CATERPILLAR (Act One, Scene 1)
SCENE ONE: IN THE SKY
CLAIRE: I launch myself off the pier. The wind fills my ears and my fingertips brush a cloud as I soar past. It’s soft, as fluffy as the ones your Dad painted on your bedroom wall for when we brought you home and are still there.
I’m propelling forward, still forward, have I made the jackpot distance? I’m probably not even close, but then … [read more]
Another extract from Caterpillar is included in Contemporary Monologues for Women V2 available from Nick Hern Books
IRIS (Act Two, Scene 1)
JULIE: The room is hot with the smell. Blood. Raw meat. Sweat. It’s thick and strong, seeping into the walls and the metal bed frame and the sheets.
The noise fills up the whole space. Even when it’s just her breathing, low and long, or short sharp gasps, it’s coming from somewhere else inside her. From all of her. Her body knows that this is what she is built for … [read more]
THE SOAKING OF VERA SHRIMP (extract)
VERA: Death smells. It smells of casserole and macaroni cheese, soup, corn beef and potato pie, two of them – one’s nice, the other’s disgusting. People leave food on the door step. They ring the bell, but we don’t answer, and then later I open the door and trip over all this tupperware.
I’m just in from school. My key is literally in the door when … [read more]