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sorry all the 1st mono i sent was not the edited one, so here it is again along with the next mono.

AMONG THE WILD ROSES
by ANTONIO RAMON VILLARREAL

Act I scene I (A sparsely dressed stage with seven separate areas to identify with each character Joshua’s mother is a non-speaking role who is in the rose garden at all times. A scrim covering the up stage wall has black and white photos to represent where each character is speaking from)

(Joshua stage area has a set is a small portion of a porch and stares appearing to be the front of his plantation manor. On the scrim is a slide of his mansion as he speaks with a stately southern dialect)

JASHUA
The first time I refused an order from my father, he beat me. I had just returned from schooling in the north only to find I was to marry by arrangement. Through this marriage I would acquire an eighteen hundred-acre plantation. Not to mention the land inheritance of twenty-one hundred acres upon Father’s death. On this vast and rich acreage were thirteen structures, one of which was a seventeen-room manor. A home that would make any southern woman proud and many a southern gentleman eager to fill it with his Southern proud offspring. Included in this inheritance are all the farming tools necessary to maintain such a prosperous piece of land. And there are ninety-seven African Slaves to employ those tools.

Well, to all this…I said no. In the presence of my mother and five younger siblings, Father forced me against the wall with a fist to my face. As he prepared to wallop me again, he ordered Samuel, the youngest to count out loud each time I was struck. Through this entire ordeal father spouted out quotes from the bible like a preacher gone round the bend. He knew that book from cover to cover. As Samuel counted, I could hear the fear in his voice as he became louder and louder with each blow. When he reached twelve his face was drenched with tears; his arms unbending at his sides. When he reached fifteen Samuel screamed so loud that it broke the spell which willed fathers hand upon me. How strange that moment was, with barely the sounds of the children whimpering, a cold melancholy air filled the room as though the devil had passed through with high regards to Father’s behavior at which point he let go of my coat. I collapsed onto side table knocking over a vase of yellow roses prided by my mother. At first I saw only a single spotted yellow rose upon the floor. As I turned my head, I saw father’s hand hanging at his side. Only then did I realize the spots on the rose were of blood. My blood as it dripped from father’s fingers onto the solitary bloom. He then pulled the kerchief from my coat pocket and wiping his hand said, “Don’t worry son. The Lord will heal you before the nuptials!” Then walked away never looking back.

From that day on father has beaten all of his sons in that fashion for one reason or another. He went as far as to have a glove properly readied to protect his hand. The boy to receive the punishment was the boy to lace up the glove. The entire family and selected house slaves were called on to observe these brutal events. He used to say, “In Biblical times you would have been stoned to death. Now thank me for this mild retribution.”

My two sisters were never beaten. Father felt that women should only be struck by the hand of their husbands unless of coarse the woman is Negro. Instead father would lock up his daughters in the old smokehouse where he claimed the divine spirit would return them to the path of obedience and respect. Rebecca, the eldest of my sisters was the first to experience what we later deemed as " Father’s Lair’ where ones mind spun lost in darkness. For two days and two nights she suffered the solitude created by those thick stone walls. This isolation was her punishment for allowing two Negro children to cool themselves in mother’s pantry. Rebecca allowed them to share a goblet of water and a slice of fresh goat cheese. Not a sound came out of Rebecca during her imprisonment. So eerie it was to walk past the smokehouse knowing that my sister silently lay within. Each day and each night, Father himself gave her a small slice of cheese and a cup of water through a small window. No one else was allowed to venture anywhere near the old structure. The morning when Father opened the smoke house door, Rebecca slowly stood up then hesitantly stepped out. At first shielding her eyes from the bright sun. Then glaring straight ahead as she weakly made her way to the house. She walked with pride showing no self-pity. Her face and garment covered with ash as the smell of her own excrement lingered within her clothing. The young ones began to cry trying to keep the tears hidden as Mother silent and motionless watched from her rose garden. Mother never spoke a word. Ever. Some how I could see in Rebecca’s face that this would not be the last time she would encounter the darkness of Fathers Lair. How I admired her strength and will to survive. She and I were the eldest therefore expected to accept punishment graciously. Father insisted we set a grand example for the children and for his Negro’s. The slaves knew they would receive far worse then we would ever receive.

Virginia Louise McPherson was the woman I married. Her parents were well respected by many in this part of the country. Though at times criticized for being much to kind to their slaves. Her Mama and Papa both…

Simultaneous dialogue- (Mama And Papa both…)

Act I scene II (Virginia’s stage area appears to be a portion of a horse stall as she is busy cleaning a side saddle. A tom boy who dresses like a true Southern Lady or does she? On the scrim a photo the elaborate horse barn)

VIRGINIA
Mama and Papa both died before the wedding. Mama died some years ago while giving birth to my brother. He died shortly there after. I was only six or seven. I don’t quite remember. I do remember that Mammy took exceptional care of me, and Papa taught me all there was to know about running a plantation. Eventually in some strange way I became my little brother to Papa. Shortly after the deaths Papa worked the cotton harder than ever. I spent much time alone including sitting for dinner at the rather immense dinning table. But I did have Mammy Myrtle to talk to. Mammy Myrtle, my I never noticed how funny that sounds. Mammy Myrtle, My Mammy Myrtle. (giggles at herself) She would frequently assure me that Papa loved me and would soon come back to me. And you know what? She told me no lies. I one day became enormously ill, and ever since Papa has never left my side. He gave me the best of everything. Why absolutely everything; beautiful garments, (makes a slightly displeased face as she fluffs her gown) schooling (said with an ample pride) and even my own champion race horse. I could ride better than any slave master or farm hand Papa ever hired. And I did it sidesaddle. Papa would say, “Daughter, I approves of you showing up any man, but always do it like a true southern lady.” He would then hand me the delicate blush rose off his lapel, graciously bow and remove his hat as though I were some grand duchess or princess. Papa didn’t take to my wearing men’s dungarees much though. Especially since it was his I was wearing. He never did find out I wore no bloomers under those beautiful gowns of mine. Instead I was wearing a set of his old tattered work trousers. They just always felt much better than those lacy slippery silks. Oh them fancy embroidered silkies made me feel like I was going to slide right off the backside of my horse. Dungarees just felt much, much better! And they still do. See! (lifts her skirt to expose some very used pants)

I miss Papa. He had a way of laughing which made everyone else around him laugh too. His calm manner and his giving heart were the qualities I adored most. Oh and how he loved people. Especially children. The week before Christmas he would gather all his slaves into the house for an informal feast and the giving of gifts to all their children. And on Christmas Eve he would invite all the neighbors and some important statesmen to dinner but there were those of them who would not attend the lavish merrymaking. (pointedly proceeds) Those few despised the idea of gathering in a house which allowed Negro field slaves to enter. The fact is that our slaves never went beyond the grand entry. Papa? Huh, he didn’t care what the others were saying or thinking. I can not recall him having as many slaves jump the fence as did the McBride’s, Lloyd's, and Fosters. We were always getting word of another whipping or hanging of a runaway. (solemnly)I never could comprehend why they had to be hanged. Mammy once said some of her people would prefer death over slavery. She then told me that some day I would understand. You know what, she was right. The Mammy Myrtle always was!
Some of Papa’s slaves kind of liked him. And I surely understood why. I imagine if freedom was to come to southern slaves as it was appearing to happen in the North, Papa would have hired them and paid them accordingly. Chances are some would stay. (sentimentally) If Papa were still alive.
Old Black Jasper would have stayed. Papa admired that man. And Old Black Jasper took a great liking to him too. He was the eldest and the wisest of all our slaves. Why I wouldn’t doubt he could of run the farm all by himself. He knew as much about cotton growing as did his master in all the southern states. He also shared a sense of humor much like Papa’s.
I remember one day Old Jasper was shoeing our aged mule Agatha as I watched. I asked him how Agatha got her name. He said (depens her voice) “ Child, I thoughts everyone knowd dat.” Well as it turned out Papa named her after my Aunt Agatha on my Mama’s side. Then Jasper said, “Yo Papa didn’t much like that woman. Said she had a mean streak as long as the Mississippi and the Missouri put togetha, and that women, well she laughed like a tired old mule.” Well I had not yet met Aunt Agatha. So the first time she came to visit us, she and Mama were sitting just beyond the veranda sipping tea and reminiscing under the peach tree. I made sure to stay close by. Just in case something struck her funny. I even made faces at her hoping I could get her to laugh. All I got were sore cheeks and stretched lips. Finally I retired the idea. She then looked at me strangely as she told Mama, “You should take care of that child’s facial tic.” I didn’t hear Mama’s response as I walked away, but whatever it was, it got Auntie a laughing. And you know what? Papa was right! When Auntie Agatha got to laughing, so did Agatha the mule and several other mules with in shouting distance. It was frightening and a discovery I shall never forget. As Auntie laughingly hawed out the mating call of the mule, I ran onto the veranda swing where I had a good view of Auntie sitting under the old peach tree with Mama. I sat there captivated and stupefied in complete amazement of what I was hearing. Why not only was she loud, but that woman could have fit a rain barrel in that mouth of hers and still have room for that piece of pie she was gnawing on! I must say that Papa did have a bit of the devil in him at times. When Auntie came around him he had this extraordinary way of falsifying a sneeze and making it sound like a hee-haw! Oh Papa!

Well that was a very long time ago and just as Mama and Papa did, Auntie Agatha and Agatha the mule have all passed on. Jasper is gone too. Mama left me few memories. Papa left me many, along with the plantation if I married Joshua Daniel Sheridan. He felt the neighbors would not take kindly to a woman growing cotton better then they.

Oh yes, Auntie Agatha left me a girl. You see Auntie never married and took in an orphan girl to help her get along. Elizabeth is a few years younger than I. When Auntie died, Elizabeth had no place to go so I took her in. She is still with me. You see in a way it was a blessing. Elizabeth, “Bethy” ran the house and until I married Joshua I ran the farm. It was the perfect arrangement. I had Bethy and Joshua had…

Simultaneous dialogue- (and Joshua had…)

Eros, the sexual foreshadowings are just great--chilling & yet seemingly inevitable. Let's have Joshua now. . . rose gardens & horse barns, & Lucifer's Dens--whoopy!

Cheers, love, joy, peace, & slainte,

Tom/Tom

Tam wrote:Eros, the sexual foreshadowings are just great--chilling & yet seemingly inevitable. Let's have Joshua now. . . rose gardens & horse barns, & Lucifer's Dens--whoopy!

Cheers, love, joy, peace, & slainte,

Tom/Tom

Yes.........I concur. This is 2 much! Luv it!

Eros--I can visualize the scenes as you have so well written them...more please!! Peace and Love--Jeanne

I had a Auntie that attracts jack asses too! Her name is Carol and she is a real bitch! Does this Joshua have any connection to Dolly Pardons song? And the bloody roses...vivid yuck! but great...What REALLY went on in that smokehouse???My Mammy Myrtle...yeah, has a nice ring to it....My Mammy myrtle....I can smell the mint juleps from here!

HAY! Are we gonna get any more or was that it? Gonna leave us hangin'????? MORE MORE what the Flip happens???? Dont stop just as it was getting good....damn you!

Excellent, I am anxiously awaiting the next installment...I can envision the entire thing in my mind..Bravo....

HANNIBAL
And Joshua had hoped to buy a slave to run the stables. Well that didn’t happen. I eventually got to know Virginia and Joshua real good. When I left Pennsylvania, it made a big change in my life. Some years back a band of slave hunters accused my father of being a runaway. My Mama and sister were taken to the slave blocks somewhere in the Carolina’s. I wasn’t there when it happened. Father would send me away to Aunt Cornelia’s for two to three days at a time. Aunt Cornelia was learning me to read and write. She was all women, beauty and charm. Very wealthy and very well known. Back then I never did understand where all her wealth came from but she sure dressed fine and always had lots of beautiful women living with her. Some of the men folk that come around was mighty fine looking too. But as curious as I was of them, Aunt Cornelia kept the woman and men alike away from me and the other young ones she was a learning. I only wish she could have kept away the men that stole my sister and Mama. When I returned home, I found only ashes and my father hanging from an oak, his clothing burned onto his skin.

I ran all the back to Aunt Cornelia’s. I stayed with her till I was old enough to take care of myself. I was then also old enough to know how she made her money. So with a purse of that money in my pocket, I set off to find my stolen family. Aunt Cornelia was not family. She is a white woman who I love like an aunt. She taught me to not be afraid, but to be proud of who and what I am because there will be many who won’t. In her voice I heard the pain of her wisdom. In her last hug I felt the strength of her love.

Now I was on my own and my journey brought me many hardships. Finding water was never a problem. But once my rations ran out, finding food weren’t too easy. Trying to stay hidden from slavers made it hard to trust any one who said they were runaways. I had heard stories of slaves being sent out ahead of their masters to trap runaways. Many have been caught this way is my understanding. One day while drinking from a creek, I was taken by surprise by a man of my skin color but not of my features. He later told me his papa was a Negro slave and his mama was of the Black Foot tribe. We traveled together for some time. He showed me how to forage food from the wild and how to let nature be my teacher and not my enemy. One day, he was chanting at the set of the sun as it slowly hid behind the hills and trees. As the sliver of it’s red glow vanished, there was a rifle shot and I saw the shadow of his body as he fell. All I could do was run. Run and hope the killers did not see me. The next morning I woke up to five rifles pointing at me as my ankles were being chained. For the next few days I traveled with seven other chained people. Three of whom were women. But not the women of my search.

Early one morning we reached our destination. And without a rest we were brought out onto the slave block along with others captured or recently shipped in. As we were brought out, the sound of our leg irons and chains clanging against the wooden floor drew the attention of all that came to bid. As I looked out into the approaching sea of white faces young and old, I could sense the fear of families about to be torn apart, and the overpowering blood greed that silenced the crowd before us. The look in the many eyes of those men was that of power so feverish you could feel the heat of their gaze. Like a hungry giant beast they grew closer to the block as the steel rang nervously on the bodies of fearful Negroes. My thoughts of the children being taken form their Mamas burdened me. I felt the search for my Mama would be forever.

As the crowd thickened, a murmuring from the far edge of the crowd began to travel forward. I raised my head to see what it was and saw him for the first time. A well dressed man in a suit of black and tan with a yellow rose on his lapel. He and an older man began to make their way through the crowd. As I watched him, I felt the butt end of a rifle strike my shoulder forcing me to step forward as the auctioneer yelled out, “He stands twenty–three hands high, strong and able!” My eyes still fixed on that one man who was still working his way to the block. “He reads, he writes!” Yelled the caller. At this time other male slaves were brought out. Most of them not much younger than I. These were the ones that brought the most money. Aware of all that was around me, I watched that man defiantly reach the front of the block. As I looked at him, I recognized something in his eyes. But I wasn’t sure at first. It was something I have seen time and time again. Something I saw in one of the men at Aunt Cornelia’s which was different from the rest. He turned his interest to a boy standing behind me. If only he would look this way. He turns to speak to the old man and I get another view of his face. Strong Jaw, and clear eyes, (gradually building into the auctioneers vocal quality) “Broad shoulders, and strong arms to pull a plow if ya ain’t got a mule!” I then heard him speak to the old man. His voice, gentle and deep. If he would only look up at me. Into my eyes. Look into my eyes! I thought to myself. I must know if he sees in me what I may see in him. Once again I feel the rifle hit me. This time forcing me to my knees. “Yes, you, look at his teeth. Clean as ivory!” As my mouth was forced open I bite down on a thumb starting a commotion. He looked, and I saw what I had hoped for and made sure that he and only he saw it in me. Throughout the commotion we never took our eyes off each other. He stepped closer. The sound of the crowd grew louder as they prepared me for the whippin. It took four men to strap me down and one man to yell “I’ll give you three hundred dollars for him!” The crowd was silenced. Despite the old man’s disliking, I now belonged to Joshua. And the man I bite? Joshua paid him off. The old man? Joshua’s father. And I, a wedding gift from him.

When we arrived on the plantation, waiting for Joshua was his wife to be, and Beth. A young Lady whom I befriended and acquainted with…

Simultaneously dialogue- {I befriended and acquainted with…}

Act I scene IV (Elizabeth’s stage area appears is Virgina’s bed room with a vanity and chair as she appears to be dusting and organizing it.)

Thanks,Tonny. Since this is a play could you put it all together for us? That is the only way I will be able to follow and remember it. Sorry...you know I have short term memory loss.. but I really am enjoying it. Is this a finished play or are you writing it as you go? A work in progress? It is very good so far and I wish I had a Aunt Cornelia!! Thanks.
Peace and Love, Steve

Yes, enjoying the very well written and easy visual imagery you create. I feel as though i am reading through the eyes of someone who actually lived in these times--have you done alot of research or just up on the history of this era. i wish i had an aunt cornelia too! Thanks eros!!! Awaiting more. Peace-Love-Prayers__Jeanne

You folks are so wonderful to say what you have said. Thank you so much. It is a work in progress There are more monlouges completed that I am editing but I still have about 5-6 more to actually create. writer block hit me hard even though I know how it all ends. Thanks for enjoying my efforts. it means the world to me.
Tony

JEANNE,
I want to respond to your post directly regarding "I feel as though i am reading through the eyes of someone who actually lived in these times--have you done a lot of research or just up on the history of this era." You are not the first person to say this to me and oddly I have done very, very little research on this era. Every time some one mentions my accurate sounding setting and questions me, it actually kind of scares me. I have no idea where the knowledge or concept of the era comes from. As I write I become that person writing down what comes to mind as i am typing. Sometimes it becomes difficult to get out of character after a writing session. Just call me Sybil i guess. Some years back i was writing a monologue as Rumpelstiltskin and had to stop as he was turning out to be a horrible and gorsteqe baby killer. When I told my creative writing professor about that she scared the hell out of me saying the she for some reason remembers reading something in her past that the character of Rumpelstiltskin in Germany did just that, he killed Jewish babies in his folklore story. I do need to get back to that though it would make for an interesting one man show. Thanks for your interest in my work. Everyone here has been so supportive and rejuvenate me to get back to writing again as I had stopped so many years ago.
Tony

Eros-- Thanks for the info--That is truly amazing--it is like someone is being channelled through you when you write, huh? As strange as that may sound, i believe it is very possible or perhaps you lived in that era in a previous life and you may have been a character like Joshua or Hannibal or even Beth or Virginia. I believe some people are alot more attuned and cognizant (perhaps on a subconcious level) of previous life experiences and are able to make manifest of them some way in this lifetime. Anyway, i feel you are a very talented and interesting writer--and i've read singer and actor also..so Bravo! eros and awaiting further action in your play. Peace--Love--Prayers--Jeanne