ACT ONE

Lights fade in.
Cue sound: decadent yells and taunts rise all around a sole figure as he walks down an unlit road.
Faint beats of cheap dance music, revving engines in diminuendo as the figure passes by.
Garbage bins and screeching cats rise in volume when the stage comes into view.
The lone man’s body is silhouetted against broken and crackling street lights.
He sings tunelessly as he advances towards an unclear destination.
His feet step in puddles and his body sways with inebriation.
Homeless bums lie asleep in the periphery of the stage.
Nothing is awake at this hour. Nobody sees him.

Spotlight.

Enter Kim Kibum, clearly drunk out of his wits.
At first glance he is of average height, ordinary looks.
His mind is simple, his emotions are not. They tangle in him.
It is unclear whether he is chuckling or weeping. Maybe it's both.
He mumbles incoherently through his drunkenness, words slurred, vomited.
But the words ed and useless are easily caught in his barely intelligible speech.
Some of the homeless stir and call him names, having been disturbed from their sleep.
But he hacks and swats at them dismissively. They don't understand. No one understands.
Very soon he will lose consciousness and fall flat on his back, the glass of his bottle friend clinking
against asphalt.

He knows this.
He nods to himself and chuckles tiredly.

The Doppler of police sirens rises and falls.
Kibum’s eyes move as if following the sound.
All lights besides the spotlight dim until there is a total black out around the man.
He shudders and crouches.
The bottle falls from his grip and cracks on the road.
He shakes his head vigorously like trying to wake himself up.

Kibum: (breathing heavily) Who… who am I? I don't-- I don't know...
(to the broken bottle)
You tell me.

idk what I'm doing yet for the end. But here's a start? Enjoy.

~IQ