Piece #1

A few words before you begin; I really advise you all to read about Mata Hari, if you are att all interested in history. I really loved her story, and enjoyed being her for a time period of 4 minutes truly!

My Eternal Aura

(Martha’s Dream is playing while Mata Hari is tracing the perimeters of her prison cell. Mata is developing some of her dancing skills. She is trying out new moves and new routines. Her mind is distant. She is not achieving what she wishes too.)

(Calmly and in disbelief) I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this injustice. (Her frustration escalates) I’ve become worst at what I do best; I can’t even dance anymore! What’s the use anyway? I’ve only been fooling myself this whole time. (Getting up) I managed to make my way out of every tangled lie, by seducing men and dancing for my life, but I’ve really done it this time, haven’t I? (Stops. Calmly) I’ve taken it too far… (Doubtfully) But have I? Is it too much to ask for some affection? (Her frustration escalates again)Is it too much to want a life worth living? Everyone around me, all the family and friends I’ve ever had, they think they’re living but they’re barely alive! They don’t even know what living is. I’ve seen the world. I’ve been East, I’ve been West, I’ve lived in all the big cities of Western Europe, (with great passion) and I’ve been alive! I’m just looking for some fun. What do I care for German and French war affairs? I’m just a dancer, and I live to travel, is that so hard to accept that they have to throw me in this cold and dark cell? Is this where it ends? Is this why it ends? (There is a brief pause as she realizes that this may very well be the end. She resumes some dance moves, just small hand gestures). My friends were right. They used to say to me, “Margaretha, you are an orchid in a field of dandelions.” I knew what they meant. I was. (Lifting her head, and broadening her chest as she remember who she was, who she is, and who she will forever be)Amongst all these pretty blonde babies, there I stood out; a darker and deeper shade of everyone else. (Quieter)They may not want me anymore, but that’s okay. I am Mata Hari, I am an orchid, and all these soldiers are just a troop of dandelions who cannot bare my beauty, my talents or my lifestyle. They can’t bruise me. I am not worst at what I do best. I won’t forget my passion and I will never give it up nor will I ever give in to these cold-blooded Neanderthals. (Suddenly becoming aware of a soldier approaching she resumes her dance) It’s time. This orchid will never die. This orchid will live on.

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