The Unwanted

The rocky coastline of Sliema, Malta: Soulless stranded creatures scattered around. Some a barely breathing, others are making a run for it. Most of them dead. In the middle there’s Ayra.

AYRA
We are the unwanted.
Yes, we are the unwanted
Wandering souls
Do you know what that feels like?
Being unwanted?
Stranded seals
On a shore with no beaches
– not much at least –
Hunted
Not for meat
Not to get through winter
But to push back into the sea
If we’re lucky
on the same small boat that brought us
If not -Let’s pretend we know how to swim
Do you know why it’s so easy to kill animals?
They don’t have language
Just like they can’t understand mine
I don’t have a voice
For no one will listen
For no one tries to speak
Beyond their borders

So now what?
I held my breath for minutes
while the Border Knights of Europe roamed the shore
poking sticks into lifeless flesh
Please, keep walking – keep walking
They did
But there’s no way
I could run with this (points at belly)
Landed on the wrong island
It happens to a lot of us
But the rule is
Once off the beach
You can stay
It’s a game, really
To give the tourism a boost
Gazing through their binoculars
See who makes it
Bet money on who falls
face down on the rocks
Tripping over their pants
Because the fatless bones cannot hold them up
What sum of money would there be on my chances?


This work is produced during my residency at Teatru Salesjan, Malta and supported by the Malta Arts Fund. 

 

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Gripping.. i love it.

  2. Moi! says:

    Ayra’s monologue is like a protestsong, hungering for attention of the world, knowing the world doesn’t care as long as it isn’t their backyard there talking about….

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