Rohan Spong Drafts

A character monologue trying to communicate an idea to the audience in a mixture of computer programming and natural speech.

An old woman, memories of the time before the computer network "ran" the city.

She thinks she is the last human (or is she?) – she has no way of knowing – perhaps she is in an isolation ward.
(As it happens we know that she can't be the last one because Mitnick is accessing her bio data)

Idea of earth's future gleaned from Doctor Who episode – Bad Wolf (2005) – no one has any gardens, no space, and no need for them.

She speaks of things, organic things, things from long ago – but cannot remember what the things are. Simple things like bread and jam (a memory) become confusing: character cannot decide whether she thinking about bread and jam (as it was communicated in the past) or is she thinking about
carbohydrate #7 and a conserve of sucrose and sweet flavored seasonal organic matter (as it is now called).

Essentially, her monologue is a confused data transmission. Mitnick is accessing it, but is slightly colored by the fact that the woman was at the end of her own life and therefore having trouble piecing together memory versus what is the present reality, present language.

I know I want it, but I can’t be sure what it is called. The word is no longer…. Familiar to me. (pause) I seem to think it was “bread”. Yes, that’s right. The bread part I’m sure of. The other part. The sweet part, the part that made it, well, kind of, worthwhile… What was that? Was it but – ter? (pause) Or was it jam? (pause). No I remember now! It was bread… and but – ter… and jam! (long pause). So long ago now. Before the isolations. Before Sys Com controlled everything.

My grandmother had a… < Non Organic habitat >. We called it : gar – den. A few people still had gar – den in those days. She had trees in the garden with... with... . She made the jam. She made the jam herself. No computer – Can you imagine? She actually collected the components herself and made life support.

This was all before Sys Com cam online. Sys Com. < Sys Com> . I was alive for all of it. The separation of people. The monitoring of data transmissions. The isolations. The computer was right of course – the only way to prevent human suffering and protect mankind was to divide us up. Prevent us talking to each other. Prevent us from misunderstanding, from hurting. From feeling. Frank used to always say we became senseless.

Frank. (Humanoid Apple Beta 1 1 7 slash 0 2 T ) (Humanoid : Francis Jonah Pezzetti) My… Late… Husband. He was a funny little man. Very stubborn; but kind. There was a kindness about him. It’s difficult to describe. I don’t think I have the words to describe him best. Not anymore.

We argued about things sometimes. He didn’t agree with the interface. With procedures. He was worried about why we hadn’t heard from our son in three years. I told him to wait, to be patient, but he was worried that Sam had been taken. We’d heard rumors, things implied in data transmissions but not explicitly stated. Things subtle enough to get beyond the monitoring system. He wanted to escape the isolation suite to find out and we argued. The Sys Com Droid Corp were there with in the hour. Forceful separation. Indefinite.

I received a transmission after he died. (Humonoid : Francis Jonah Pezzetti ) ( categorize : deceased ) (Sub category : coronary systems malfunction ).

I picked up a chair, and threw it out the window. The sound of it, was almost beautiful. Tinkling bells and thunderous cymbals. The first music I had heard since isolation. I wandered out of the complex and into the quarries. I wanted to feel. (beat) I was waiting for the acid rain, but it never came. Only the Sys Com Droid Corp came.

(Humonoid : Natalia Margeret Barnotti ) (Assessment : Irrational) (Conclusion : threat to the system, threat to organics) (Sys Com Removal procedure) (Instigate).

I am removed from all of it now and yet I am still not entirely senseless. My intelligence can detect no others. I await stimulation… transmission… termination. I wait and I crave. I crave so much. Frank… Sam… Gar – den (pause). I crave… I crave… (program) (life support) (provisions) (sub category : old earth) (sub category : Western traditional) (ID: 572a) (description: carbohydrate #7 and a conserve of sucrose and sweet flavored seasonal organic matter).

By Rohan Spong

I want it, but…what it is called? The word is…. (pause) I seem to think it was “bread”. Yeah, that’s right. “Bread”. (pause) The other part. The sweet part, the part that made it, well, kind of, worthwhile… What was that? Was it mar…marmel..marg…but – ter? (pause) Or was it jam? (pause). No I remember now! It was bread… and but – ter… and jam! (long pause). So long ago now. Before …Before the isolations and before TNA. Before…

My grandmother had a… what would you call it? An organic habitat. We called it : gar – den. A few people still had gar – den in those days. She had trees in it with... with... organic matter – from somewhere foreign. The bells of St Clemens. (beat – she’s confused) She made the jam herself. No computer – Can you imagine? She actually collected the components herself and made… made…

I remember the protests when the...when the TNA... One right outside. I was alive for all of it you know. The monitoring. Forcible separations. Isolations. You could barely sleep those days, but for the sound of their dogs barking, up and down the hallways. They were right of course – the only way to protect us from suffering was to divide us up. Prevent us talking to each other. Prevent us from misunderstanding, from hurting…protect me from…from…

They divided Frank and I up, you know.

Frank. The system called him (ID Apple Beta 1 1 7 slash 0 2 T - Humanoid : Francis Jonah Pezzetti), but he was Frank. My… Late… Husband. He was a funny little man. Couldn’t understand him half the….Very stubborn; but kind. There was a kindness about him. Difficult to describe…him best. Anymore.

We argued. Didn’t agree with the TNA, with their procedures. See, we was worried about why we hadn’t heard from our Sam in three years. Be patient, I said. (pause) We’d heard rumors, things implied but not explicitly stated. Subtle enough to get beyond the monitoring system. We sent e-mails. Every day. But never a reply. Hunched over the data station waiting. That’s what makes someone truly old, that curvature of the spine you see, it’s spending too long hunched and waiting for someone…to message you. Frank became tired and...wanted to escape the isolation suite to find out what had happened, and we argued. TNA were there with in the hour. Forceful separation. Indefinite.

I received an official transmission after he died. (categorize : deceased ) ( Sub category : coronary systems malfunction ).

I picked up a chair, and threw it out the window. The sound of it…was beautiful. The first music I had heard since isolation. Anyways, I wandered out of the complex and into the quarries. I wanted to…to…(beat) I was waiting for the acid rain, but it never came. I guess the TNA beat the acid rain to it.
(We see the image of the old woman stepping out onto the wastelands, and hear the dogs bark, footsteps, the approach of guards)

I am removed from all of it now and yet I am not senseless. Hunched …still waiting. My intelligence can…sense….but not others. I wait for … transmissions… for termination. I wait and I crave. I crave so much. Frank… Sam… Gar – den. Something else... I crave…what is it called? … I crave… I crave… I crave… (voice trails off)

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