Watching

[There is a jury of 13 people sitting on a two-tiered bench. The jury box is angled towards centre stage and placed backstage left. A judge is backstage right behind his bench, also angled towards centre stage. Val is seated centre stage on the stage floor]. 

Foreman: [stands up from jury bench] We have your honour. 

Val: They look at me. All those eyes, sharp as scalpels as they dig into my skin, searching for what they believe is there. Searching. I have always been a watcher in life. Seeking out the seat in the café, the station, the airport, which gives me the best angle to watch the flow of people. I analyse their expressions, their bodies, some run, some amble, frantic voices into a phone, eyes straight ahead, legs mechanical as their brain soars somewhere else. I am a watcher. I do not like to be watched. Not like this. Not by everyone. 

Foreman [announcement]: we the jury. 

Val: How they look at me has changed over these last few weeks. When this began, they would cast fugitive glances at me, look for signs of my reactions, or simply peek out of the corner of their eye at me because of some morbid curiosity. Now they stare. And their eyes, they are melting pots: hatred, disgust, horror, anger. 

I watch them in return. I mentioned people watching was a hobby of mine.Well, it is also a talent. I look for the flicker of the eyes, the increase in breath, the body language, twitch of the leg or finger. I find the tell. Mighty good I was at poker back when I played in university. Those games felt like fair fights. This however, this feels like the deck is rigged. 

[Val pauses and stares as if watching someone]

The prosecutor is good. I will give him that. A young Shakespeare. Every word that flows from him beautifully formed and aimed like an arrow finding its desired target, time and time again. Tipping the scales in his favour. My lawyer is good, but you may as well compare a roaring fire to the sun. I have lost them. I am sure of this.

Foreman: find the defendant 

Val: I find comfort in becoming a watcher like I used to do. I pretend this is not my life, not my trial I merely observe. I find it is the best mechanism by which to protect one’s sanity. 

I watch from a scientific viewpoint. A comment on our justice system if you will. The truth does not matter in this room. That is the conclusion I must draw. The truth is not an objective thing that is being excavated here. It is a subjective thing. Shaped by clever words, playing on emotions, prejudice, the media. The jury do not want to like me, that I know. They do not like people like me. They look at me, but they do not see me. They see all the identities that have been thrust upon me, cold hearted, cruel, vindictive, dangerous. 

No, in this room there is no truth. I see the event being retold before my eyes. I see my actions, motivations and intentions rewritten. I am a character whose author decided they did not like the ending, and so began to retell the story. I see the truth twisted out of recognition. No one believes me. 

Foreman: Guilty. 

Val: They are watching me. Still watching me. They condemn me and still they will not look away. They watch but they refuse to see, to see the truth. 

[Val points a finger out to the audience. Her words begin at a mutter then become a scream.] 

The watchers. They lie, they lie, they lie, they lie, they lie. 

[Val is dragged away, along the floor, still screaming. The lights go out]

End