Oh Gosh! Tomorrow is my ACJC Drama Elective Programme(DEP) Audition. I really hope I get it. Supposely to remember the two scripts given then recite and reproduce it on the day itself but then on the morning of 14th of November 2007, I received a call from ACJC DEP reminding me about my audition as well as saying that there is no need to remember anything at all. WTH! After I had stuffed up my brain. Okay what you are going to see below would be my two scripts:

Contemporary Piece
One–Act Play
Ray: Late teens – 20s; Rural America; Present.

As a rural family struggles to cope with the desertion of their father, ray, the oldest son, discovers a place of calm form which he can objectively contemplate their domestic situation.

Ray:
I’ve been there before. Why there’s a little house down there with a hole in the front porch, and it’s my home. I grew up there. There’s a nail on the floor board that catches my sock everytime I walk across it. My mother, occasionally, when she’s mad, takes a hammer and beats the nail back down again. But it pops up every winter or so. I know it all down there. On the left, not too far from my house, is a farm. They got watercress growin’ down there in the stream now. When I was little their barn got struck by lightnin’, a cow was bringin’ her calf into the world, and just as the lightnin’ struck the mother, the youngun was outta the sack and clear of danger. It’s good down there. At 2:10 in the mornin’ a train comes by. My Mama says the only time she woke up at 2:10 in the mornin’ was when the train didn’t come. Delayed a while back durin’ a storm. It’s home down there. When my Daddy left he gave my mother a 10 pound bag of flour as a going away gift. But he’s still in the house. I smelled him in her closet, and Lexy sees him in Mama’s eyes. My grandma’s dead. When she came to visit, she’d bring her own towel to place on our furniture to sit on, she thought the chairs were infested. Now, still, when I sit down in the easy chair I get itchy. Then I remember why. It’s good down there. It’s home.
by Yannick Murphy

Classical Piece (Men)
Cyrano de Bergerac
Edmund Rostand
Translated & adapted by Anthony Burgess
Savinien Cyrano de Bergerac, a Cadet (nobleman serving as a soldier) in the French Army, is a brash, strong-willed man of many talents. In addition to being an incredible duelist, he is a remarkable poet and is also shown to be a musician. However, he has an extremely large nose, which is a target for his own self-doubt. This doubt prevents him from expressing his love for his cousin, the beautiful Roxane, as he believes that his ugliness forbids him to "dream of being loved by even an ugly woman" by his nose.

ACT I. In the theatre
We are in Paris 1640, in the era of Dumas’s Three Musketeers. The theatre is not a theatre as we know theatres. It is rather like a large indoor tennis court roughly converted into a place where plays may be performed before small audiences, or chamber concerts given for even fewer. There is a small platform which serves as a stage, and a number of benches accommodate the less patrician spectators. The gentry and aristocracy will be seated in a low gallery with chairs, while a higher one, chairless, from which the view is not good, is intended for their servants. It is evening.


CYRANO.
My nose, sir, is enormous. Ignorant clod,
Cretinous moron, a man ought to be proud,
Yes, proud, of having so proud an appendix
Of flesh and bone to crown his countenance,
Provided a great nose may be an index
Of a great soul – affable, kind, endowed
With wit and liberality and courage
And courtesy – like mine, you rat-brained dunce,
And not like yours, a cup of rancid porridge.
As for your wretched mug – all that it shows
Is lack of fire, spunk, spark, of genius, pride,
Lack of the lyrical and picturesque,
Of moral probity – in brief, of nose.
To fist such nothingness would be grotesque,
So take a boot instead on your backside.
Nothing more?
Just a fatuous smirk? Oh, come, there are fifty-score
Varieties of comment you could find
If you possessed a modicum of mind.
You have to leave my worsting to your betters,
Or better, who can best you, meaning me.
But be quite sure, you lesser feathered tit,
Even if you possessed the words and wit,
I’d never let you get away with it.

Gosh! It's actually such a relieve that I don't have to remember the scripts and worry about forgetting the lines. :)