Jane

A play about a teenage girl struggling with the concept that she may have seen and predicted her own death... Just read the whole scene :)

A woman in her thirties, JANE’s THERAPIST, sits in a large leather chair in front of a low wooden coffee table and next to a small couch and a door, the entrance to her office. She’s wearing business attire, and glasses on top of her head. She holds a notebook, and a pen, ready to take notes. A girl of 17 or 18, JANE, lays on the floor at her feet. JANE is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and her bag and jacket sit on the couch she is lying in front of. The woman stares down at JANE, confused.

THERAPIST

Jane?

JANE

Eh.

THERAPIST

Jane, why are you on the floor? (Beat.) Would you like to get up? 

JANE

(Thinks, pauses, then responds) No.

THERAPIST

Okay, then. Well, why are you on the floor, Jane?

JANE

(A smile creeping across her face) I like it down here. I feel like I can see everything from down here. 

The THERAPIST begins to write in her notebook, but is interrupted by Jane.

JANE

(Suddenly interested, sitting up) What are you writing? (Looking over her THERAPIST’s notepad) That? Really? That I like the floor? (Laying down again on the floor) That’s not really that exciting.

THERAPIST

Who knows, it could be important.

JANE

Please. We both know that that isn’t important. We both know that you’re just trying to get something to show my parents.

THERAPIST

Well, Jane, do you have something better for me to write?

JANE

Ah, all in good time, my dear. (She gets up, dusts herself off, and sits down on the couch.)

THERAPIST

(Sighs, then looks at her watch.) It’s been 15 minutes. Jane, we may as well talk about something.

JANE

(Sighs) Fine. (She flops back and reclines on the couch, taking up the whole length of it with her body, her feet sticking just off the armrest.) (Beat.) They think I’m crazy.

THERAPIST

(Suddenly realizing that JANE is actually engaging) What, Jane? Who? Who thinks you’re crazy.

JANE

God, I don’t know... everyone. My friends, family... mostly my parents. But, pretty much everyone.

THERAPIST

(Furiously writing in her notebook, and intermittently looking up at JANE.)

JANE

(Sitting up) This again? Come on, this isn’t why I’m here. That’s not what you want to know, not what you should be writing.

THERAPIST

(Immediately stops writing, and looks up at JANE) Well then what should I be writing.

JANE

(Reclining on the couch again) You should be writing about why they think I’m crazy, and why they sent me here.

THERAPIST

Okay. Would you like to tell me what that is?

JANE

You’ll think I’m crazy too.

THERAPIST

You don’t know that.

JANE

Yeah, I do. They all think that, so why wouldn’t you?

THERAPIST

(Closing her notebook) Because I’m different. I’m here to listen (she places her notebook on the ground, and gives JANE her full attention).

JANE

Okay. But, how do I know that I can trust you?

THERAPIST

I guess you don’t.

JANE

Huh. (She lays silently on the couch and stares up at the ceiling.)

The two sit in silence, JANE staring up at the ceiling, and her THERAPIST looking at her, then down at the floor. The she picks up her notebook from the floor, turns to a new page, and begins to write.

JANE

(Suddenly re-interested) Well, now what are you writing? 

THERAPIST

Shopping list.

JANE

Oh. (She goes back to staring up at the ceiling.) I don’t know what you want to hear. 

THERAPIST

(Without looking up from her notebook) I don’t want to hear anything.

JANE

What?

THERAPIST

I said I don’t want to hear anything.

JANE

So, you just want me to sit here.

THERAPIST

(Finally looking up at JANE) No, there just isn’t anything in particular that I want to hear.

JANE

Oh.

THERAPIST

(Looking back down at her shopping list) Oh, eggs. (She begins to write again.)

JANE

Fine.

THERAPIST

(Looking back up at JANE) Hm?

JANE

I’ll talk.

THERAPIST

(Laughing) This isn’t a confession. I’m not trying to convict you of anything.

JANE

Oh, (laughs and sits up) right.

THERAPIST

(Putting down her notebook) So. What do you want to talk about?

JANE

I don’t know. I guess I’m supposed to talk about why they sent me here.

THERAPIST

Okay.

JANE

Well, they think I’m crazy.

THERAPIST

Yeah, you said that, but why do they think you’re crazy?

JANE

(Laughing) Probably because I am. (Beat.) Nobody believes me.

THERAPIST

About what?

JANE

What I... see.

THERAPIST

And what is it that you see?

JANE

Myself.

THERAPIST

Well, that doesn’t sound crazy.

JANE

Well, I mean, I don’t just see myself... I mean, I see myself, just not now.

THERAPIST

So, when do you see yourself, then?

JANE

That’s the thing, I don’t know when.

THERAPIST

What do you know?

JANE

I mean, I sort of know what’s happening, but I’m not sure, I haven’t seen enough.

THERAPIST

Well, what’s happening?

JANE

I’m dying.

THERAPIST

Okay. That’s not too uncommon, a fear of death can cause you to imagine what your death may look like... (she leans over to pick up her notebook)

JANE

No. That’s not it. I mean, I am seeing my death, but it’s not that I’m afraid of death or anything, I don’t know. 

THERAPIST

(Once again, she leaves the notebook on the ground and looks back up at JANE) Okay... Well, what have you seen?

JANE

I... I... I don’t know. (She shifts on the couch, clearly uncomfortable)

THERAPIST

Jane, it’s okay. You can talk to me, (holding up her hands) I’m not writing any of this down, it’s just you and me.

JANE

(A long pause, then, mumbling quietly) It’s dark.

Jane’s THERAPIST leans forward, trying to hear what JANE’s saying. JANE sits up on the couch, then stands, her eyes closed.

JANE

It’s dark. Like, night-dark. So dark I can’t see anything, but, for some reason, I know that it’s night, and I know that I’m outside. I’m walking down a street, and it’s a familiar street, but I can’t see, so I can’t tell what street it is. (Suddenly, she throws herself to the ground, falls to her knees, and hunches over, her hands on the ground.)

THERAPIST

(Alarmed by JANE’s last action) Jane? (She leans forward to help JANE up, but JANE speaks again, and she leans back into her chair).

JANE

And I trip. (She reaches around her back and grabs her arm) And this hand grabs me. 

THERAPIST

A hand?

JANE

I mean, it’s a person... a man... he grabs me and pulls me up.

THERAPIST

A man? Do you know who the man is?

JANE

No. He wasn’t there before. This is the first time I meet him. (Pause.) But I still can’t see anything. (She falls back and sits on her heals) I still can’t see anything. It’s all just dark. (She stands up and grabs her arm again) He pulls me up. I look around, but just as things seem like they might be getting brighter, he pulls me back. (She pulls herself by her own arm back and, once she hits the couch, she lets go, falls onto the couch, and opens her eyes.) 

THERAPIST

Pulls you back?

JANE

He pulls me back.

THERAPIST

And then what?

JANE

And then I start to hear things... (shaking her head) weird things.

THERAPIST

Like what, Jane?

JANE

(Closing her eyes) Voices... but I... I don’t know quite what they’re saying, or where they’re coming from... and I go to say something, and he... he covers my mouth. I think. I’m sorry, I’m just not sure.

THERAPIST

It’s okay, Jane. (She reaches out to comfort JANE, but JANE pulls away.)

JANE

I should go.

THERAPIST

Wait, Jane, are you okay?

JANE

(Stands, puts on her jacket, and grabs her bag) Yeah, I’m fine.

THERAPIST

(Trying to think of a way to stop her, but JANE rushes out before she can. She sits down in her chair, and picks up her notebook, dictating as she writes) Figure out Jane... 

Author's Note

Do you think this would work better as a full length play or a one-act?

Reviews

[Thisiscrae]

This Is great. I like it as one act but it would make a good short play. I like that we never know what is actually wrong with Jane it leaves it up to the audiences imagination. It would be cool if it was the same therapist but different patients. Just shooting out ideas. I like that Jane is all over the place reading it i could see two people preforming it.