Sylvie: I’m thinking about suicide — as a means to artistic inspiration, of course.
Ben: What?
Sylvie: No really, listen for a second. It seems like the most artistic people are always suicidal — Plath, Woolf, Hemingway, you know? There’s some sort of exponential relationship between mental illness and artistic ability. The more screwed you are, the more likely you’re gonna write the next Bell Jar. So I figure, if you reach the point of suicide, you’re pretty damned messed up and therefore one hell of an artist.
Ben: You’re telling me that if I become suicidal, I’ll escape my writer’s block?
Sylvie: Maybe and at the very least you’ll have an awesome pick up line to give to some artistic junkie. Suicide has become a real turn on with those nouveau avant-garde types. You know the ones who hang out in coffee shops and quote Ginsberg into their espressos. Just walk up to one and say, “You know I was trying to gas myself last night and it’s a damn good thing my oven turned out to be electric because I never would have met you.” And the two of you will be together for the rest of your short lives. I’m sorry, I’m so offensive.
Ben: No, you’re insane.
Sylvie: This guy fell in love with me once because he thought I was suicidal.
Ben: Are you?
Sylvie: No, I was just talking sarcastically like when you screw something up and you’re just like, “I want to kill myself.” He took it literally. He thought I was some genius. That by being suicidal this somehow made me above life, above existence, which apparently is incredibly irresistible. He had me at hello. I had him at I want to die.
Ben: So, whatever happened to this guy?
Sylvie: We broke up. Actually he broke up with me. He said he couldn’t deal with my issues.
Ben: Because he thought you were suicidal?
Sylvie: No, because he thought I was self loathing.
Ben: Because you’re suicidal?
Sylvie: No, because apparently I have a hard time making eye contact.
Ben: You also apologize too much
Sylvie: I don’t apologize because I hate myself. I apologize because I love others.
Ben: Yeah, but there’s no reason to apologize when you’re not being offensive.
Sylvie: Okay, I’m sorry.
Ben: Don’t ever, ever do that again.
Sylvie: I’m sorry.
Sylvie: No, but really I am sorry. I probably am being offensive. I don’t mean to be so casual about the whole suicide thing. I’m actually scared to death of dying.
Ben: And why is that?
Sylvie: I don’t know it’s just death. Isn’t everybody afraid of dying?
Ben: No, I’m not.
Sylvie: Really?
Ben: Yeah, and you shouldn’t be afraid of death. We are all going to die someday so there is no reason to fear it. It’s those inevitable things that sneak up on us and surprise us that we should fear. They call it fear of the unknown.
Sylvie: But, what we don’t know can’t hurt us.
Ben: Yeah, so we fear the day when we’ll know it, whatever it is. And we never know when that day will come and the anticipation alone can make you crazy. When I was a kid, I used to lie in bed at night staring at my ceiling. I never slept at all and it wasn’t insomnia that kept me up, it was anticipation. I’d lie there scared absolutely shitless, anticipating someone just appearing through my window and kidnapping me.
Sylvie: So, what is it you were afraid of: anticipation or being kidnapped?
Ben: A little of both. To me, kidnapping is like death, yet worse because it shouldn’t be inevitable. When you’re kidnapped, your life and everything you know is unjustly stolen from you. People deserve to die, but no one deserves to have their life taken away.
Sylvie: That sounds like why I’m a hypochondriac. Disease is the ultimate kidnapper. Like you said, it unjustly steals your life. No one deserves to get sick.
Ben: It’s very interesting that you say that. Have you had experience with illness?
Sylvie: What do you mean?
Ben: Well, like have you ever been sick?
Sylvie: Everyone’s been sick.
Ben: No, I mean really sick — life altering?
Sylvie: No.
Ben: Ever had surgery?
Sylvie: No.
Ben: Spent time in a hospital.
Sylvie: Only while visiting.
Ben: Then what are you afraid of?
Sylvie: I don’t know. I guess it’s like what you said — the anticipation. I anticipate getting sick. I’m sorry, I must sound so insensitive. There are people out there dying of disease, and here I am worrying about only the possibilities of falling ill.
Ben: It’s okay. You’re forgiven.
Ben: You know, I’ve had hospital experience.
Winner ~ Hart House Drama Contest