Frances the Mute
Act I: Frances, The Mute
"I don't know what to say, or what you expect me to say. For decades my life has been dictated by these remarks - a constant unrest of the unknown. Whenever I have something to say you either shoot it down or deem it as nothing short of raving and babbling. It renders me unable to answer the questions that you so very often ask of me. It leaves me hopeless that you, along with every insufferable soul here, will just keep dismissing whatever I have to say," France's interpreter signed at the head of the state's mental institution.
Enter Frances Lazaro is a forty-two year old resident of New Orleans. He is dumb - a mute. All his life he has been fighting off demons that has haunted him both in the real world and the one that could be rendered as being much more terrifying; the one inside of his mind. The year is 1899, the last year of the 19th century and he will be living his last days of the century locked up in the state's biggest mental institution, but we are not going to delve into his current status, at least not yet.
"The introduction of the iron horse and the long winding rails on which she rides down roads and across rivers is remarkable - if not a little bit terrifying. The folly of such additions are apparent to me but it seems as if the people around me walk around with hoods over their eyes. Concealing what fates lie ahead of them. It's scary knowing that I am the only one who sees this - the only one who cannot tell what I know." Frances had thought to himself as he sat in his old creaking rocking chair in his dilapidated apartment building.
Cockroaches scurry down the halls at all hours of the day. Some in suits and some in nothing more than a bra and panties. The plague of a generation they are. then there are the cockroaches that fill up the refrigerator. He never could figure out which one of the two cockroaches disgusted him more.
Enter Frances Lazaro is a forty-two year old resident of New Orleans. He is dumb - a mute. All his life he has been fighting off demons that has haunted him both in the real world and the one that could be rendered as being much more terrifying; the one inside of his mind. The year is 1899, the last year of the 19th century and he will be living his last days of the century locked up in the state's biggest mental institution, but we are not going to delve into his current status, at least not yet.
"The introduction of the iron horse and the long winding rails on which she rides down roads and across rivers is remarkable - if not a little bit terrifying. The folly of such additions are apparent to me but it seems as if the people around me walk around with hoods over their eyes. Concealing what fates lie ahead of them. It's scary knowing that I am the only one who sees this - the only one who cannot tell what I know." Frances had thought to himself as he sat in his old creaking rocking chair in his dilapidated apartment building.
Cockroaches scurry down the halls at all hours of the day. Some in suits and some in nothing more than a bra and panties. The plague of a generation they are. then there are the cockroaches that fill up the refrigerator. He never could figure out which one of the two cockroaches disgusted him more.