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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Act 4. Marat Where do these tears come from? My makeup is melting in the spotlight. She has gone. Oh, how I wished to tell her… I did not. I wished to tell but I forgot the words to say according to my role. The closer the morning, the more yellowish the light. It must be this play coming to an end. I hear the prompter breath: “It means I’m dead.” It means I’m dead. But now I know exactly what kind of dreams you dream in sleeping death. It means I’m dead… I used to dream about oblivion, non-existence, nothingness. Oh, shattered dreams and myriads of me reflected in their shatters! Look at you, my miserable dead man. Nothing’s changed. You’re stuffed full of yourself as if you were alive: perplexity, dismay, frustration, resentment, malice, rage and jealousy. I hoped to forget you, Charlotte, but my memory of you seems to take roots into my skin, my bones, my heart, my spleen; into this scary dream… It means I’m dead. But where are heavens, angels? Where is the light, the tunnel wherein the souls like trains, screeching and sparkling on the curve, fly to the light? There’s nothing of this kind. Only the utter darkness of the stall breathes. A quick whisper, an embarrassed crunch of foil. Only the chuckle flares up here and there like a glowworm that flies through woods at night. But you don't fool me! I know it’s you, you that look pale and tremble, that are but mutes or audience to this act. Just tell me what you want. Glorifications? Hand-wringing, praying, tears? Then so be it. I wring my hands, I pray, I tear out, I kiss your feet, I writhe, I ask you, God, no, I don’t ask you, I demand to shatter the empty vessel which is called Marat. Smash me to bits so your external space and mine, internal, could become a single, inseparable entity again. Unite me to myself! Alas, he doesn’t. The forth wall stands between us as before. I heard that the imagination went to building it, that it is made of dreams but there are no walls, no hurdles stronger than a mirage. No way to crash, to climb, to infiltrate, to get across, to pay off two gatekeepers, Life and Death, that stand guard nonexistence. They are deaf to curses and pleas of likes of me. They chase the tramp away and, stung by both, he hits the road less travelled to exist... Same set like in Act 1. Two philosophers sit at one table, talking; a senselike nonsense in an unmeaning world. Guess, how agnostics call consciousness? An epi, a phi, a no - a mouthful – epiphenomenon. or even worse… (end)
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