Endorsement from submitter: "One of the three damned souls, Inèz Serrano, is a lesbian who seduced her cousin's wife and convinced her to leave her husband."
Jean-Paul Sartre, the great French existentialist, displays his mastery of drama in NO EXIT, an unforgettable portrayal of hell.
The play is a depiction of the afterlife in which three deceased characters are punished by being locked into a room together for all eternity. It is the source of Sartre's especially famous and often misinterpreted quotation "L'enfer, c'est les autres" or "Hell is other people", a reference to Sartre's ideas about the Look and the perpetual ontological struggle of being caused to see oneself as an object in the world of another consciousness.
Play, classics, philosophy, existentialism
The Memorial (1932) by Christopher Isherwood
With The Memorial, Christopher Isherwood began his lifelong work of rewriting his own experiences into witty yet almost forensic portraits of modern society. Set in the aftermath of World War I, The Memorial portrays the dissolution of a tradition-bound English family. Cambridge student Eric Vernon finds himself torn between his desire to emulate his heroic father, who led a life of quiet sacrifice before dying in the war, and his envy for his father’s great friend Edward Blake, who survived the war only to throw himself into gay life in Berlin and the pursuit of meaningless relationships.
Published in 1932, when Isherwood was twenty-eight years old, The Memorial is the immediate precursor to the first volume of the famous Berlin Stories, but it stand in its own right as the first book in which Isherwood really found his literary voice.
"Oh you want to know where The daycare attendant is?" Patient asked before looking down.
"They're helping me out with making something to help hunt down murderers" Patient stated as he started to shake.
"Although the real reason was that they reminded me of some old memories"
"So I decided to give the Aftons a reminder"
"A reminder and a protector"
"That's what the memorial is"
"They are now known as The memorial of the creators children"
Okay so now I will explain where this concept came from.
So if you know my 3 Gregorys au you will know that Patient is 1 of the 3 gregorys.
Patient is also the only one with full access to the memories of Cc while he isn't Cc in any sense of the name certain things will cause him to have memory flashes and the daycare attendant caused one.
Sun reminded Patient of Cc's sister Elizabeth always playing, always full of energy, so very TRUSTING so he got circus Baby's memory chip and copied what afton did to them by giving Circus Baby/Elizabeth's memories to Sun while this didn't change Sun much at all it did give them a new friend who is very happy to play pretend with them.
Meanwhile Moon reminded Patient of Charlie a silent protector that's main programming was to protect children.
So Patient gave Moon a little help now with The Marionette's memory chip Moon now has a second pair of eyes watching out for the children and if anyone attempts to hack them again well if Moon is hacked Charlie will protect.
Sadly the daycare attendant scared Patient at first he had thought they had been sent by Afton and that caused a memory of Michael.
THAT MEMORY.
And while Patient is stuck with these horrible memories, the memories of a child that died to young by the hands of his family.
Well Cc couldn't get his revenge so Patient will get it for him.
You bring an agate. It isn’t the prettiest and it has chips and scratches taken out of it, but it fits nicely in your palm. It’s shaped almost like one of those old handaxes you see in museums, reminiscent of a raindrop from one angle or a wide leaf from another. It’s had pride of place on your bookcase since you found it on a visit to the Oregon coast in your early teens. You don’t really want to give it up all that much but the main thing you’ve heard about the keeper of the Memorial is that they’ll only accept a stone if it’s true to its giver, and the agate is the only thing to hand.
It’s also said that you need to clear your schedule for a visit to the memorial, so you bow out of an invitation to tackle the Rainbow Road with Lychee and start for the Memorial.
The agate is a comfortable weight in your left jeans pocket and the yoga mat shifts back and forth with every step. Your aunt sent it to you, with a passive-aggressive suggestion that you work out “a bit more, since you already have your freshman fifteen down pat, sweetheart.” Add to it the spite of having every discussion of mental health turned into a sales pitch for her yoga studio, and you’ve never used it, nor do you intend to. But your RA did mention that you can bring a little creature comfort for Wanderer if you’re feeling more paranoid than usual.
You’re pretty sure that the Memorial should be either larger or smaller than it is, with all the names laid out like they are. It doesn’t quite fit in the landscape. It’s a carpet of rocks, crystals, river stones, and what may be some petrified wood, pressed in close together and most just barely touching each other. There are little paths carved through it, almost like snail trails or the silk of a spider web, and at the convergence sits Wanderer.
They’re a lonesome figure in the center of a third-acre rock garden. They’re also sitting in the apparent wreckage of a very elaborate blanket fort. Which. Is not. What you expected. But you press onwards, because who knows how long this will take, and the sun is already lower in the sky than you’d like.
The agate seems to get heavier with each step, but you manage to pick your way across to Wanderer, who directs you to take a seat. You ask if they’re busy. Manners are important. Criss-cross-applesauce on a tartan throw pillow, the concentric circles of knitted and stuffed accoutrements and thousands of rocks provide an unsettling but not overtly threatening impression of tranquility.
You aren’t a geology major (though you considered it at one point, if only for the benefits afforded by their agreement and their sigil) so you aren’t quite sure of all the names, but there’s definitely a few chunks of iron ore scattered throughout Wanderer’s domain. The hand that isn’t clenched around the agate itches to touch the anklet or the vambrace, one given by your childhood best friend and the other willed to you by an older student who never came back after going home last winter, respectively. Instead, you reach around to unstrap the yoga mat and present it. Wanderer doesn’t take it until you lay out your terms; the mat is freely given, and you’d like the standard arrangement regarding the safekeeping of story, name*, and stone. {*You can use your safe-name or your true Name, but it doesn’t matter, the RA explained; Wanderer will know you by your stone and your story. Both are powerful in their own ways.} Wanderer inclines their head(?) and extends an appendage. Somewhere between your palm and being set at Wanderer’s feet(?), there’s a shift from ‘your agate’ to Your Agate. You can’t help but stare at It for a moment, and Wanderer allows you this moment to collect your thoughts.
When you speak, you don’t tell about how you were sick as a child, or how decided on your major, or how you first heard about the Memorial from a sophomore who was Replaced two weeks later. Instead, you speak at length about how the seagrass sliced at your fingers but The Agate was too perfect to leave behind so you crouched on a sand dune and scrabbled at the roots and stems until your fingers were bloody and the sand was packed under your fingernails and the dozens of tiny cuts felt like your skin was angry and buzzing, but you had The Agate and the hyperfocus brought on by Its retrieval was worth it when the sea washed the remaining sand off of It and you, and it gleamed in the sun.
Then you speak about how the mom-and-pop burger joint you and your dad got milkshakes at and how he tried to teach you how to shuffle a deck of cards but eventually just let settle into the sort of unencumbered peace that comes with trying to get the last stubborn dollop of whipped cream out of the bottom of the glass while the server gossips with a local in the background.
You speak about putting your feet up on the dashboard and the Eurythmics blaring and your gifted anklet jangling cheerily in the wind. About shaking sand out of your hair without bothering to comb it and impulsively buzzing it all off two nights later because the tangles just weren’t worth it. About how having short hair felt so much more Right. About how the memory of your grandfather beams when a blueberry cobbler comes out perfectly sweet and little tart, just enough orange juice to keep the family recipe alive.
Your throat hurts by the end, but Wanderer looks satisfied. Probably. It’s hard to tell, but they haven’t done anything except shift around a bit and nod once in a while. Your Agate doesn’t gleam quite like it did that first time you held it your hands and rinsed it in the ocean, but it’s a near thing.
Wanderer motions for you to stay seated when they move away. They meander through the rocks, pausing several times before they finally choose one and pick it up. They return far quicker than they left and fold themselves with enviable poise into a crumpled ball of limbs and talons and other aspects you don’t want to think too hard about.
The stone they set down beside Your Agate is a sort of crystalline light blue, with patches of greener or darker blue stone. In your consideration of geology, you did a bit of research on various types of rock, so you want to say it’s mica, but you aren’t sure enough to wager on it. And at EU, most things are on some level a wager, so you keep your trap shut.
The stone’s person’s handwriting is a rounded off scrawl that looks like a note-taker’s wet dream. ‘Heartsease’ reads the inscription. Your inspection of the memorial stone is brief, because it’s then that Wanderer chooses to speak.
“She grew up the second oldest of five children in Salt Lake City. Was skeptical of her parents’ beliefs, and didn’t care much to change herself to fit into their expectations. Was thrown out a year before she became an adult and spent some time couch-surfing and trying on names until one fit. Did odd jobs to cover groceries and the like, ‘til a friend of a friend pointed her to Elsewhere.
“About eight months after she arrived and got settled, her younger brother followed. Just a boy, kinda scrawny, almost didn’t make it past the front gate ‘xcept he got the Gentry who walked him to take a little carved duck as a thank you.
“Ducky found Heartsease’s roommate and helped carry a tablet to their dorm. Didn’t think to say it was freely given, but did get him to ‘is sis. When she saw him she knew somethin’d happened and asked why he didn’t just call. Told her he had been scared ‘cause he liked boys as much as he did girls, and his older sister knew something about bein’ a girl as opposed to a boy so when he figured it out, he took his bike and his birthday money and followed her to her University. Heartsease thought their hometown’s salt in his blood musta helped him across campus – didn’t know nothing on how to act but he was still in one piece.
“‘Course, Heartsease couldn’t well take care of her brother at Elsewhere, so she set up to go work at a coffee shop her friend owned, but and planned to give her story as a last measure. Gentry that Ducky’d given his namesake to wasn’t ‘appy to see the backs of his new interesting little humans, so he proposed a deal; he’d give Heartsease twenty seven ‘ours to a day and a path from Outside to Elsewhere so she could continue her studies, ‘long with his guardianship so Ducky could have the run of the place.”
You can’t help but wonder what the cost of that was. No wonder poor Heartsease was in the Memorial. But if the Other had offered provisions for her to keep studying, surely there had to be something of her left after the extraction of its price? But the price would no doubt be absolutely horrifyingly steep.
“Quite. Heartsease paid with her death. She won’t die as she should have. Woulda been a stroke at 72. Now, she’s gonna cross to Fae instead of dying, spend a while with the Gentry that ‘elped Ducky and then her. Think he’s got a bit of a soft spot, y’ken? Does an early shift and brings a freely given cappuccino to ‘er Gentry most days, and lets ‘im come with her sometimes to Ducky’s hockey games. But she did her story-name-and-stone, and her fate was woven, so she’s ‘ere.
“Now, it’s time that you get back. Don’t worry about Your Agate. It’ll be here when you aren’t, and somebody’ll get your story that needs it.”
With that, Wanderer raises to their full height and shoos you out of the Memorial and into the Golden Hour light.
Out of the corner of your eye, you think you might just see a triad across the campus – one jagged and willowy, the other in a purple sundress and soft around the edges, and between them a walking pile of shoulder pads and body armor and helmet.
And though its spot on the bookshelf is conspicuously bare, The Agate has a new pride of place.
