[Place a man in a room. Ensure the room is ordinary. A door, a chair, a window if budget permits. Give him nothing to fear.
Wait.
The man will provide his own.
Allow him to check the lock. Do not stop him. Let him return to it several times, each visit more devotional than the last. The lock should remain unchanged throughout the performance.
Introduce a loved one through absence. A delayed message will suffice. Observe as the man constructs a funeral from eight minutes of silence. Observe how quickly the body learns to mourn the living.
Wait.
Nothing bad should happen.
The phone should ring eventually. The house should stay standing. Resist the temptation to reward the man with catastrophe.
He is capable of generating it himself.
Allow the man a notebook. He will fill it with futures. House fires. Car wrecks. Tumours. Small apocalypses. By the second act, he should mistake preparation for prevention.
Wait.
Nothing should happen.
The audience may begin to notice that every disaster enters through the same door.
The man.
By now, the room should contain two figures. The one anticipating the blow and the one delivering it. They may appear identical. This is intentional.
Continue until the distinction becomes impossible to maintain.
When the man finally calls his own name, ensure he answers immediately]
Blackout
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