I mentioned that I'd written a single scene monologue for my screenwriting class featuring Aaron, and a few of you wanted to see it - so here you go.
RAGE AT THE LIGHT
AARON, a teenage boy in a dark hoodie and jeans seems anonymous except for the jagged scar ripped across the right side of his face. He stands alone in the center of the stage, tiny against the cavernous space. The stage is dark except of a spotlight directly on him, harsh against his ruined face.
AARON: Do you know what it’s like to want to scream every minute of every day?
AARON pulls the too large sweatshirt around his thin frame.
AARON: They keep me drugged. When I can break through the fog, all I can see are what those men did to me. I feel their hands. Smell their breath. It’s like they’d killed me too only my body doesn’t know. I should be with Juliette. I wish I were. Dead and cold in the ground. Then I couldn’t feel.
AARON puts his hands in his jeans pockets and we see a belt cinched tight around his waist.
AARON: They’re going to put me away somewhere if I can’t pull it together. I need help, but none of the doctors they found can fix me. I’m broken. Fucking broken.
AARON’s voice cracks on the last two words, and he sniffs, pulling his hand out of his pockets. The anxiety makes him fidgety. He swipes one sweatshirt arm across his face. It lifts a bit to show the scars on his stomach.
AARON (whispering): Why couldn’t I have died too?
Widen the stage light.
A women ENTERS the stage. She is his mother, MICHELLE. She’s dressed in flannel pajamas, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She’s in her late 30s, but seems older, tired.
MICHELLE: Honey, what are you doing out here? It’s the middle of the night. You should be in sleeping.
AARON gives her an exaggerated shrug and looks out away from the stage.