You are a train conductor. Ahead on the tracks stand five people; on the alternate track, one worker.
Do nothing and five will die. Pull the lever and one will die.

This impossible dilemma is where A Snake in My Brain begins. The work descends into the terrain where morality and immorality blur — where every choice leaves a residue, and the body itself becomes the site of decision. It asks: does morality truly exist, or are we simply choosing the sins we can live with?

Each scene unfolds as a human dilemma — betrayal, lies told to protect, revenge sought, guilt endured. These are not abstract ideas but embodied states, held in the tension between individual choice and collective consequence.

A Snake in My Brain journeys through the psychological weight of decision-making. It is not a story of redemption but of contradiction — where characters move between absolutes and the grey fog in between. The dramaturgy runs like a clock: each “hour” a scenario, each cycle looping, accelerating, returning with altered endings. Both dancers and audience are haunted by the what if.

“I’m leaving.

This.

The apples.

This.

One, one two.

Apples.

Two apples.

Three four.”