ENG Crafted Writing Piece 4
Creative Writing (Story Addition Script)
Purpose: My purpose is to provide an epilogue to the events of Othello and give closure on some of the details found in the play. This will show the readers what I think happens after the eventful final act in the play.
Setting: In an undisclosed location in Cyprus after the events of the play. It is a lowly lit, underground room. Torches flicker dimly on the walls and there is a chair in the middle of the room.
Characters: Iago, Montano, Guard 1 and Guard 2
Enter Montano with a chained Iago, bound at his feet, beaten and bloodied. He is being dragged onto centre stage by two men.
Iago: (weakly) Your edged utensils are futile. Draw thine blood they may, but my darkness it will not.
Guard 1: Blockade thy mouth or I will bloody it for you.
Iago: Not spoons nor forks can draw my patience out longer. I wait for the dark deepness now.
Guard 2: None of that you shall get. But our supply of butchery tools is filling to the brim, and you are but a pig like any other. Thine animals squeal only when they meet the curvèd blade.
Iago: You must joke of thee. To waste such untainted steel on a muddied soul, useless it is.
Guard 2: Your silver sprinkled tongue will save you not, at the very least the blade of which we cut it off.
Iago: And I shall welcome thy blade, as unpleasant as it may be, knowing that it proves a stepping stone to my final destination.
The guards sit Iago down on a chair and tie him to it.
Iago: The Venetian arrives. Your introduction is not as pleasant the second time round.
Montano: Master of lies, devil of deceit, the pleasure is all mine.
Iago: My joy takes many forms, but the moment it becomes ghostlike is the moment I lose my role as the puppeteer. It was pleasurable while it lasted, pulling your strings, walking your mindless bodies around, I loathe thyself.
Montano: Your sorry wit and undeserved tongue will survive not this night. A plan has been made, and you're not the harlequin in the hair no more. Your roots will be drawn for the city to see tonight.
Iago: Look at thee, shifting thy face hole yet wielding no tool. A devil slayer you indeed are.
Montano: Leave us. This man may be flexible with a blade but not with a string of chains.
Guards 1 and 2 leave.
Montano: You have teased the temper of thy city. You have travelled to thine own tedious think-place, and emptied the waste-boxes vastly over thine palace. Justice is too meek a word for what you deserve.
Iago: If thou desires to challenge with dignity, let thine feet free of thy foul twisted steel. And hack thy binds off from this seat of screams. You will hear no screams from me. If blood is thy desire, loose my binds and relinquish thy blade. Do not this, and blood I will have.
Montano: You fool me not, but blood you will get.
Montano draws his sword with intention to harm Iago but drops it abruptly.
Montano: A swifter death than you may seek. A silent swish of mine slasher and a painless death you die. I am glad you have since relinquished this opportunity. I am glad you have given me reason to make weep you limbs. I am glad that I am confident in thy vision of death not digesting thine filth before thy heart is pumping in mine palms.
Iago: A serious man you must think of me. But is a serious end truly deserved?
Montano: It is fitting.
Iago: As damaging to my soul as it may be to dismay you, but thy envisioned demise is as fitting as a cobra in Cyprus' deep reef.
Montano: You see not, my friend. For you are thine cobra. It is you who will submit thyself to thine blade and cast thy soul upon the wretched reef. I have seen a thousand daggers forced across thy body. I have seen a million fish feast favourably on your fleshy remains.
Iago: You ought to think not of my falling overly, dear Montano. Thy focus shalt be diverted away from mine torture, as joyful as it may be, and look across the sea, to Venice, to home. A wondrous woman waits patiently for thy return. I hear the cries of a bold baby boy and the calls, the pleas of a scrumptious sister, longing for a love long lost. Your boy, feasting on you old lady's teat, that warm, succulent feeling of-
Montano: Halt this blasphemy! You know naught of mine life!
Iago: You need speak it not, for you know it to be true.
Montano: What devious manic hath created you I know not, but your rotting corpse bloating in the waters of Cyprus is certain. You are a plague that must be destroyed. Wherever you go, death and despair follows. It ought to be wise to end you now, while the clock still strikes true.
Iago: Ah forgive me. A thought hath slipped my mind. Your boy, a child of your woman he is not. Might a scandalous night have resulted in a little baby boy bastard?
Montano Strikes Iago
Iago: So tis be true. I thank you for sharing.
Montano: I know not what strange forces are restraining my sword upon your neck but it is that external power you should thank.
Iago: That strange force is called 'truth', my dear Montano, and my salvation can also be yours. Do you really want to risk thine babe to be plucked from thy shelter and gutted like the pigs we breed for slaughter?
Montano stares intensely at Iago in fear while Iago smiles slightly
Montano: I shall have you ripped into pieces. I will strike while my blade can still swing true and fatal, before I trail your death drops and slay you for the fox you are.
Iago: When I take my harmless leave, be sure to send her my regards.
Montano: Your blood will run rivers, your screams will echo the-
Iago: I grow bored. Your empty threats are tiresome. Sheath your untainted sword and free me from thy binds. Do this, and I can guarantee her safety.
Montano slowly moves to free Iago and loosens his binds
Iago: There is no shame in defeat, not in defence of your loved ones.
Iago: I thank you for this mercy and for your own sanity's sake, I hope we do not meet ag-
Montano stabs Iago through the torso with his sword
Montano: You deceive like no other, but of my life you know naught. My boy is no bastard, but a son born of a dying relative. I am his salvation, and your threat is no more. When my spouse walks out from her home, she will meet not a storm of swords, but a bright valley, a world away from your reach.
Iago starts to laugh as he chokes
Iago: A game well played is its own reward. I applaud you, Montano my friend.
Montano: When you tempt the game of living, it is the reaper that always falls.
Iago dies, smiling