Written for the short-play festival at my school.

DONNA: 15 year old girl. Victim of verbal abuse from Father.

ANN: Disillusioned, doesn't want to accept reality, young mother, naïve.

Juxtaposition

DONNA: (writing in a journal)You hurt me. You hurt me and you know it. So why are you still doing it? Don't you know how each word burns, how each phrase stings? Can't you see the hurt I am unable to mask reflected in my eyes? Or perhaps you just don't care. That's it. You hurt me and you don't give a-

ANN: (knocks). Donna. Donna, can I come in? DONNA glares at the door, annoyed at the interruption. She doesn't answer. Donna, I'm coming in now.

DONNA: I'm glad to see that there is still some nuance of privacy left in this house.

ANN: Please, honey. Not now. Pauses. Donna, I want to know-

DONNA: Want to know what? What he said this time? How he made me feel? Since when have you cared enough to ask?

ANN: Changes tactic. You're always up here, alone. You're worrying me, Donna. Why aren't you like other children- you know, outside, playing softball and the like?

DONNA: Oh, so you want me to play hooky and stay out at all times of the night instead of being somewhere where you can monitor me? You know, most parents want the opposite.

ANN: Of course not. You know that I'm proud of you. I'm just…well, a bit concerned that you're being cooped up, all alone in this tiny room all the time. You should try to get out there and make more friends. DONNA snorts. I'm serious. (As if about to tell a big secret.) I bet that if you changed a bit, you'd be popular. Stop glaring at everyone and everything that crosses your path, look up when you walk. Things like that.

DONNA: And that will make me popular. Right. Goes back to his journal. Mother, please just get to the point. I'm busy.

ANN: You're always busy. Isn't there a time when you just can…you know, sit back and talk to me?

DONNA: Sits up and explodes. Talk? Talk? You want to talk with me? Where were you all those times when I wanted to talk with you? Where were you when Father would come in with his usual insults? Where were you when I needed you? I'll tell you where the bloody hell you were. You were downstairs, pretending that your daughter, your only daughter, wasn't getting hit by an onslaught of insults.

ANN: Now, Donna , wait a minute here. This isn't fair.

DONNA: Isn't fair? Just who isn't this fair to? You? Or me? Who's the one that is called stupid and lazy on a regular basis? You're just the bystander, the person on the sidelines that waits until an opportune moment to intervene.

ANN: No, this isn't fair to your father.

DONNA: Sarcastic laugh. Father? So let me clarify. This isn't fair to my father? Mutters. This isn't fair to my father.

ANN: DONNA, your father was just laid off from work. Surely, you can cut him some slack. He's tired and frustrated. It's nothing personal, it's just-

DONNA: Of course it isn't personal. I mean, when people insult others, it's not a personal issue. And it's all supposed to be taken in good fun. Is that what you mean?

ANN: You're 15. You wouldn't understand the strains and demands of being an adult. Your father has the responsibility of earning all the money to feed and clothe all three of us, not to mention pay the rent and-

DONNA: That doesn't give him the right to…do what he does. Telling me that I'm stupid, that I'll never amount to anything. That he wishes that he'd drowned me when I was born.

ANN: Well, I…silence.

DONNA: Well, Mother, what do you have to say now? Nothing, right? Pauses. I can't believe it, Mother. Out of all people, I'd have thought you'd understand how I'm feeling. Short bitter laugh. Or, not feeling, as the case may be.

ANN: Not feeling? What in the world do you mean?

DONNA: Exactly what it sounds like. Not feeling.

ANN: No. Donna, you're over exaggerating. Surely, it can't be that bad. You know, you're quite lucky compared to other people. You have your own room, nice clothes, a good education-

DONNA: But at what price? What have I paid for this? What haven't I paid for this?

ANN: Donna-

DONNA: I've sold my dignity, Mother. I've sold my emotions, my ability to feel happiness or sadness. I've sold my self-esteem. I've sold my ability to show compassion, to connect with others. Perhaps that's why I'm unable to be "popular".

ANN: If you believe this for a moment, you're even more stu-naïve than I thought. You don't understand the sacrifices that your father has made for your sake. That I've made for your sake. Do you think that these things come free? Do you think that your father and I didn't have to fight for what we have?

DONNA: Well, fine. If Father wants me to work- I don't know, get a job or something- fine. I'm willing to go out and find a job. But what's he's doing now is completely unacceptable, Mother. And you just stand there and pretend that everything's peachy keen all the time.

ANN: He's helping you grow, Donna. He's helping you realize that not everything is "peachy keen" all the time, as you put it. Not everything can come for free. You have to work for what you have, son.

DONNA: I can't understand why you have to defend him all the time. Don't you understand, Mother? What he's doing is abuse. Verbal abuse. There is a shocked silence- DONNA because he admitted this, ANN because she doesn't want to face this fact.

ANN: No. Don't you ever say that again, Donna. I don't want to hear that come out of your mouth ever again.

DONNA: contrite. Yes. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry, Mother. I was stressed, I wasn't thinking straight.

ANN: I'm glad we got that straight. I want you to think about what you said and how it could have hurt your father, had he heard it. He tries so hard to help you, when all you do is act ungrateful for his support.

DONNA: Yes Mother. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that- it just…slipped out before I could stop it. I really don't believe it.

ANN: Are you sure? I don't want any pent-up anger or anything. You understand don't you- he's just trying to teach you the ways of life. DONNA nods. I'm glad you understand, Donna. Stands. You know that you can talk to me about anything, right? I'll talk to you anytime you want.

DONNA: Yes Mother. Thank you. I understand now. This is all for my own good.

ANN: Good. Dinner is in an hour. Leaves.

DONNA: writing in journal. I've sold my soul for thousands, millions. But for you, it's probably worthless anyway.

Blackout.

Mostly my first time writing angst...hopefully, it worked well enough. I feel a lot like Donna sometimes.