A Play Script?
Title: Sight
Characters: Emíl, Danny, Therapist, Doctor, Mr. Z
Plot: Danny is an “imaginary friend”/hallucination who serves as a father figure to Emíl. They are stuck into a mental ward by Emíl’s mom. Emíl’s dad died a few years ago. Ever since then, he’s seen Danny, as a replacement. Emíl is a youngish kid. Danny and Emíl are less than happy about being in an asylum, and they begin to debate escaping, with some help from Mr. Z.
Emíl: Danny?
Danny: Yeah?
Emíl: How come only I can see you?
Danny: Dunno. I guess you’re special.
Emíl: I think you’re special.
Danny: Thanks, Emíl.
Emíl: No problem. Why don’t they like you?
Danny: Because people fear what they don’t understand. And they think you crazy.
Emíl: That’s rude.
Danny: Welcome to humanity.
Emíl: *laughs* You’re funny.
Danny: Yep. I’m a real comedian.
Emíl: So what’s it like? Being invisible?
Danny: Depends. Sometimes it’s real fun, and I get to torment people like a poltergeist or something. But other times it gets annoying. Like, I can’t buy food or nothin’.
Emíl: That does sound pretty sad. And also cool. Sometimes I wish I was invisible like you. Then I wouldn’t be here.
Danny: Maybe, kid. Maybe.
Doctor: *walks in* Emíl? It’s time for therapy.
Emíl: *groans* Do I have to go?
Danny & Doctor: Yes.
Emíl: *crosses arms and pouts* Fine. But only if Danny can come, too.
Doctor: Who’s Danny?
Emíl: He’s my friend.
Doctor: *confused expression* Okay, he can come too.
Therapist: Hello, Emíl.
Emíl: Hi.
Danny: I don’t like Miss High-And-Mighty-Therapist.
Emíl: Danny doesn’t like you.
Therapist: Tell me about Danny.
Danny: *sarcastic laughter*
Emíl: Why should I? You can’t see him, so it doesn’t matter.
Therapist: It’s my job to be your friend, Emíl.
Emíl: I don’t care about friends. I don’t need friends. I have Danny.
Therapist: Danny isn’t real, Emíl. You need to accept that.
Emíl: I don’t care! I don’t care! Leave me alone! *stands*
Therapist: Emíl, calm down.
Emíl: I’m not your child! You can’t tell me what to do! *runs out of the room*
Therapist: Emíl!
Emíl: Danny, I don’t like this anymore.
Danny: What do ya mean?
Emíl: This hospital. I want to get out.
Danny: Hang with me, man. This’ll be done soon.
Emíl: Are you sure?
Danny: Am I ever wrong?
Emíl: Nope.
Danny: Exactly. We’ll be outta here soon enough. Before you can say “Wow”
Emíl: Wow.
Danny: It’s an expression. We’ll be out soon. Soon.
Emíl: I sure hope so.
Danny: Well, you sure screwed over that therapist. Nice.
Emíl: She was annoying me.
Danny: Exactly.
Emíl: Is she going to come for me?
Danny: *looks at door* She’s here. Outside the door.
Emíl: *stands up angrily* Why can’t I just be alone?
Danny: It’s a mental hospital. You’re never alone. You’re on 24/7 surveillance.
Emíl: *groans*
Danny: I feel ya, bud. This place stinks to high heaven.
Emíl: It smells like death.
Danny: ... Kid?
Emíl: Yeah?
Danny: It is death.
Emíl: Right. That’s why I want to get out.
Danny: Same, Emíl. Same.
Emíl: I don’t understand. What’s so bad about you? You’re not bad.
Danny: But they think I am.
Emíl: Why?
Danny: Because normally, when people like you see people like me, the people like me are bad.
Emíl: That’s stupid.
Danny: Agreed. So hey, you wanna get out?
Emíl: You don’t have to ask. Of course I do.
Danny: Well, I’ve got someone you should meet.
Mr. Z: That’s my cue to come out from under the bed, right?
Emíl: What the- How long have you been there?
Mr. Z: Only since you went off to therapy. But God, this floor is disgusting. It smells like death.
Emíl & Danny: It is death.
Danny: Emíl, this is Mr. Z. He’s gonna help us get out.
Mr. Z: Right. *offers hand to Emíl*
Emíl: *shakes hand* You can get me out?
Mr. Z: Don’t sound so incredulous, kid. Yeah, I can.
Emíl: Great. When?
Mr. Z: Tonight, if you’re up for it.
Emíl: Wonderful. Let’s do it.
Therapist: *knocks on door* Emíl?
Danny: Let yourself in, poop head!
Emíl: *snorts*
Therapist: Emíl?
Emíl: Whatever I say, you’re coming in anyway, so whatever.
Therapist: *opens door and walks in*
Emíl: See? *looks at Danny*
Mr. Z: *looks at Danny* Smart kid.
Danny: What did I tell you?
Therapist: So, Emíl. This morning’s session didn’t go so well. Why don’t you tell me about Danny?
Emíl: Why don’t you pee standing up?
Danny: *snorts*
Therapist: Well... Um, because it’s not socially accepted.
Emíl: There you go.
Therapist: So Danny doesn’t want you to tell me.
Emíl: Danny doesn’t give a rat’s behind what you know. But if I tell you about him, you’ll drug me up until I can’t see him.
Therapist: Not necessarily.
Emíl: Danny says you’re scared of me and him.
Therapist: Should I be?
Emíl: No. We’re harmless.
Therapist: See? We’re getting somewhere.
Emíl: *laughs* If you say so.
Therapist: Emíl, Danny isn’t real.
Emíl: *frowns* Can you stop saying that? He is. You just can’t see him.
Danny: *walks behind Therapist and makes a face*
Emíl: *stifles a laugh*
Therapist: What’s so funny?
Emíl: *stops smiling* Nothing.
Therapist: What is Danny doing now?
Danny: Tell her I’m pretending to hump her.
Emíl: *smirks* He’s pretending to hump you.
Therapist: Oh. *wrinkles nose* Man, it does stink in here. It smells like death.
Danny: Oh, that’s rich.
Mr. Z: It doesn’t just smell like death...
Danny & Emíl: It is death.
Therapist: I’m sorry you feel that way.
Emíl: No you’re not. You just have to say that. If you were sorry, you’d let me out. But you’re not going to. Because then you’d lose money. Maybe even get fired.
Therapist: I’m not the enemy, Emíl.
Danny: Then stop acting like it.
Emíl: Then stop acting like it.
Therapist: *stands* Well, this has been fun. But our session is over.
Danny: Yeah, you chicken! Run away! Bawk!
Emíl: Bawk! Bawk!
Therapist: *walks out of the room shaking head*
Emíl: *sticks tongue out* Take that, poop face!
Mr. Z: *laughs*
Emíl: *turns to Mr. Z* So, can we leave yet?
Mr. Z: *looks outside*
Danny: It’s three in the afternoon.
Mr. Z: I guess we could try... but I was going to wait for eight.
Emíl: *sighs* I’m bored already.
Danny: Same. What to do?
Emíl: Let’s play that one game... what’s it called?
Danny: Shoplift?
Emíl: Yeah. That one.
Danny: *holds up a pillow and puts it on his head* Take this. Without me noticing.
Emíl: *grins* ’Kay.
Danny: Let’s blow this popsicle stand.
Emíl: *sneaks behind Danny and steals his wallet* Well...
Danny: You didn’t get the pillow.
Emíl: *grins* But I got your wallet.
Danny: You clever little thing!
Mr. Z: My plan was eight, but it seems the driver has arrived early.
Emíl: Now we really blow the popsicle stand.
Danny: Heck yeah, Emíl. We’re gonna blow the popsicle stand.
Emíl: Here’s your wallet back.
Danny: *takes wallet* Man, you sure are a nice thief.
Emíl: check your head.
Danny: How the- kid, you’re a freaking prodigy.
Mr. Z: *chuckles* *takes out phone* We’re on our way.
Through phone: Perfect.
Emíl: What’re we waiting for?
Mr. Z: Nothing! Let’s go!
Danny: *glares at Mr. Z in suspicion*
Emíl: C’mon, Danny! We’re getting out!
Danny: *grunts*
Mr. Z: Onwards!
*outside*
Emíl: Mr. Z, where are the guards?
Mr. Z: They’ve been... dealt with.
Emíl: Cool!
Danny: Look! The car!
Mr. Z: God damn— we’ve been spotted! Run! *dives into car*
Danny: *pushes Emíl into the car* Go!
Emíl: Danny!
Danny: Go, damn it, go!
Mr. Z: *starts car*
Emíl: No! Danny!
*car begins to drive away*
Emíl: Danny!
Danny: *whispering* See ya round, kid.
Emíl: *sobs* Danny... no...
THE END