EXPOSITION

I remembered the first play we showcased in 'The Esplanade'. It was about a girl in her late 20s that, due to an accident, had been comatose for months. She was a woman so low-spirited, had committed suicide by overdose. Of course, it was just implied.

I always find it intriguing to hear stories that many people had a recollection, like a movie in rewind, of all their memories, their entire life, before they die. It is as if the brain is reviewing everything it had stored before finally disposing of them. Another is that there is an account of people that had awakened from comatose that they've traveled beyond physical confinements, an astral projection perhaps.

She was rebellious, she was always out in the evening drinking booze in bars, taking drugs, partying all night, and everything that would induce a false notion of happiness and excitement. How can you blame her? All the love that she needed as a child was never provided by her parents. Her parents had always quarreled, day tonight. It never ceased that it had numbed her, it had made her accustomed to the toxic life that they set up for her. She was always at a corner, shrunk with hands tightly grasping her knees as she listens to the screams of the shadows that had lurked within the fleshes of her beloved parents. Her nights had been sleepless as nightmares continue to manifest in the reality. This can never be stopped, oh so she thought.

The scene started with a spotlight shone over you, Stella, with your back facing the audience as you wept in front of a mirror. You cried an outpour but your face, as seen from the reflections, stoic. You kept muttering about saving a little girl from another world, and the only entry to that was a pill inside a magical bottle in front of you.

The voice-over, which was me, then spoke, "Take the pills, and once again you shall witness the magical world of Mithanegra. Anew you shall take an adventure to save your dearest. Captive by the shadows of the Reverse, how can you save the princess?"

A pill can only give you a limited time in the other dimension. The moment you return, everything shall reset. So you've contemplated and planned your descent, and this time you wanted to finish the quest. The princess's pain had left you to suffer as well. "This time, I will save her," firmly you wrung your fists and had ingested all the pills that were left in the bottle.

A musical score of haunting yet magical, deep, and heavy with an accompaniment of orchestra-esque instrumentals then wrapped the atmosphere as the light flickers. The revolving portion of the floor then did its job magnificently as you squirm and hysterically fight the pull to Mithanegra, much like a representation of Dorothy could have been inside her house as she was being transported to Oz by a tornado.

Recalling the conceptualization and the stage storytelling had me thinking, 'Shall I write a novel about this?'. Or maybe, this might be a good play to revive and present at the Fall Concierto. Mrs. Mannering loved it and that is quite a validation any playwright could ever hope for.

I've reached the entrance to the cafeteria. Claire's at the table where we usually sat by; there is a television there that regularly shows the news and some local drama series perfect for lunch. She eats a measly amount of food, she appears only to nibble, while her eyes are concentrated at the box to another world. Her differently yet elegantly colored eyes are like portals, otherworldy it seems. Her giggles had diminished this entire room to just her.

The spoon just fell out of her hand but she unhesitantly brought it inside her mouth. There's a grain of rice beside her red lips. You were cute if it weren't only for your rumpled hair.

"Arthur! I thought I wasn't going to be able to see you today!" greeted Claire with a smile. "I happened to come by to see Mrs. Mannering before vacation. She said your last class was only at noon! You are a lazy person."

"What a nice exposition to your play, Ms.Wellington." I jested.

"You appear to be having a very nice day. I am loving your smile, Welly." Her lips were pursed as she nodded.

"Well, the last teaching classes went well. And do you know? I forced my students to have a debate!" I screamed with fists wrung.

"You had them argue? You're not just lazy but you're cruel as well, Arthur."

"Now you're calling me Arthur. Well, I did make some adjustments. You don't know how exhilarating what transpired and how each of the ideas of the students, and their will, were heightened by the innate competitiveness being pulled out for they want themselves to be heard. It is graded of course so they are well obliged." I laughed my heart out.

"Well, for me, I think it's fun." Her forehead creased, "Our teacher back then really made it memorable by making our usual goodbyes not sad nor happy, but nerve-wracking and brain-thumping. That same teacher had me visit her right now because of that, and I bet so did you. Don't call Mrs. Mannering just a teacher though."

"Pardon for that, Madame." I bowed before having myself seated at the chair beside her. "You were giggling and dynamic! What have you eaten, or rather, what were you watching?"

"I wouldn't tell you. That is your punishment for not eating at the right time. The shows already over!"

"I think you're the one that loves to argue and for that, you are, as well, cruel."

"Now you're turning the tables!" She sighed as her body relaxed, "Can you now tell me why you're smiling? I'd love to hear the story within your rejuvenated theatrical mind."

It had me perplexed that she kept insisting I was smiling. By what had happened, I am expecting myself to look more anxious than ever as I was bestowed with a task so great yet so daunting. Just refreshing the thought of it once again had my hands shake.

"Now, you're suddenly silent. What's bothering you?" she asked.

"So you see, uhm… Mrs. Mannering …" I tried recomposing myself for I've seen her forehead scowl as I stutter. "She wanted me to, for the Fall Concierto, to write a play—"

I haven't even finished my sentence and she already interrupted me with her joyful screams and a sudden jump out of her chair. "And tell me you're going to do it. You're going to do it? You really are going to do it?"

That same question continued with her engaged eyes. The peer pressure from that excitement was so intense I felt like I was bound to only accept it. "Yes," I sighed,

"I'd love to help. I might not be better at crafting stories but I am sure I've seen a lot to have a substantial input. Do you have a plot in your mind right now? Come on, tell me what it'll be. How will you use the stage this time?." She stopped right there and her energy suddenly just dropped. Seated, she explored the room with her eyes.

I know that she's about to speak of my theater. She never missed watching them and there are a lot of times she had helped me backstage.

"I know you'll be of valuable help to me."

She nodded, "I really would love to help you in this endeavor."

"Even if you already are a rising star? This is mere charity."

"Well, well, well, Welly. How dare you belittle yourself like that? Cypress would hit you in the head if she is with us right now."She went near me and had held me at my shoulders, "Trust me, you're a gem waiting to be unearthed. A gem undiscovered is still a gem!"

"Will a readaptation be great? Do you think 'The Descent to Mithanegra' will make a great hit?"

"No?" She swayed her head disapprovingly.

"Why?"

"I mean, why?" she asked.

"Why repeat my quest—"

"Why do you think reviving that was a good idea? In what manner?"

"I thought you liked my plays? Isn't it a great opportunity to finally have my previous plays be seen by a lot of people? I want them to admire the same as how you admire it."

Her sigh was heavy as she rests her elbows on the table. "Don't think of how the audiences will react to your plays. You're setting yourself up for great disappointment if it doesn't please the audience. Mithanegra was a great play that I've seen and would love to see it again, don't get me wrong. The story was fantastic and is still vivid in my mind. The thing is, if you'll revive a great play of yours with that kind of mindset, I would not watch it. I've been acting for a long time. I would love to watch a new creation fueled with passion and love."

"That did partially redirect my thoughts."

"Partially?" she asked. "Is something still bothering you?"

"Yes, cause I'm still required to write a play. Though, thank you very much. It still scares me. At this point, it is … how do you say it… Uhm… traumatizing? I don't know. 'Mithanegra' was the first to come into my mind. This is so overwhelming. Remember the years I've produced plays? Only you and Mrs. Mannering were the audience. You guys had always assured me that they were good but there was something lacking that even I can't point out. What should I do?"

"Don't rush on things and don't look down on yourself. You have been proving and improving yourself all through these years. And we, with Cypress, had seen it all. Don't be so hard on yourself. Don't carry it all by yourself. Again, I can help you with the production. Or maybe, you'll have a rising star in your play? Let go of the past and move forward. Just like how your plays are always open-ended, do not make the ending of a story define your skills, define who you are as a playwright because they were never there. You never knew how ecstatic, how bittersweet, how solemn, dark, rejuvenating, and all of these emotions that I almost had to open a dictionary just to describe all that we've felt from your plays." She turned her head away with tears that sparkled before they were hidden by her flowing hair.

"Are you crying? Why are you crying?"

"That was just acting. Preparing for some … What story's up on your mind right now?"

"I knew it was acting."

"And yet I had you all concerned?" she smirked.

"I guess the smugness of Cypress had its source."

"Ok now, you were distracted from overthinking. Plan things out, I say. Start with the theme and what genre are you planning. The targetted audiences? Those are important as well. Let's talk all about the specifics and the objective things first before you spice your story up."

"I'd like it to be metaphorical. Definitely!"

"That would be lovely."

"I'd love that the lead character is something relatable to the teen and their parents. What topic could be of great value to them? What do you think?"

"Wow, asking me immediately?" she flinched.

"You fear the question as if we didn't become teenagers ourselves?"

"You know we're different." she shrugged. "Most of the time it is just you who I socialize with. And of course … Uhm …"

"Stella?"

"Yes, Stella. You sure it's ok we brought her name up?"

I just nodded my head. I can't deny that even her name switches something inside my brain. It is as if it is a key to another hallway of memories. "Maybe, let's talk about friendships, or maybe love? I am sure we experienced that both! Yes, that might be a good idea."

"It is a part of adolescence. Al-r-i-g-h-t!" She suddenly stretched her back with arms raised high. "How would you like it to be metaphorical?"

"Teenagers love drama and action. Something that evokes feelings or maybe a good amount of fast-paced scenes to avoid boredom. Come to think of it, not just the story. I'd like some sort of innovation to how we do our plays."

"Judging how you look, you are thinking something cool, huh. I guess you'd plan to do a fantasy type? And what? Dragons?"

"Dragons might be good but they're a bit overused. I've already used dragons in the story of the Pirate Queen. Let's not repeat a play, right?"

"What do you plan to do?"

"What could be a good symbolism?"

"I mean if you can't think of something magical then you could use a fig tree. I mean, that's our go-to place."

"That's a good idea, Claire! Fig trees aren't magical but I can make it in my own world!"

"Now you have my full attention. I'd like to hear more!"

Ideas had been popping left and right inside my mind. Oh, the wonders of a new fantasy world that we shall dive into. Carnivorous and ginormous plants? Or maybe I should incorporate floating islands? There is a different feeling when you know the setting is sky high, the adrenaline, the mystery, the risk of falling and so much more. Will that work nicely? What if I incorporate some sort of mythology in it like Damon and Pythias? Hmmm… I think I might consider using female leads for this, the calmness, softness, sensitivity, and grace are great elements of fiction for teenagers. What if I use a … gem. Suddenly your eyes gleamed from the darkness.

"Welly? Spill those creative juices."

"Oh! Pardon. I was just thinking of fictional elements that might have the power to evoke rapture from the audience. You know—"

"Let me just remind you a little bit, Arthur. Don't take this against you, ok. Do you remember when the head of a serpentine sea dragon fell off when a string accidentally tore? That didn't turn out well. Everything was great in your story but what transpired made that portion memorable in a bad way." Her eyes were piercing.

"What do you suggest?" I asked.

"When I was on tour, I was amazed by many light shows at night at certain streets of Europe. Coupled with their intricate architectural designs, a festive show of lights had brought magic into the earth's land. Everything was projected."

"I do want real actors to portray the role."

"I was saying, what if we incorporate a technological innovation in your play? A hologram? Projection? Your play can be the very first to utilize such, and knowing you, you can make the most of it!"

I felt my eyes and mouth broadly yet slowly open from awe. "We can make that work. They'll witness a show of lights and possibilities."

"Just don't overdo it. Use them at critical moments for a better impact. Using them too much might cause dizziness and lightheadedness."

"Ok, so going back. I was thinking, instead of a fig tree, the scene shall start with the protagonist staring at a fruit, or seed, of an ancient enormous flaming tree. The tree was said to guard that seed against a dark hound that ceaselessly lurks in the shadows to possess such treasure, but cannot do so for it was afraid of the flames it emits. Ever since the dark hound came into being, the world had slowly been engulfed by an unfurling nothingness."

"Ok tell me more. Stories about quests of saving the world, huh?" She leaned on the backrest of the chair.

"Ok, I know everything is chaotic right now but I hope you can follow. The thing was, she stole a seed in hopes of growing another of the same tree to expand the lands blessed by the benevolent embers.

"All her life she dreamed of traveling and living beyond the halo. As someone living near the edge of, again, the halo, She had always been hearing squeaks, and rustlings, and sometimes even of perceptible and familiar language! This purpose was further amplified by the internal chaos within their society. The ruler had grown tyrannical over his 'slaves'. She tried to convince others to join her aspiration for a new sovereign dwelling but no one dared to join the mission.

"And so, she had sneaked to the center, to the flaming tree, and had taken the smallest seed she could find. She scampered with a thumping heart towards the edge. First, she tried to extend her wooden hands outside of the halo, and to her surprise, the seed glowed white instead of red. The darkness beyond instead looks like a fog. Mustering all of her strength, she had set her shivering feet outside of the halo. Thirty steps beyond the walls she saw a noticeable decrease in the white light from the seed.

"There was a looming creature and a rustling of not just a foot, but feet! Much like how you'd hear leaves scrunching once someone stepped on it. Everything went quiet. Suddenly a clawed hand tried to grab the seed and so she panicked. She had returned where the light of the tree protected her once more. The fog or miasma had decomposed some parts of her bark. The white seed on the other hand had returned to a crimson glimmer.

"She then had buried the seed, not only to hide her crime but to also investigate if it can sprout a new plant. She had always questioned as to why rulers had never tried doing so to expand their land and only cared to make the central tree bigger.

"She tended to the seed day and night, all week. But the seed had never prospered to a shoot. The only thing constant was the silhouette of the same clawed creature. Still perplexed by the seed, she unearthed it to witness that the soil turned redder as it rots. The creature beyond became frantic to the sight of the seed. She well knew that this is evidence of her crime. With the fear of being punished, she threw the seed outside of the halo.

"The creature beyond had fetched it with extreme nimble and to her surprise, the seed had fused with the creature to reveal a majestic being of white light.

"That was just the beginning of the story and the unraveling of the mystery within the society of that wooden girl, which I still don't have a name for them. But the point is, those two beings will be friends and that the seeds aren't seeds, but hearts of the creatures that were deliberately hunted to fuel the crimson flames of the burning tree."

Claire straightened her back, "Your protagonist sounded like someone aspirational, bold, yet careless. Let me digress." Claire had rested her forearms on the table, fist about her lips. She yanked my fingers, "Oh! So you are saying that the plot twist is that her own kind was the antagonist in the world view after all?"

"Much like that!" I smiled confidently.

"I love that! See! I knew you still had your beautiful ideas within you, just like how that seed had long been awaited to be freed from that, quote-unquote, benevolent halo." Her eyes become wide and she spoke with such rapidity, "So you mean all of the fruits that hang from that burning tree were all hearts of the creatures beyond and that they're slowly burning away like coal? How morbid!"

"Well, timebound conflicts are always what keeps protagonists to have a sense of urgency. Now you can imagine what she felt when she knew that. Another thing is that she can no more hide her crime for the being that glowed white of course can easily be seen. Plus the redder surrounding soil. Once the ruler finds out about that, he'll conduct an investigation."

"But the beautiful thing is, you said that was the smallest seed! So she saved her from imminent death! That was poetic and lovely. Now, I would like to know how those newfound friends develop into beautiful characters and … their collective goal." Her fingers became intertwined, "What about the dark hound? That doesn't suit."

"Oh! I totally forgot about that!" I admitted it with a shaking head. "I thought of a dark hound for a dog symbolizes loyalty and trust. I made it dark to deceive the audiences that it wasn't all bad but it is just their stereotypical perception."

"What if you can make that a guardian, a deity, a spirit of some sort? A holy being of the corrupted creatures beyond, devoid of its own heart for it was at the center of the burning tree? Its primary life fuel?"

I feel the warmth of my blood circulated. "Oh! It'll be a world-building fantasy!"

"I'd like to hear more!" she bellowed.

As soon as I was about to sputter another slew of words, the alarm of my phone rang loud. It prompted Claire to have a look at her wristwatch — a machination with the tattered leather strap not fitting of her precious skin.

It is exactly four in the afternoon and I need to pick up Cypress. Our conversation had been long and, I might say, fruitful. I might as well come up with a draft and have it reviewed by Mrs. Mannering before the Fall Concierto.

We stood up and went out of the cafeteria. She presented to come with me to fetch Cypress. My daughter will truly love the sight of Claire for her last day of school.