Lights fade in on a bedroom. All furniture is black, including the desk and the coverings on the lamp. Light bulbs are red, giving the room and eerie glow. There is a desk, but nobody is at it. Instead, Gary is sitting in the corner holding a notebook and a pen. He is writing something – he reads as he writes.

Gary: Dear Diary. Today we read a story in class. It was, shall we say, quite depressing. It was about a girl who breaks into a house that belongs to a family of bears, and she then proceeds to search for the perfect bowl of porridge. After she has gone through so many wrong things, she finds the perfect bowl, but this is soon gone. Just like the ideas for all of my plays…and poetry…and music. Anyhow, she then goes through the same ordeal with chairs and beds, and she is interrupted in her sleep by the family of obnoxious bears waking her up. I thought I would write a poem about it, and then ask Mrs. Skittles what she thought about it tomorrow. Clears throat. The next few lines are said to be a poem. Porridge sucks. It's cold and mushy. Life sucks. It's cold and Pauses, as if searching for a word. squishy. I ate everything. I hate every-

He is interrupted by a loud rapping sound. His father begins to yell from off stage.

Father: Gary, what the hell are you doing in there?

Gary: You know I prefer to be called Gory, Dad. And I'm expressing my feelings through poetry.

Father: I thought I told you to only do your faggot emo crap with your faggot emo friends? Put that shit away: dinner's out. Your mother made a good steak dinner.

Gary: I don't eat anything with a face, Dad. Did she bring home any tofu from the store today?

Father: No. Nobody else eats that shit. Now get your fucking ass out of your room and downstairs and eat.

Gary: No. I refuse to eat your barbaric meals, Dad.

Silence indicates that the father has left. Gary returns to his writing.

Gary: My dad is a son of a bitch. My grandmother is a bitch. My mother is a bitch. I hate them all. If my mother is a bitch, then I'm a son of a bitch. I hate myself. Pauses, looking down at notebook. He closes it. I'll ask Mrs. Skittles what she thinks tomorrow. Feeling Sympathy for All of Your Pains, Gory.

Lights fade as Gary shuts of the lamp and goes to sleep.