HORATIO (After a listless yawn.)
It is morning…I have awoken…yet again. (Beat.) And how are we this morning, Horatio? (Beat.) I really couldn’t tell you. As you are patently aware, I have only just this moment woken up. (Beat.) Oh…a little moody, it seems. (Beat.) No. Just…the same…same as always. (Beat.) You sound moody. (Beat.) What if I do? Any reason why I shouldn’t? (Beat.) Yes…it’s a brand new day, full of endless possibilities. (Beat.) Or more of the same…same as always. (Beat.) But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it? – you just never know. (Beat.) Most of the time I know. (Beat.) True…but today could be different. Today could be the one. (Beat.) What one? (Beat.) The one…the one for something special.

HORATIO (Cont’d.) (He scratches his head and contemplates for a moment)
Mmm…you could be right. (Beat.) You know I’m right. (Beat.) No I don’t. I wish I did. But like you say…you never know.

(HORATIO drags himself out of bed, dressed in a pair of paisley pyjamas, and yawns and stretches before standing perfectly still, hands at his sides, staring straight ahead seemingly deep in thought. Pause.)

HORATIO
It’s really quite strange when you think about it. I mean, why is it that it’s only at moments like this, when I’m completely alone, with no one to hear me but me, that I begin to feel like…well, me…a complete person…the real me …the definite article, if you will? When it’s just me with me I…I truly believe that I come to embody that person that deep down I know myself to be. I become that certain someone who, in all modesty, could legitimately describe themselves as an interesting person. An interesting personality. The truth is, I don’t know of anyone else quite like me in the whole world. That’s not to say that there isn’t, but if there is I’ve never met them. Which, if you consider it, opens the door to the possibility that I could be…which is not to say that I am, but that I could quite possibly be…the most interesting man in the whole wide world. (Beat.) Then again, if it’s just me that’s privy to this knowledge then what exactly does that mean? What does it matter? It could have been me who painted the Mona Lisa, but if I’d just stuck it in a drawer and never shown it to anyone what would have been the point in painting it? Who would have known of its dark, enigmatic beauty? No one. It would never have become the celebrated masterpiece and pop culture icon that’s revered by millions to this very day. (Beat.) Which is why I definitely made the right decision in getting out of that bed and presenting myself to the world at large…yet again. (With a sigh.) Still…with no job to go to, no matter how interesting you might be…it still takes effort.

(HORATIO moves to the kitchenette area and proceeds to make himself a cup of instant coffee.)

HORATIO
Fuckers. What a complete bunch of fuckers. How can you fire someone for being overly diligent? It makes no sense. It defies reason. They should have given me a raise. A slap on the back at the very least. All I got was a slap in the face. (Beat.) I’d seen it all before, of course. The corporate greed, the scandals, the public inquiries, the mighty falling, the jail terms, the celebrity whistle-blowers, the rotting, maggot-ridden underbelly of capitalism gone berserk. I’d seen it all. So I knew. When the time came I knew what I had to do. And I did it. I knew the risks…and still I did it. (With damning intonation.) Two DHL packages sent from the Chief Executive Officer to a member of his own family with no remittance, no official coding, and no apologies. Pure, unmitigated big-business sleaze. So, naturally, I took it to the CFO. His response? A big fat dismissive nothing. Yet another milk-starved minion sucking at the big nipple. So I did the only thing my conscience would allow me to do. I strode right into the corner office and confronted the all-powerful tit himself. I was nervous, I admit it. But I knew I carried with me the principled hearts and minds of 1,357 co-workers who I knew would be behind me in my quest against what was clearly an egregious and completely indefensible abuse of the system by someone who netted more in personal income each year than the company actually made in profit. (Beat.) And what did it get me? 1,357 averted glances and an unemployment allowance that I’m still trying to figure out how to survive on. But I will, I’ll do it…I’m an accountant. (Pause.) Or was.

(HORATIO takes his cup of coffee and seats himself at the small table, centre stage.)

HORATIO
Don’t know how that actually came about, come to think of it. Becoming an accountant, that is. Not a childhood dream, it must be said. Just sort of happened, really…before I knew it. I should have been something far different, something more suited to my talents. Not that I’m not good at it – I am. One of the best. Perhaps the best – who knows? It’s never been put to the test. But I’m an untapped resource. My potential is massive. If only people knew that. Knew the truth. But they don’t – and that’s the trouble. The fact is I’m wasted on budgets and number crunching. I’m so much more. I should be up to my neck in…nuclear physics and quantum leaps…genome maps, that sort of thing. Breaking down barriers, discovering new directions for the future of mankind. That’s much more up my alley. (Beat.) Or pop singing. I’d have made a sensational pop singer. Not that I have much of a voice, if I were being honest. But you don’t need it nowadays. What I do have is the off look and the attitude…and that’s the clincher if you’ve an eye to becoming an internationally recognised, multi-platinum selling recording artiste. I could’ve been huge. World-class. And videos – I’d have made some groundbreaking videos. I have all sorts of ideas. They’re all in my head. Even now. Had to have changed my name, of course – “Horatio Higgins” not having sufficient appeal to the all-important teen market. But everything requires sacrifice, doesn’t it? That said, if you don’t have the right background for these things there are very few doors that’ll open up to you. I know…I’ve tried. (Beat.) Besides…what choice do you really have when your own dear mother, lying on her deathbed, her body riddled with tumours, her eyes sunk deep in her skull, her face so ravaged with pain that you barely recognise it, looks up at you and begs you in a cracked, feeble voice to give up your dreams, get your act together and apply yourself to something steady and sensible like…well, accounting. You don’t – you just do it. And so I did. And I’m glad I did. She’d be proud. Very proud. (Beat. Somewhat self-consciously.) Still, I must confess…as job descriptions go…not the sexiest.

(As he stares off ahead, lost in thought, the lights fade to BLACK.)

© 2003 Andrew Biss