INT. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE’S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
A long couch sits off kilter as books and magazines litter the floor. Within the abundance of clutter on the couch staring out the window sits a young man, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, barely older then his 21st year of life. He stares out the window as the echo of a recent conversation reverberates through his mind.
ANGELA (V.O.)
What makes you so certain I’ll be here in the morning? What makes you so certain of anything that comes with the next sunrise. Never lie to me like that again, never. I can’t believe I put my heart out there for you WILLIAM, I was stupid, an idiot for allowing my heart to be taken in such careless hands...but here I am now staring in the eyes of a boy, not even a man, a boy who has no concept of what he has done to me heart. You’re crushing me William, there is no excuse for what you’ve done to me, but yet you still sit there and act as if nothing has happened. What kind of person can be so cold, so bitter towards someone who they once uttered the word “love” to? How can you treat me in such a way? Have you no heart, no soul? Damn it William, damn it all. You have played with your last heart and I have lent mine out for the last time. I hope you enjoy eternity alone and bitter, may hell treat you better then life has.
A door slams and William still sits, alone in the apartment. The voice in his head still echoes with a passion he has felt all to often. He keeps staring out the window
WILLIAM
The next sun will rise, the next moon will fall and I, I will still be without love, without the passion that I thought was with me this time, with her. From the moment I touched Allison’s face, that milky soft face, I knew, I knew she would be the death of me, but I did not know if that was in the physical or emotional sense...and now I am still uncertain.
William gets up off of his couch and turns from his window
WILLIAM
It would be to simple to kill myself, where is the honor in that, the dignity, the passion? Slitting my wrists, stepping in front of a bus, all those are too good for me, all far to simple of fates for someone as horrific as me. God, I ruined her, I made her turn into the person she hates...yet I, I stayed the same, I never change. How can this be? I love and I let go...I feel then I lose the neuron receptors in a blink of an eye. I loved her, still love her, yet I know full well in my heart that I don’t deserve such perfection...it was I who put this one to death, a slow and painful romantic end. The death of a relationship, dear lord I could write a novel, if I wasn’t so abhorred at the idea of writing non-fiction I would, but instead I’ll stick to my life of pure bullshit, tis better that way, no one gets hurt in a land where you create the reality, no one can feel the pain, the anger, the anguish that is bestowed upon them, because in the end, when my finger taps the last key on the last page I can always give them a happily ever after...but where is my happily ever after? Where is my realm of unreality. So many others slip into this realm called love, allowing it to conquer all fears all other hopes...yet I never can. I “mutter the words” yet I know not what they mean. I speak so eloquently, yet I don’t know in which manner the words flow. I am a con in a sense, a con with no purpose other then to amuse my muse, till she bores with me and moves on to her true love. I seem to be that gas station on Route 66 that all great women must pass through to get to their golden western perfection of a man. I can honesty say I am the reason for 3 marriages in the past 4 years, that has to be some kind of a record. What kind of man am I to not be ruthless and cunning? Am I chicken? I think not, but that’s just my lil’ ole’ brain talking. I’ve been told so many times what I am to people, who I am to people, that I think I’ve lost it all in the jumble...Who is WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE? Who is this man who hides behind sonnets and soliloquies. Am I really what they say, am I love’s perfection, hence why nothing and no one can be good enough to be with me? That’s not arrogant is it? Does it really matter if its arrogant? No one can stand and say they’ve never believed the praise they receive just as much as no man can say he hasn’t hit his shoes with a bit of piss now and then, however no man can say he has pleased so many women, without ever having to remove an article of clothing...I take pride in that fact for one reason and one reason only, because a gentleman’s lifestyle is based on three things alone, love, career, and his walk, not in that order of course.
A man’s gout is what sets him apart from every other animal on this earth, it isn’t his urge to be more creative, his control of his sexual appetite, or lack there of, instead it is simply how a man walks. His stride, how each foot pats the floor in front of the other, such as when he walks with a fine young lady or when he hops over a puddle as not to get his 200 dollar wingtips dirty. My walk, my stance on this planet, has slipped into what can be characterized as pathetic...possibly the best word to describe such a washed up loser as myself. I wasted the perfect beauty, so here dear William walks, strolling his apartment, when only a few short hours ago he would be strolling a park with the fair Angela.
Fucking, bloody hell. Fuck it all, you don’t know my pain, you will never know my pain. You pricks, you assholes, you will never know what I feel, the only thing you can know is why...but that story and Angela mean far to much to allow just any man or woman to listen to...however I can immortalize it in one true place, in fiction, where all the great stories of my mind lie. God save the poor fool who dares ever think of this story as a creation of the mind, for no imagination could ever dream the amount of pain I am sorting through right now...God have mercy on the poor man’s soul.
- From the work in progress "Teaching Shakespeare" -
A long couch sits off kilter as books and magazines litter the floor. Within the abundance of clutter on the couch staring out the window sits a young man, WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, barely older then his 21st year of life. He stares out the window as the echo of a recent conversation reverberates through his mind.
ANGELA (V.O.)
What makes you so certain I’ll be here in the morning? What makes you so certain of anything that comes with the next sunrise. Never lie to me like that again, never. I can’t believe I put my heart out there for you WILLIAM, I was stupid, an idiot for allowing my heart to be taken in such careless hands...but here I am now staring in the eyes of a boy, not even a man, a boy who has no concept of what he has done to me heart. You’re crushing me William, there is no excuse for what you’ve done to me, but yet you still sit there and act as if nothing has happened. What kind of person can be so cold, so bitter towards someone who they once uttered the word “love” to? How can you treat me in such a way? Have you no heart, no soul? Damn it William, damn it all. You have played with your last heart and I have lent mine out for the last time. I hope you enjoy eternity alone and bitter, may hell treat you better then life has.
A door slams and William still sits, alone in the apartment. The voice in his head still echoes with a passion he has felt all to often. He keeps staring out the window
WILLIAM
The next sun will rise, the next moon will fall and I, I will still be without love, without the passion that I thought was with me this time, with her. From the moment I touched Allison’s face, that milky soft face, I knew, I knew she would be the death of me, but I did not know if that was in the physical or emotional sense...and now I am still uncertain.
William gets up off of his couch and turns from his window
WILLIAM
It would be to simple to kill myself, where is the honor in that, the dignity, the passion? Slitting my wrists, stepping in front of a bus, all those are too good for me, all far to simple of fates for someone as horrific as me. God, I ruined her, I made her turn into the person she hates...yet I, I stayed the same, I never change. How can this be? I love and I let go...I feel then I lose the neuron receptors in a blink of an eye. I loved her, still love her, yet I know full well in my heart that I don’t deserve such perfection...it was I who put this one to death, a slow and painful romantic end. The death of a relationship, dear lord I could write a novel, if I wasn’t so abhorred at the idea of writing non-fiction I would, but instead I’ll stick to my life of pure bullshit, tis better that way, no one gets hurt in a land where you create the reality, no one can feel the pain, the anger, the anguish that is bestowed upon them, because in the end, when my finger taps the last key on the last page I can always give them a happily ever after...but where is my happily ever after? Where is my realm of unreality. So many others slip into this realm called love, allowing it to conquer all fears all other hopes...yet I never can. I “mutter the words” yet I know not what they mean. I speak so eloquently, yet I don’t know in which manner the words flow. I am a con in a sense, a con with no purpose other then to amuse my muse, till she bores with me and moves on to her true love. I seem to be that gas station on Route 66 that all great women must pass through to get to their golden western perfection of a man. I can honesty say I am the reason for 3 marriages in the past 4 years, that has to be some kind of a record. What kind of man am I to not be ruthless and cunning? Am I chicken? I think not, but that’s just my lil’ ole’ brain talking. I’ve been told so many times what I am to people, who I am to people, that I think I’ve lost it all in the jumble...Who is WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE? Who is this man who hides behind sonnets and soliloquies. Am I really what they say, am I love’s perfection, hence why nothing and no one can be good enough to be with me? That’s not arrogant is it? Does it really matter if its arrogant? No one can stand and say they’ve never believed the praise they receive just as much as no man can say he hasn’t hit his shoes with a bit of piss now and then, however no man can say he has pleased so many women, without ever having to remove an article of clothing...I take pride in that fact for one reason and one reason only, because a gentleman’s lifestyle is based on three things alone, love, career, and his walk, not in that order of course.
A man’s gout is what sets him apart from every other animal on this earth, it isn’t his urge to be more creative, his control of his sexual appetite, or lack there of, instead it is simply how a man walks. His stride, how each foot pats the floor in front of the other, such as when he walks with a fine young lady or when he hops over a puddle as not to get his 200 dollar wingtips dirty. My walk, my stance on this planet, has slipped into what can be characterized as pathetic...possibly the best word to describe such a washed up loser as myself. I wasted the perfect beauty, so here dear William walks, strolling his apartment, when only a few short hours ago he would be strolling a park with the fair Angela.
Fucking, bloody hell. Fuck it all, you don’t know my pain, you will never know my pain. You pricks, you assholes, you will never know what I feel, the only thing you can know is why...but that story and Angela mean far to much to allow just any man or woman to listen to...however I can immortalize it in one true place, in fiction, where all the great stories of my mind lie. God save the poor fool who dares ever think of this story as a creation of the mind, for no imagination could ever dream the amount of pain I am sorting through right now...God have mercy on the poor man’s soul.
- From the work in progress "Teaching Shakespeare" -
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