. They put me on some sedatives. The next day, they sent me to a psychward.

NURSE enters. She is giving JONNY a tour of the ward. JONNY is shuffling behind.

NURSE:

This is the nurses’ stations. Line up for evening meds after dinner. Here are the showers…

The WITCH, looking incredibly awful--hair in a ragged mess, wearing dirty sweatpants--sits in a chair. The NURSE and JONNY pass by. JONNY almost walks by, but sees the WITCH. He stares at her. She doesn’t recognize him. The NURSE keeps walking, unaware that JONNY has paused.

We have group at noon, three, and six…

JONNY:

. To audience. It looked like she hadn’t washed for days. Her long hair was filthy, ends frayed, and she stared off into the distance. She looked at me, but her eyes danced off somewhere else. And, for a moment, they went black, like someone had dipped her irises in oil.

NURSE:

Hey! You can’t be in there! Jonathan!

JONNY moves stage center. WITCH and the NURSE leave.

JONNY:

The nurses wouldn’t let me in her room. I couldn’t talk to her. I spent a lot of my time sleeping, trying to reach out to the witch, trying to meet her again. But I didn’t know how. There had to be a ritual, some way to get to that place, the beach, the inbetween, as she called it. But every time we went to that place, she touched me. Her touch was the gateway. And I couldn’t get near her. She spent most of her time locked in her room. Days turned into weeks. I kept sleeping. The ward was a secure floor, the rooms consisting of two beds, a desk, and a locker. My roommate was named Joe. For the first few weeks, he was detoxing, so he was in bed almost as much as I was.

When it was meal time, we gathered in the hallway, where we all lined up while the food cart rolled in and we were served, one by one. Most everyone in the ward were detoxing, or alcoholics, or had OD’d, and it wasn’t like insane people in straightjackets. Everyone was quiet.

Scene shifts to the ward cafeteria.

We got our food and went into the kitchen, where they had us sign out forks and knives so no one could try to kill themselves in the bathroom. There wasn’t much talking. We were all hungover, scared, or in withdrawal. Until the stranger came in.

JONNY is sitting, eating. A LINE of 2-3 people has formed, and an ORDERLY is handing out food. A wild, greasy, unkempt man with hair long to his back, a pencil-thin mustache and long fingernails shuffles on with his mouth half open, in a complete daze. He walks right into the back of a woman waiting in line. She turns around, starts to say the word “sorry,” and he swings on her, screaming--

GLEN:

Don’t FUCKING TOUCH ME YOU FUCKING CUNT!

The caferia erupts. NURSES grab GLEN, and one takes the woman, who is bleeding from the face offstage. They drag GLEN offstage, leaving the stage bare, except for JONNY.

JONNY:

He was carted off to the isolation room and sedated. Dinner was normal. I went to bed. I woke up in the morning to screaming coming from the TV room.. MAN screams. JONNY dashes to the TV room. The asshole from yesterday’s breakfast barracaded himself inside by sticking a chair underneath the handle so it couldn’t open from the outside. The nurses were banging at the door and the patients were lining the hallway; the door to the ward flung open and five security guards poured in and pushed us back away from the door to the room.

LIGHTS transform. Stage is black, spare a spotlight on GLEN, who is holding a butterknife to a man’s throat and sawing at it. The man is thrashing, trying to get GLENN OFF, but GLEN has him in a hold. A spotlight pops up on JONNY, who is just to the left of them.

JONNY: It’s over. He’s dead. Put the knife down.

GLEN:

Yellowed teeth in a wide grin.

It’s not over! It’s not over, we’re just getting warmed up, you fucking idiot! I already got his fucking soul! I cracked his bones and I splattered his blood on the white wall and he’s mine! Just like Jacoby!

JONNY:

Launches himself at Glen, but as he does, it is like an explosion catapults him backwards. The man with the sawed throat begins to cough, hacking. If possible, he hacks up black liquid.

GLEN:

This ain’t what you’re used to, bucko. Usually, that bitch you call a witch makes everything ok, right? Polly Anne takes them around the corner into forever peace. Well, I’m a greedy bastard. I want you, boy. I want everyone. And God damn am I going to take you.

Sawed throat man convulses. LIGHTS pulsate. GLEN hovers over him. The sawed man is screaming in pain. On the other side of the stage, in the black, the WITCH has come out with a chair, and is sitting, comatose. JONNY breaks as if he is going to tackle GLEN, but runs straight past, to the WITCH.

GLEN:

YOU FUCKING COWARD!

BLACKOUT on GLEN. Spotlight up on the Witch. Using black paper mache, she looks like a burned corpse. She is breathing laborously. JONNY is panting.

Where'd ya go? Where’d ya go? To save your fucking whore of a girlfriend? I fucked her already. I’m gunna fuck ya both! Gunna rip you apart! Gunna make you watch her.

JONNY pulls the same move GLENN did and uses a chair to prop the door closed. He hastily begins to peel layer after layer of the void off of the WITCH.

Inch by inch, the WITCH is revealed. Her mouth is uncovered. She gasps. Her eyes are uncovered. She blinks.

JONNY:

I will never let anything like this happen again, I swear to you. GLEN breaks through, into the room. JONNY squares off with him. With whatever special effects your theater can muster, GLEN unhinges his jaw, a monster with innumerable teeth, skin dancing up like an oil flame. This is his dreadful form. JONNY holds the WITCH in his arms as GLEN hovers over them. The WITCH feebly raises her arms. GLEN freezes. JONNY and the WITCH scurry OFFSTAGE.

END SCENE.

SCENE 5.

A therapist’s office. JONNY is still clad in hospital robes, and is speaking with a therapist.

THERAPIST:

I’m proud of you. You’ve been doing the work.

JONNY:

Thanks.

THERAPIST:

Are the meds working?

JONNY:

Yeah.

THERAPIST:

Do you think you’re ready to leave?

JONNY:

I think so.

THERAPIST:

What’s your support system at home? What’s your discharge plan?

JONNY:

I’m going home to live with my parents. I’ll get a job at the corner store near my house. My parent’s insurance covers therapy.

THERAPIST:

Great.

THERAPIST gets up and leaves. JONNY addresses the audience.

JONNY:

I recovered, I guess. Or I played along enough to get discharged. After Glen was arrested and sent to a max-security ward upstate, I decided to just complete the therapeutic coloring pages and say what I thought they wanted to hear. The witch kept a distance. When she did look at me, she glanced at me, like she was ashamed, like she was the one who had fucked up royally. I knew she needed to be apart, I knew she needed to recover. So I left the ward withough saying goodbye.

A day later, I was in a minivan, my silent dad driving, my mom in the passenger's seat, smiling faintly. It was raining.

MOM:

O.S

It’s good to have you home.

JONNY:

And, for a while at least, it was good to be home. The Witch gnawed at me, though. I missed her.

Sometimes, when I rose at night, alone, I’d think she was there, trick myself into thinking I saw her shadow move in the hallways. I’d say something out loud to her and expect her to respond. I’d look in the passenger’s seat and realize that she wasn’t sitting next to me and I’d slam my fists on the dash. I’d scream and pull over. Then, the dreams started.

SAWED MAN enters with a TV remote. His throat is raw.

SAWED MAN:

I was watching Love It or List It. I never even saw him coming. To JONNY. You know he stole my soul, right?

JONNY:

I’m sorry.

SAWED MAN:

“No. Don’t. You don’t get to say you’re sorry. You could have tried. SXF: Bone cracking and breaking.

Slowly, like an owl, his head twists towards JONNY, but his neck unmoving. Black oil pours from his eyes.

JONNY:

This went on for a few months. The terrible nightmares, waking up in a cold sweat, continuing on with my cookie-cutter day like everything was fine. I got promoted, saved up enough money to move out again. I started looking for the dying. I needed to help. The Witch taught me some rituals. To find a death, the mind had to be clear, and the guide, the map, was a copper pendulum, kept in a pocket, as close to the core of the body heat as possible, smudged with oils, used to ask what poor soul would soon need help leaving the earth. JONNY lights incense, and places his forearm on a table, using the pendulum. In my mind came the location, a farm, and the time, 3 p.m., and the name. When the name came, the world crashed. Her name. The witch was going to die.

I tried her old cell phone. It was disconnected. I ran outside, to the car, and fled as fast as I could, to the farm, out in the country, about 40 minutes away.

The ritual was never wrong. The ritual was never wrong, but how could the Witch die? I had left her to protect her, to keep her from the slog of me, that followed me wherever I went. It was noon. She had three hours left on earth.

Fast, pushing 80. Made the 45 minute trip in 30; everything seemed like it was blurred down into moments, each second seemed like something vital was being chipped away. One of her first lessons she taught me after Jacoby was that you couldn't change death. It came. If the bell was rung, if the process began, it could not be stopped without a life slipping from earth.

I pulled into her driveway, skidded to a halt, kicking up dust from the gravel. I flung the car door open, kicked open her slanted gate and ran up the path, towards the white farmhouse.

She was waiting for me on the screened-in porch.

WITCH:

Hi.

JONNY:

Frantic. Oh my God are you--do you know--

WITCH:

Yes. I am going to die.

JONNY starts to shake, and the WITCH embraces him. They melt into eachother. She leads him to a blanket, where they lay together.

WITCH:

I felt his pain melt away. We lay together in the dimly lit living room, candles flickering. I traced my fingers across his face, memorizing it. I pushed back his hair, studying him. He did the same. Death isn't so bad. The hardest part is the forgetting, the forgetting of the voice, of the features of the face, the way the eyes dance and the way the skin reflects in the sun; the way the numbing of the days passed leaves the leftover, the one on earth with just an abstract thought of the tangible, living person. I knew that. I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve seen a lot of bright lights go dark.

I got up.

BOTH stand, and walk together.

I could tell that he was afraid to follow. But he did. I led him outside, through my yard cluttered with scraps of wood and a rusted out grill. He followed me onto the farm, and followed me to the back paddock, where my goats stood on the slight incline leading up to the barn, bleating loudly at us.

To JONNY.

Close your eyes.

He does.

SXF: a gunshot. The WITCH collapses. Shallow breathing, gurgling, breath forced like her lungs are full of pebbles; lying in a pool of blood.

The lights change to a spotlight on the WITCH, and a spotlight on JONNY.

WITCH:

Come. JONNY hesitates. I'm ready. But I don't think you're ready to walk with me.

JONNY:

How can I ever be ready? Falls to his knees. How can I say goodbye? There’s no way to do it. No way to say goodbye. I’ll always wanting one more; one more touch, one more glimpse into your face, one more conversation. There is no light enough to fill the void.

WITCH:

The terror isn't here. We don't have to worry about it. I prepared this for you. It's beautiful, isn't it?

Lighting resembles a orange twilight sunset, jutting out from behind purple clouds in brillant, paint brush strokes.

A cool breeze, refreshing, like a thunderstorm rolling in from the corner of the sky. Peace.

JONNY:

Thank you. It's wonderful.

WITCH:

"I've lived for about a thousand years, Jonny. I've had many lives with many different people. I've loved many. I love you. But we all have to take the long walk. You know that. And there are still many people left in the world that you can help, but you need to promise me something.

JONNY:

Of course.

WITCH:

Promise me that you will help. For as long as you live.

JONNY nods. He takes her hand, and they walk.

I nodded. I took her hand. We walked.

END

#jonny bolduc #play #playwriting

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