Until You Open Your Eyes Setting MONOLOGUE About the Author Georgia Xanthopoulou is an Athens-based playwright and poet. With a background in English Literature, postgraduate studies in Ethics and PhD in Philosophy from the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, she delves into questions of identity and meaning. Her writings reflect themes rooted in existentialism and the Theatre of the Absurd. Her work has appeared in English‑language literary magazines and bilingual art publications.
A man in his early 30s enters his living room. He’s wearing the theatrical mask of a young man. He kicks off his shoes, puts on slippers. He takes off his shirt, leaving only a t-shirt. He drops into the armchair. He finds a child’s toy, holds it for a moment, examines it, as if he’s remembering something. Then he tosses it aside carelessly. He closes his eyes. During his monologue, his eyes remain closed.
I don’t want to study. I want to play. In a bit.
They said at school there’s a war going on somewhere. I don’t want to go.
What if they drop a bomb while I’m outside?
Deadly virus! What does deadly mean?
Make sure the door is shut tight.
Earthquake. Major crash. Many dead.
In summer, there are fires. In winter, there are floods.
Gruesome murder.
The door! Be careful with the door!
How many days till the weekend?
The most dangerous animal is a hungry human, no matter what he is hungry
for.
August moons are the most beautiful.
Wolf moon. Strawberry moon. Flower moon.
Deadly virus. Earthquake. Tsunami. Climate crisis.
When a person sleeps, he is completely vulnerable. His powers abandon him.
That is death, the deepest kind of sleep.
The door!
The fires have started. Summer’s here!
Medical exams.
Floods. Winter already. Short days. Long nights. Again.
Spring. When will spring come? The weekend?
Another friend, gone. Heart failure.
The door!
Buck moon. Harvest moon. Hunter’s moon.
More exams. They’ve spotted something.
Another war. Fuel prices will go up.
A slow-burning self-loathing devours me from within.
[The man puts on another mask, an aged one.
His eyes remain closed.]
Economic crisis. Climate change.
Monday, again! And again, and again.
Supermoon!
Shut that damn door! Same old thing, year after year!
I’m starting treatment.
What did I ever enjoy?
[He opens his eyes. He looks about 70. He turns on the TV. We hear:]
“A wildfire has broken out and is burning out of control.
Fire crews are battling the flames around the clock.
Experts warn of toxic smoke.
Evacuations are underway…”
[He yawns. He turns the volume down, he looks for the toy he tossed earlier. He finds it. He presses a button. A soft, childlike melody plays. He falls asleep in the armchair.]
Curtain.
