This series will feature monologues from students part of in-class improvisational work from the course “Improvisation for Writers”, which debuted in the Atlanta campus this past fall. A fun, exciting improv writing course that will be offered again in the Spring 2020 quarter.
The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email features@scadconnector.com.
by Nicholas Fraser
FADE IN:
INT. KING’S COURT – DAY
Ornate, regal meeting room, parliament style. Two large windows flood in light. Men in regal attire talk amongst themselves, filling out the room. An old man, BROQUE, 88, distressed, turns away from the main group in the center and approaches the window.
BROQUE
I remember the days of the Upper Dawn.
He meets the window, looking out it.
BROQUE
Their people. Their flags. Their way of life. I remember it all.
He turns around to look at the crowd.
BROQUE
I remember the flowers of the gardens they had. I remember the way the children smiled at their parents when they left for classes.
Broque pauses, looks down at the ground. He smiles. Beat.
BROQUE
The children. The parents, the kings and queens, one by one, trying to make a world they knew the children would come into safely.
Beat. His eyes meet several men in the room.
BROQUE
I remember them.
I remember them all. They were such a proud people. Such a proud race,
generation after generation. Yet, damned foolish wars, losses, and fruitless
victories are all the history books will tell you. Eight hundred-thousand years
of an empire reduced to mere anecdotes. But I remember. I remember them all. I
know none of you would. It is not for the minds of men to bear the burden of remembrance. But that doesn’t mean you lack empathy.
Broque approaches the table once again, maintaining a steady, firm eye contact with members of the crowd.
BROQUE
You’re asking if we should go to war. You’re asking if we should abandon the peace our dear king worked for so long to maintain. Now that the throne sits empty you claim that war is the only way. The inevitable crisis and firm solution to the problems we’ve had.
Beat. Hushed whispers are audible.
BROQUE
The solution is always to fight. The solution has always been that war is some great adventure. The Upper Dawn thought the same. You say our enemy is at the gates and conflict is inevitable. You pray for it, you desire it! The Upper Dawn thought the same. And when you look into my eyes and call me a coward for defending the ideal of the man I served for decades who now lies dead, his ideals seemingly with him, I tell you, the flaws of the Upper Dawn ring true. The Upper Dawn thought the same.
Broque’s voice escalates now. The whispers have ceased.
BROQUE
And if those men were here, in this room with us, I know what they would say. They would look at our conflict, at our enemy, at our struggle, and realize that the fight of today was nothing like their dying years. No.
The war we are about to start is nothing but a pale echo of that which came before. That which destroyed the Upper Dawn. I remember in my younger years watching those who served struggling merely to survive. I had nothing to say to them. But I wish I could tell them now that it’s okay.
That we’ve found peace. That it’s okay they can’t live with what they saw.
Some things aren’t winnable. And I think those poor souls, those broken
shells of men, would tell you that our conflict isn’t worth the deaths of thousands of our sons. That our peace isn’t worth destroying.
A tear falls down Broque’s face as he chokes up on his last words. Beat.
BROQUE
You are good men faced with a choice. Do you go to war? Do you maintain the peace? Ultimately, the words I say are merely guidance. You will decide what you decide. Shall we be a nation of peace, or will we meet the fate of the Upper Dawn? Is the war we’re about to start truly worth sacrificing the peace our people have cherished for so long? Well, we don’t know. Do you want to bet everything on that? Your family? Your home? Your civilization, everything you’ve worked for, your entire way of life? History knows the right answer. Do you?
Broque walks to the door on the opposite side of the room and exits. The room remains silent.
FADE OUT.
