Sylvie Parrrish Play Monologue

“Play for me.”
When Sylvie Parrish was seven years old, she often dreamed of the sky. The sky had always filled her with longing, though for what she was never sure. The harsh whorls of blues and blacks painted behind stark spots of yellow, the moon a sliver of an object emitting a warm glow onto the land below. The sky was a kingdom; a palace for the heroes of myth to live on forever.
Nine years later and the sky was Sylvie’s escape. Her backyard was her oyster and the sky her pearl, with the short trimmed grass and the large beech tree that overhung the yard like a protective shade. Now, at sixteen, the sky was her home. She wished nothing more than to capture the blinking of the stars, the turning of the planets, and the soft brilliance of the moon into as

His eyes were the colour of the ocean at night: swirling pools of blues and greens highlighted with the pale and dull light of the stars. Cal was a dark contrast to Sylvie, with hair the colour of rich soil, a freckle spotted nose, and olive toned skin. Sylvie’s hair hung like a dead weight on her shoulders, the colour nearly the same as moonlight, her eyes almost black they were so dark. Whereas Cal was a piece of Renaissance art, Sylvie was a black and white photograph.
“You have practiced your whole life. You are better than any pianist I’ve heard, worked harder than anyone I know, all the while caring for your parents,” Cal continued, his voice nearly picked up by the newly arrived wind. “You are a wonder of muscles and organs, synapses and nerves. A study in survival. You deserve this, Sylvie.”
She sighed. “I can’t do it, Cal. I can’t just pick up and leave everyone behind. This is my home. There are other universities closer to home that will do the same as Juilliard.” She said, her voice prickling with