To Dream

To Dream

The curtain rises on a dark stage. Three candles light an elliptical raised table draped in crushed gray velvet at the back of the stage. The counter is at least two men’s heights tall. Two stadium-like seats frame the left and right side and box in a small foot by foot square in the middle. The wings are about a man’s length high at the shortest point and are filled with people shrouded in black robes. The high table is full as well, but the six people who sit there are obscured by the dim lighting and the different colored cowls they are wrapped in. There are three men and three women sitting at the high table.

On the farthest left, sits a man in a dusty blue-gray hood. His faint blonde hair looks silver white in the faint light and his irises are pure white. He glances over at the man to the right in a faintly sympathetic and knowledgeable way.

The next man’s features are shrouded in his charcoal cloak. His gloved fingers are folded together tightly, straining the leather of the gloves. The skin over the visible part of his pale skin is drawn into a deep frown. He doesn’t respond when the woman two seats away from him sets her hand on his shoulder.

The last man has his crimson cover down, but distinct features are no more visible. His expression however, is just as grave as the man beside him. Though there is an undercurrent of some other more emotion behind his deep scarlet eyes. He restrains himself from tapping his fingers against the desk, which makes it appear that his hand is twitching.

The woman next to him is leaning back some in her chair in what seems to be attempts to console the man with the dark gray cowl. She squeezes his shoulder gently and he finally acknowledges her, though only to brush her hand aside. Miffed, she pulls her arm back to adjust her lilac shawl over her metallic azure hair, but you can see her glance at him out of the corner of her deep blue eyes.

The next woman seated has an olive colored veil draped over her mahogany hair. Her slender arms are crossed delicately and her long fingers are curled around her upper arm. She watches the people in the wings’ seats for a few moments before looking over at the others seated at the high table along with her. She seems to be nervous and fidgeting quite a bit.

The woman on the farthest right sits easily and comfortably. The cover of her light orange wrap is draped over her shoulder almost in a careless fashion. She tosses her long corn-silk hair aside and looks around with a bored expression behind her amber eyes.

MAN IN SCARLET HOOD
Seems to be able to wait no longer. He raps on the high table with a small gavel.
This assemblage of the High Court will come to order! Adjudicators, please don your hoods.
The panel all come to attention, as do the spectators in the wings, and adjust their cowls to more obscure their faces. The MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD nods curtly and turns toward an armed GUARD to the left.
Bring forth the degenerate.

GUARD
Nods and disappears off stage left. He returns, followed by a band of four other guards and a prisoner rattling in his chains. Two guards drag a prisoner by the arms into the small foot by foot clearing at center stage. The other two guards bring up the rear. The man in the scarlet hood gives another nod and the guards kick THE PRISONER in the knees to cause him to fall and retreat to stand at attention next to the wings and high table.

THE PRISONER
Stays on his knees. He does not look up at the high table of judges. The black leathery wings that come out of his shoulder blades droop and curl across his bare back. His stringy black hair is snarled and hangs limply around his face and his arms are bound in heavy chains in front of him. His breath comes in long, soft intakes through his mouth, causing his shoulders to rise and fall with them. His eyes are shut.

MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD
Daente, high celestial of Crain’s Court, sentinel over the domain of dreams, you are brought before Us this day for the most despicable act among us all in all of our kingdoms – that of murder. As your punishment-

WOMAN IN THE LILAC SCHAL
Interrupts him. The MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD flashes a reproachful glare at her.
Do you have anything to say in your defense?

DAENTE
Opens his crimson eyes and looks up at the panel of judges. His eyes seem to be looking at something in the far distance. His voice is hoarse and faint.
If it pleases the High Court – I, of willingly body and lucid mind, take upon myself any punishment you deem fit.

MAN IN THE LIGHT BLUE COWL
Looks curiously down at DANTE.
Have you no remorse for what you have done?

DAENTE
…I have sorrow more then words can ever amount to for the life that was lost. But I do not regret my actions.

A murmur goes up through the crowd and all the members of the panel glance at each other except the MAN IN THE CHARCOAL CLOAK and the MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD.

MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD
Slams his gavel against the table to drown out the murmurings.
Order! Order in my court!

WOMAN IN THE ORANGE WRAP
Sits up some and looks down at DANTE.
And if we find it suitable to punish you with death…?

DAENTE
Looks up at her. His gaze seems focused on her alone.
I find no fault in such a judgment. It would be best. Is it not your own daughter who says: When one lover dies, so shall the other?

A louder murmur breaks out among the wings.

MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD
Pounds his gavel against the table again. He looks angered and exasperated. He cuts his gaze to DANTE in an accusing way but looks away before anyone can notice.
Order! Order!

MAN IN THE CHARCOAL CLOAK
Looks up for the first time during the trial. He loosens his fingers to they come to a temple point on the table in front of him. He looks faintly inquisitive as he waits for the wings to quiet.
You claim to have love for a man you killed in the end.
Pauses.
Why? Or more so, how do we know you ever loved him at all?

DAENTE
You ask for proof that a dream is a dream. I cannot prove to the board that our love existed, no more then anyone else could. And I do not wish to – I don’t wish to have to prove to anyone that my love is real. I know it is, and that it’s an undeniable truth, as well as an impalpable one.

WOMAN IN THE OLIVE VEIL
Slowly.
If you loved him so – why did you kill him?

DAENTE
Pauses.
Kensue’s last request of me was this: Take me now, so that I may go with dignity. We had sacrificed everything for our love. I ask of you, if I may – why would he ask of me this? Because, it is in our society that the affairs of the heart are governed by a God’s laws which was not written by our Goddess of love. Wrapped up in what is right and wrong, what is black and white, what is good and evil – we cannot see! That love is neither black nor white. It simply is. As ethereal as a dream. Kensue did not die in glory, but in the nightmare of anathema. Though his death will not be in vain if you–

MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD
Roars.
Enough! I will hear no more of this filth! You say that you would prefer death? Then you shall have naught! Tear off his wings! I hereby banish you, Daente: High Celestial of Dreams! Never to return to either Chiean or Kalkinide!

The wings erupt once more as the guards come out to haul DAENTE out of the court room. A woman in the left wing has to be restrained from jumping down to center stage. The MAN IN THE SCARLET HOOD smashes his gavel into the bench and screaming for order. The MAN IN THE CHARCOAL CLOAK is looking down at his gloved hands again and the WOMAN IN THE LILAC SHAWL shakes her head and crosses her arms, looking upset. All the other judges look either passive, or in a quiet state of shock. The guards come back to subdue the rowdy crowd in the wings. The back curtain falls.

Five second pause.

DAENTE
Walks to center stage. Chains are still attached to his ankles and they trail behind him, making an eerie rattling sound when he walks. Blood is caked to his shoulder blades where his wings used to be. He stops center stage and focuses his eyes on the ground for a moment. He looks up and his gaze pans around the crowd.
To live is to fight for what is right. To fight is to dream for a better tomorrow. To dream is to transcend. To transcend is to be, truly free… Are you a dreamer?
Lowers gaze to the floor.

Curtain falls.