The Anti-War Theatre

DEBRA'S ASHES (a one act play)

2008-04-19T17:09:00.031-05:00

Visit handmaiden at Furry Friends to read the inspiration for this play.

(Preshow music…Neko Case)

CHARACTERS:
John McCutcheon- Fifty-four.

Stephanie McCutcheon- Thirty-two.

Debra Jameson- Forty.

Matt Jameson- Twenty-two.

TIME:
From September 2005 to the present, between two next-door living rooms in the U.S., one in the present, the other memory. Each scene spills into the next seamlessly.

PLACE:
Stage left is the living room (in the present) of JOHN MCCUTCHEON’S home. A fireplace center with a whiskey bottle on the mantle, a television facing away from the audience, a couch sits right, next to a window that hovers beside the fireplace.

Stage right is the living room (and bathroom) of DEBRA JAMESON’S home. A freestanding front door sits left. The bathroom, upstage right of the couch. In the bathroom is a sink with a mirror above it, a tub, and a stool. A hairdryer dangles from its electrical outlet next to the sink.

AT CURTAIN:
As the audience files in the dim glow of the television (a constant on stage throughout) can be seen but not much else, save for shadows. Music playing over the house speakers, “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case, timed to end as lights rise on Scene One. (You may want to listen to the song before reading the play, so I posted it above.)
OPEN THE PLAY +/-

SCENE ONE:
(The music ends as the lights come up on JOHN watching television. )

TV: Authorities familiar with the incident tell us that the mother was beaten and raped repeatedly.

(Lights out.)

SCENE TWO:
(Lights up on DEBRA lying on the couch, singing, I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight, and holding a bottle of whiskey. Her voice is actually quite stunning. After a good moment of this, lights out on her and up on the bathroom as we still here her singing.. We see MATT’S motionless arm sticking up out of the bathtub. His arm, the only part of him that can be seen, is leaned against the tub’s rim. After a moment of this visual, lights out on the bathroom and up on DEBRA singing. She takes a long swig of whiskey, sings some more and suddenly begins to cry. Lights out. Up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out.)

SCENE THREE:
(Lights up on JOHN watching television.)

TV: …the sheer brutality of the attack. An official, speaking on condition of anonymity, said that the woman’s heart was literally ripped out of her chest while she was still alive.

(Lights out.)

SCENE FOUR:
(Lights up on DEBRA now sitting on the couch wiping her tears.)

DEBRA: Is it my fault you’re like your father? Huh? Why is that my damned fault?

(Lights out. Lights up on the bathroom, the same. Lights out. Lights up.)

DEBRA: I asked you a question, young man. Is it my fault you’re like your father?

(Lights out, up on the bathroom.)

MATT: Yes…

(He angrily climbs out of the tub. He stumbles and nearly falls over. He is very animated but trying not to be heard by his mother as he works through his anger, smashing his hands into the air and flailing about in near silence. Soon he regains his composure. He contemplates climbing back into the tub, but thinks better of it. He reaches in his shirt pocket and pulls out a cigarette pack. Seeing that there is only one cigarette left in the pack, he grimaces and begins to flail again.)

MATT: No. No. No!

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: That's right. It’s not my fault. I can’t be to blame for how you turned out. It’s the genetic coding or something. You win some you lose some. You’re nothing like me…

(Lights out.)

SCENE FIVE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Still searching for clues as to the reason he went on the rampage, authorities say that they've never seen anything quite like it.

(Lights out.)

SCENE SIX:
(Lights up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: He’d stay in there for hours if I wanted to talk, if I had something to say. He’d rather plop down on the shitter than look at me. Hear me. Touch me. Probably stayed in there so I wouldn’t see all the ugly faces he was making.

(Lights out, up on MATT making ugly faces at his mother. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I can only imagine. His stupid smirking face. The ugliness. The empty gestures. So I like to talk, something wrong with that? I like to sing, too, but he’d be on the damn pot… I sang to myself a lot.

(Lights out, up on MATT as she continues, MATT is attempting to light a cigarette while making faces.)

DEBRA: …Don’t know what the hell I had to sing about. Nothing worth singing about in this world with all the godforsaken abuse I took from that no good, sorry-

(The cigarette drops out of MATT’S mouth into the stool water.)

MATT: Son of a bitch!

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: -son of a bitch. He never wanted to just talk with me. All he ever wanted to do was fornicate. We were either in different worlds or fornicating like rabbits. (From the darkness of the bathroom we hear a blow-dryer.) Only time he ever tried talking to me was when he was all hard and sweaty. Wasn’t anything tender with your father, either. Fast and furious is how he liked it. Always did. Pervert. He’d say things like, “You’re doing it all wrong!” and “Harder!”, “Faster!”, “Not there!”... He’d tell me exactly what it was that I was doing wrong, but never what I did right. Usually just direct me like I was some fornicating marionette! ...Are you blow-drying your hair? Jesus. I better call Vicky and tell her my boy took a damn bath! He did, Debra? Sure did, Vicky! Wow, Debra, good for you! Thanks, Vicky! You sure got lucky and raised him up right, Debra! Thanks, you stupid bitch!

(Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA. She sings, drinks, sings, and suddenly cries. Lights out, up on MATT blow-drying the cigarette. Lights out, up on DEBRA drinking and sobbing. Lights out, up on MATT. He turns off the blow-dryer and inspects his work with great care. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I shouldn’t have called poor Vicky a bitch... it’s just that she and I used to be best friends, ya know? We were practically inseparable. Like Siamese sisters. Then she started getting all snooty because her boy, Shane, joined up and went off to fight in Iraq. (A flash of light comes from the bathroom as MATT lights his cigarette.) She’d prance around talking about how proud she was that her boy was fighting for freedom and that he was gonna come home a decorated war hero. She wouldn't stop talking about it. She did, however, stop calling and stop coming around. (Pause.) Now everything's stopped for poor Vicky. So sad. When and if I see her now she looks like a tragic character out of some god-awful war movie. All twisted. Bent over in excruciating pain. Blaming herself for being too damned proud. ...I miss her. ...Shane was such a good boy. Should have- Should never have gone over there. Should have stayed home with his mama. (Pause.) Bet he’d at least have taken regular baths… (She drinks.) He was such a good boy. Such a good boy.

(Lights out, up on MATT enjoying his cigarette. Eyes closed, taking a very long and deep drag. Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: What the hell was I talking about? Can’t think with all the racket around here… What the? Oh right. How could I have forgotten I was talking about a pile of dog shit? ...The no good bastard would tell me where to lick, where to grip, where to squeeze, where to put my freshly wetted finger. Mostly he’d just grunt. Conversing like an ape, verbalizing in animal tones, ughh this and ughh that. Who the hell knows what was being said?

(Lights out, up on MATT smoking and grunting like an ape.)

MATT: Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh. Ugghh?

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I’m glad he left…more whiskey for me that way. More space to breathe on my own. Don’t need him to tell me when, where, or how to inhale and exhale. I’m done with that shit.

(Lights out, up on MATT, his nose nearly touching the mirror.)

MATT: Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

(Lights out, up on DEBRA.)

DEBRA: I’m free to fornicate when I want, how I want, where I want and who I want. After twenty two years I’m finally free. ...Here’s to fornicating freedom!

(Lights out on her as she drinks and up on MATT. Same. He stares into the mirror and, with a sudden fury, says "Freedom!" and slams his forehead into the mirror. It cracks loudly. Lights out.)

SCENE SEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Neighbors of the slain woman said they could hear her screaming for help for nearly half an hour, but every time they tried to enter the house shots were fired through the door.

(Lights out.)

SCENE EIGHT:
(Lights up on DEBRA stumbling out the front door into the yard.)

DEBRA: No! No! You leave me the hell alone! I’m through with the beatings! I’m done with them! I’d rather kill myself than-

MATT: (Standing in the doorway, blood on his forehead.) What the hell are you talking about? I said I need a Band-Aid for Christ’s sake!

DEBRA: That useless bastard broke things too, you know?

MATT: You think I don't know that?

DEBRA: Broke things all the time. Cracked `em open like the sky he did. You, me, tables, chairs, dishes, golf clubs, wind shields, beach towels, televisions, radios, coffee pots-

MATT: Did you say beach towels?

DEBRA: Yes! Beach towels! Cups, lamps, beds, blenders, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, garden tools. He was the damned energizer bunny of breakables.

(She stumbles and falls hard to the ground.)

MATT: Mama, are you okay?

DEBRA: I’m fine! Nothing can hurt me anymore than I’ve already been hurt. I may be damaged goods- broken up a bit, scars all over my face, eyesight shot to shit and wrinkles invading like weeds, but I'm resolute!

MATT: Here? Let me-

DEBRA: No! I said no! You might bleed on me! (Staggering to her feet.) See? I’ve stood on my own my whole life. I don’t need any help now.

MATT: I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I broke your mirror.

DEBRA: You think I give two miniature shits about that mirror?

MATT: I thought-

DEBRA: I hate mirrors. Hate `em with all my being. They’re ugly. Ugly ugly ugly ugly. Mirrors are like a person’s heart, they're too easily broken and then, if you're not careful, they'll slice you open like Rack the Jipper. (She staggers and falls again, then rolls onto her back.) Didn’t feel a thing that time. ...Think I might be dead. ...What’s that music? Sounds like a harp?

MATT: Mama, let’s go inside before the neighbors call the cops.

DEBRA: Not cops! I said harp! A harp! ...You don’t hear it? That beautiful music? ...Angels playing in heaven. A song for the dead and dying. Preparing a place for all the good sinners. Angels gonna wrap their gynormousful wings around them to keep them from jumping off the clouds. (She conducts the symphony for a moment.) They sure can play some beautiful music. God's one hell of a composer. Mozart in the sky. Rachmaninoff in heaven. Christ it's beautiful. You can’t hear that?

MATT: All I hear is you, Mama.

DEBRA: Damn.

MATT: Let’s go back inside. The neighbors probably already called the cops.

DEBRA: Cops? Ha! You think I give a microscopic quarter of an ant shit if they did? I know more cops than I do neighbors! Matter of fact I don't know any of the neighbors! Not one of the dumbass bunch of freakish snobs! All of you pretentious no good do-gooders!

MATT: I’m serious, Mama. Get up.

DEBRA: Cops'll probably taser me for being a bad mom. Zap! Bad mama. Zap zap! Bad, bad mama jama. Zap!

MATT: You’re not a bad mom. Now come on.

DEBRA: Scale of one to ten, smartass, rate me? One to ten, shithead. ...Come on. ...Rate me?

MATT: No.

DEBRA: Rate me! Rate me!

MATT: No! Let’s go inside and watch... The Price is Right or something.

DEBRA: The Price is Right? Shit. Bob Barker’s a no-good prick. Every time I hear him open his idiot flap I want to kill him. I do. Makes me want to puke. He thinks the women on his show are no more than fornicating meat. And I do mean fornicating meat. They're nothing but window dressing for a bunch of old and young perverts who’ve nothing better to do than drool over bare skin while they wrack their eensy weensy pea-brains trying to figure out how much a goddamn bottle of Hemorrhoid cream costs! ...Bob Barker’s a waste of those women’s talent.

MATT: Okay, mama.

DEBRA: Well he is. You got any damned idea how much it takes to stand there in high heels, ass showing, smiling like you’re happy to be there when all you really want to do is run across the fucking stage and dropkick Bob's scrawny old ass? No? Well it takes a hell of a lot of talent that’s for damn sure…

MATT: Okay. Let’s go inside now.

DEBRA: ON A SCALE OF ONE TO TEN! RATE ME!

MATT: No!

DEBRA: ONE TO TEN MY MOTHERHOOD! RATE ME YOU GODDAMN COWARD!

MATT: A TWO! A MISERABLE, NO-GOOD, GODDAMNED TWO!

DEBRA: (Staggering to her feet.) Why you little bastard! I protected you from him all those years and you give me a measly two? He’d come in all red-faced and pissed and head straight for your room and I’d jump on his back screaming, “Don’t you touch my boy! Don’t touch him!” He’d back-slam into a wall or two while my fingernails camped out in his forehead! I’d scream, “Run, Matt! Run!” And hell, you’d go all Forest Gump out the damn door hauling your gimp ass down main street while your daddy used my head as a battering ram to rearrange the furniture and put doorways where they wasn’t! So I deserve more than a measly son-of-a-bitching two, Forest! I deserve more than that you ungrateful little-

MATT: Okay! A five! Happy now?

DEBRA: A five?

MATT: Jesus Christ. A seven?

DEBRA: No. No. No. A five is good, baby. Five beats the hell out of a two any day of the week. Five's like halfway to perfect, right?

MATT: That’s one way to look at it.

DEBRA: Halfway to perfect. Must be why the angels are playing such beautiful music. Your mama's halfway to perfect, baby. Halfway to-

(She falls over passed out.)

MATT: Shit.

(Lights out.)

SCENE NINE:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Neighbors could only listen to her screams as they were unable to come to her aid without becoming victims themselves.

(Lights out.)

SCENE TEN:
(Lights come up on the couch as MATT enters carrying his mother. He lays her down and covers her with a blanket and puts a pillow under her head. He now stands just looking down on her. Lights out.)

SCENE ELEVEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: Authorities are still trying to piece together the grim picture of what happened and why. Investigators at the scene say it was a complete bloodbath. The worst they’d seen in a lifetime of investigating.

(Lights out.)

SCENE TWELVE:
(Lights up on MATT holding his mom’s whiskey bottle.)

MATT: Why do you drink? Huh? Why drink when your life is already so terribly numb? ...I’m sorry Daddy was such an abusive prick, Mama. If he were here right now I’d slice him from stem to sternum. I’d spread him wide open and find the tumor that was wrapped around his heart and rip it out of him. And when it was throbbing in my hands I’d take the knife and slowly cut away the skin of it, the cocoon, and reach inside and pull the demon out while it was kicking and screaming and when it tried to bite me I’d put my hand around it’s scrawny little neck and squeeze until it turned purple and then I’d stick the knife between its beady little eyes and twist like a can opener. Its eyes would roll back in its tiny skull and its tongue would flop to its chin. Then I’d put the carcass in a mason jar and seal the lid real tight to make sure the stench didn’t seep out and take it door to door across America and ask if they’d seen anything like it before and if they said “yes” I’d tell them how to kill it and instruct them on putting it in a mason jar and sealing it tight, and tell them to carry it across the world. Then I’d go to the next house and the next until some unlucky son-of-a-bitch said “no” and when they said “no”, I’d hand them the jar and tell them how to kill it and then walk across the country, around the world, and ask strangers if they had ever seen anything like it. In twenty years or so there’d be no more demons, Mama. Then we could all go about killing one another like before only then we’d know we were killing human beings who were themselves evil and not innocents with a no good, godforsaken demon living in their hearts! (Long pause.) That’s what I would do if Daddy were here.

(Lights out.)

SCENE THIRTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN.)

TV: One neighbor that lived next door says that the woman literally had her heart ripped from her chest while she was still alive. The man said that her screams and the fact that he could do nothing to save her will haunt him for the rest of his life.

(On the word “life” comes three loud knocks. Lights out.)

SCENE FOURTEEN:
(Lights come up on MATT who sobs loudly.)

MATT: Is there a demon inside you, Mama? In your heart? Is there? I hope there is. I do. I want to believe there’s more to you than this. I want to know that my mother’s not just sorry and loathsome for nothing. I want to know that you’ve been infested with little devils that make you destroy everyone and everything around you. It’s better than the alternative. It’s a hell of a lot easier to understand. ...Is it growing inside of you? Did Daddy give it to you or did you give one to Daddy? See... that would help explain the both of you. ...Is there one growing inside me, too, Mama? Has it been inside me since birth, growing in me, in my heart all these years? ...Then why the hell haven’t you sliced me open by now? I’d rather you had done that than let me go on thinking that all these awful thoughts are my own! If they’re mine then I'm evil! If they’re a demon living and breeding inside of me, then you're the evil one! Wicked for not having ripped it out of me when I was a baby! I’d rather you’d have done that than let me go on thinking that I’m no good! A goddamned little demon dwells in my fucking heart, Mama! See what you’ve done? You let it grow into this! I can’t very well cut my own demon from out of my own goddamned heart and kill it now can I? How the hell would I get it into the jar?

(With a sudden fury he smashes the whiskey bottle into the floor. It shatters loudly. Lights out.)

SCENE FIFTEEN:
(Lights rise on JOHN and his daughter STEPHANIE.)

JOHN: (Holding the whiskey bottle.) Debra Jameson, Matt’s mother.

STEPHANIE: Her ashes? You mean her ashes ashes?

JOHN: Dust to dust.

STEPHANIE: Jesus, Dad, that’s sick. Why would you keep some strangers ashes?

JOHN: For tomorrow.

STEPHANIE: Tomorrow?

JOHN: Matt might come back for his mother. Some life changing event could make him see her differently tomorrow.

STEPHANIE: He put her ashes in a whiskey bottle, Dad. I doubt tomorrow's coming. ...How does one even put ashes in a whiskey bottle?

JOHN: It was her favorite drink.

STEPHANIE: I suppose by that logic I could put your ashes in a bottle of Bordeaux.

JOHN: Good idea, but I'm not going to be cremated.

STEPHANIE: Party pooper.

JOHN: He could come around, Steph.

STEPHANIE: Why didn't you ever tell me about the neighbors?

JOHN: Because I didn't want you to have an excuse to not come see me.

STEPHANIE: That's comforting.

JOHN: Sorry. I probably should have told you.

STEPHANIE: No. I would have come over a lot less if you had.

JOHN: Precisely why I didn't tell you.

STEPHANIE: You saw him throw the bottle in the trash?

JOHN: He put it next to the curb like he wanted me to find it, take care of it until he came back.

STEPHANIE: It's all a bit creepy to me.

JOHN: He had been packing up the house all through the night. I could hear him grunting and cursing his dead mother as he stacked furniture and boxes on top of the station wagon.

STEPHANIE: He drove a station wagon?

JOHN: His mom’s car.

STEPHANIE: Serial killer for sure. Probably out there right now serialing. Lucky for you he moved.

JOHN: He’s not a serial killer. His father abandoned him and his mother when Matt was only fourteen. Just packed a bag and disappeared.

STEPHANIE: How do you know all of this, Dad. Debra? Matt? Abusive father? Ashes to ashes?

JOHN: Ten years you pick up on things. Hear bits of drunken arguments, shattered glass. It was like an elaborate puzzle I pieced together out of all the broken whiskey bottles over the years.

STEPHANIE: Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?

JOHN: I prefer Nancy Drew.

STEPHANIE: Okay, Nancy. Did it ever occur to you that Matt may have started his career with his dad?

JOHN: Stop it.

STEPHANIE: Seriously. All that repressed anger, alcohol, the yelling and of course the shattered glass- metaphor for Matt’s miserable life. No wonder he’s a serial killer.

JOHN: Don’t say stuff like that, Steph.

STEPHANIE: It was a joke, Dad.

JOHN: Not very funny.

STEPHANIE: Jesus. You’re really serious about this, huh?

JOHN: Sometimes we don’t know what pulls at us. We get a feeling. An idea gets set loose in our heads and we do things out of the ordinary, you know? Break the cursed apathy that grips us and react without thinking.

STEPHANIE: I’m sure the Nobel Prize committee has you on their short list, pops.

JOHN: You always were a smartass, you know?

STEPHANIE: My one and only vice.

JOHN: Only one? Ha!

STEPHANIE: What’s that supposed to mean?

JOHN: I seem to recall a young lady who could really pick her boyfriends.

STEPHANIE: I could pick `em that’s for sure.

JOHN: Whatever happened to that musician?

STEPHANIE: Which one?

JOHN: There was more than one?

STEPHANIE: Not at the same time.

JOHN: Faithful to a fault.

STEPHANIE: That’s me.

JOHN: I told you you had more than one vice. (Lights out.)

SCENE SIXTEEN:
(Lights come up on DEBRA on the couch drinking whiskey. She moves her hands and arms as if she is conducting a symphony. After sometime of this her movements begin to look more like she's fending off a brutal attack. This for a good moment then lights out.)

SCENE SEVENTEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)

STEPHANIE: I can’t believe it's been two years since I've seen you, Dad. Europe was wonderful, except you weren’t there.

JOHN: You have been sorely missed, too, my dear. Your letters were great. When you get settled back in you’ll have to show me all the pictures and tell me all the wonderful stories.

STEPHANIE: I was so excited to see you that I didn’t even think to bring them with me. I even forgot your gifts back at the apartment.

JOHN: You were excited?

STEPHANIE: Of course I was! You?

JOHN: Couldn’t you tell?

STEPHANIE: I might have a couple of broken ribs from your bear hug.

JOHN: Sorry about that.

STEPHANIE: You look good, Dad.

JOHN: I feel good.

STEPHANIE: I see you’re still watching the news twenty-four seven.

JOHN: Here, let me turn that off.

STEPHANIE: No. I do the same thing. I got it from you. Leave it on.

JOHN: There are worse things I suppose.

STEPHANIE: It’s depressing, even when it’s muted, but I keep waiting for some good news to come from all of this godforsaken warring. It never seems to come. What the hell are we doing over there, Dad?

JOHN: Mucking it up.

STEPHANIE: The whole time I was in Europe there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t hear someone say something terrible about America.

JOHN: Same thing here in the states, only they say Bush or Cheney.

STEPHANIE: We’re falling aren’t we?

JOHN: Like Rome, I’m afraid.

STEPHANIE: ...Anyway… Sorry.

JOHN: It’s not your fault. It’s all of us.

STEPHANIE: I meant sorry I brought it up.

JOHN: I know. (Pause.) You look wonderful; your face is all lit up.

STEPHANIE: I’m seeing someone steady.

JOHN: Already? You only got back a few hours ago.

STEPHANIE: No. We were seeing one another before I left for Europe.

JOHN: Musician?

STEPHANIE: A professor.

JOHN: Professor?

STEPHANIE: Surprised?

JOHN: How old?

STEPHANIE: Old enough.

JOHN: Older than me?

STEPHANIE: God no.

JOHN: Good.

STEPHANIE: A psychology professor. Remember I told you about the very young and attractive professor that I started seeing my last year of school?

JOHN: Dr. Coats?

STEPHANIE: No! Dr. Coats is seventy-two!

JOHN: Then who? What’s his name?

STEPHANIE: Dr. Elizabeth Gray.

JOHN: Seriously?

STEPHANIE: Very. She’s amazing, Dad. So fucking smart!

JOHN: She’s dating my daughter of course she’s fucking smart. Why didn’t you tell me about her before?

STEPHANIE: Are you kidding me? Same reason you didn't tell me about Matt.

JOHN: Oh sure.

STEPHANIE: No. I was having trouble telling myself and being away from her for a year and a half I wasn’t really sure we'd make it.

JOHN: A year and a half?

STEPHANIE: Yes. Beth took a sabbatical and joined me in Europe the last six months.

JOHN: She was the Beth you mentioned in your last few letters? So Beth is your Dr. Delirious.

STEPHANIE: One in the same.

JOHN: So are you?

STEPHANIE: Am I what?

JOHN: Sure about her.

STEPHANIE: Very.

JOHN: Then I have to meet her.

STEPHANIE: You’re going to love her, Dad. (Lights out.)

SCENE EIGHTEEN:
(Lights up on MATT as he enters the front door carrying a mirror.)

MATT: It’s exactly like the one I broke, Mama. It was only twenty bucks

(MATT has crossed to the couch. DEBRA has choked to death on her own vomit. Her head is tilted out toward the audience and her eyes are open. MATT, upon seeing her, drops the mirror, it shatters loudly. Lights out.)

SCENE NINETEEN:
(Lights up on JOHN and STEPHANIE.)

JOHN: Happy?

STEPHANIE: Deliriously.

JOHN: Delirious is good.

STEPHANIE: I’ll ask her if she wants to come to dinner if that’s alright.

JOHN: Absolutely. You, me and Dr. Delirious. We’ll debate Freud, drink wine, and dance and sing all night.

STEPHANIE: Maybe we could just eat, drink and talk. She says things that’ll even blow your mind, Dad.

JOHN: Then it’s a date, Saturday good for you?

STEPHANIE: Perfect. Think you could stash Debra’s ashes somewhere for the evening?

JOHN: Maybe.

STEPHANIE: I’d rather you did.

JOHN: Not much faith in your old man, eh?

(Lights come up on MATT standing, looking down at his mother.)

STEPHANIE: No. I’ve plenty in you. It’s me. I’d rather not have the whole evening consumed with talk of death-

MATT: Why?

STEPHANIE: -and forgiveness-

MATT: I told you not to drink.

SEPHANIE: -and the noble actions of my father.

MATT: I’m sorry I broke your mirror.

STEHANIE: I’d rather dance and sing.

MATT: It was only twenty dollars, Mama.

JOHN: Since you put it that way I’ll put Debra in a drawer for the night.

MATT: Twenty fucking dollars.

STEPHANIE: And you’ll not take her out after a couple of bottles of wine?

MATT: Now what am I supposed to do?

JOHN: I’ll try to control myself.

MATT: Huh? What now, Mama?

STEPHANIE: So how are you really doing, Dad?

MATT: What am I supposed to do now? (He picks up a large piece of glass and moves closer to his mother and kneels down. Pause.) What am I supposed- What am I- (He begins to cry and drops the glass to the floor.) How am I supposed to feel, Mama? (Lights out on MATT.)

STEPHANIE: Dad?

JOHN: What, baby?

STEPHANIE: Are you sure you’re feeling okay?

JOHN: Yes. Really, Steph, there’s no need to worry about your old man. I'm fit as a fiddle.

STEPHANIE: Dad?

JOHN: What?

STEPHANIE: Nothing.

JOHN: Come on. Out with it.

STEPHANIE: (Beat.) Mom?

JOHN: Oh.

STEPHANIE: I miss her, Dad.

JOHN: Me too, baby. Me too.

STEPHANIE: Fucking cancer.

JOHN: Fucking cancer. (Pause.) Want to go see her this week?

STEPHANIE: Yes. Tomorrow?

JOHN: Tomorrow’s perfect. Forecast says clear skys all day.

STEPHANIE: I’ll get some flowers on my way, okay?

JOHN: Okay. Come here.

(They embrace and cry together for a good moment. As they cry we begin to hear Debra singing “I Wish I Was the Moon tonight”.)

STEPHANIE: Whew… I wish I’d have brought some pictures with me.

JOHN: Bring them tomorrow. We can look at pictures with your mother. She loved Europe, too you know?

STEPHANIE: You two spent every summer in Europe... for how many years?

JOHN: Seven. No. It was eight.

STEPHANIE: Now I’ve spent as much time there as you two.

JOHN: You have, haven’t you?

(Long pause between the two as we listen to DEBRA sing. A good moment of this and then STEPHANIE picks up the whiskey bottle of ashes. DEBRA’S singing fades out.)

STEPAHNIE: Do you really think Matt will come back for her?

JOHN: I hope so.

STEPHANIE: Whatever happened to him?

JOHN: Matt? I don’t know, haven’t seen him since he left his mother on the curb. House has been for sale for about two years now.

STEPHANIE: I’d never buy that house.

JOHN: What? Don’t want to live next door to your old man?

STEPHANIE: No. That would be great. ...How did she die?

JOHN: Who?

SEPHANIE: Debra, Dad.

JOHN: Oh. The bottle.

STEPHANIE: She drank herself to death?

JOHN: Something like that.

STEPHANIE: Poor woman.

JOHN: Poor kid.

STEPHANIE: Him too.

JOHN: He came home and found her dead on the couch. Choked on her own vomit.

STEPHANIE: Christ...

JOHN: Two weeks later he was gone.

STEPHANIE: Did you ever talk to him? Matt?

JOHN: Once about four of five years ago.

STEPHANIE: What was he like?

JOHN: Brooding. Angry. Charming. Lost.

STEPHANIE: Sounds like half the men I ever dated.

JOHN: All the men you ever dated.

STEPHANIE: You’re real funny, Dad.

JOHN: My one and only vice.

STEPHANIE: That’s true.

JOHN: I know.

STEPHANIE: Was he cute?

JOHN: Deliriously.

STEPHANIE: No seriously.

JOHN: I suppose he was nice looking in a Sean Penn and John Malkovitch kind of way.

STEPHANIE: Penn and Malkovitch?

JOHN: If they ever had a child together.

STEPHANIE: I think you’re the serial killer.

JOHN: No. I don’t have the patience for it.

STEPHANIE: You’re not a serial killer but you’ll keep the ashes of some woman you never even met.

(Again we hear DEBRA softly singing “I Wish I Was the Moon Tonight”.)

JOHN: She wasn’t the type of person you just meet. I tried talking with her several times but she was always in such a hurry to get inside and drink the groceries she'd just bought.

STEPHANIE: Speaking of not funny.

JOHN: I know, but it’s true.

STEPHANIE: Another one of your vices.

JOHN: Not being funny or being honest?

STEPHANIE: Honest to a fault.

JOHN: I used to hear her singing late at night. She had a beautiful voice. She used to sing sad country ballads. I’d sit on the front porch with a bottle of wine and listen to her sing all night. I imagined her life was the saddest ballad of all.

STEPHANIE: I’d say so.

JOHN: Beautiful voice, ugly existence.

STEPHANIE: Lucky for me I can’t sing worth spit.

JOHN: I always wondered why musicians found you so attractive.

STEPHANIE: There’s more than one way to sing, Dad.

JOHN: Okay. I’d rather not get into the details of that particular metaphor.

STEPHANIE: I missed you.

JOHN: And I you. ...Glass of wine?

STEPHANIE: No. I have to run.

JOHN: Already?

STEPHANIE: I’m meeting Elizabeth for a drink in fifteen. Want to come?

JOHN: No. I better let you two rest up for Saturday.

STEPHANIE: I’ll be here in the morning with the flowers.

JOHN: Good. (He gives her a big bear hug.)

STEPHANIE: Okay! Okay! My insurance doesn’t cover bear attacks!

JOHN: How about Daddy kisses?

STEPHANIE: Well of course. Don’t all insurance plans?

JOHN: Yes, but some are copay.

STEPHANIE: I love you, Dad. See you tomorrow.

JOHN: Bye, Steph. Love you too. Drive careful!

(STEPHANIE is gone. JOHN comes back inside. After a moment he picks up the whiskey bottle of Debra’s ashes and begins to waltz with her. He circles the room several times and then something on the television catches his attention. He stops dancing and turns up the volume.)

TV: This just coming in from Baghdad. Sources tell us that a member of the National Guard who is on his first tour of duty is responsible for the apparent torture, vicious rape, and murder of the Iraqi woman. The military have also confirmed that the same soldier is responsible for up to twelve similar slayings of Iraqi men, women, and children in the capital city in the past month. The Army National Guard spokesman stationed in Baghdad has just released the soldiers name as one Matt Jameson-

(DEBRA abruptly stops singing. JOHN drops the whiskey bottle. It shatters loudly. Blackout. After a good moment houselights rise and the song ‘In The News’ by Kris Kristofferson begins to play as the audience files out. )

The End

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

(Post show music...Kris Kristopherson)

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HERA'S CHILDREN (A mythological one-act play) 13

2007-10-20T15:34:00.005-05:00

Lights rise on ATHENA (The Virgin), her flesh covered in ivory, her drapery and armor in solid gold. Soon HERA, the Queen of the gods, wearing the polos crown enters. In her hand she holds a pomegranate; the emblem of fertile blood and death (and a substitute for the narcotic capsule of the opium poppy). As she ascends the steps of the Parthenon, ATHENA addresses her.
OPEN THE PLAY +/-

ATHENA:
Hera, good morn to you.

HERA:
And to you, Athena.

ATHENA:
By your countenance it would seem less so…

HERA:
This daybreak I’ve heard a disturbing query.

ATHENA:
Might I answer?

HERA:
You might, were you not a virgin.

ATHENA:
Ha! You know that’s a myth, dearest Hera. There are Romans and Greeks whose foreheads have sprung tales of-

HERA:
Yes! I know, but you should hush, your father might hear you.

ATHENA:
You think I care about what Zeus hears, your husband and brother? I’ve given him bigger headaches at my birth than may leap from this!

HERA:
Yes. That you have, dear Athena. That you have.

ATHENA:
I’m sorry, Hera.

HERA:
No, Athena. You should not be sorry. It’s ironic, but you’re his favorite, you know?

ATHENA:
Curse'd paradox!

HERA:
My tongue still hangs upon the stars …Your father’s a merciless husband! Vindictive, filled with pride, wrathful. The line that separates the mortal man from Zeus' traits is rather thin.

(Long pause.)

ATHENA:
Your question, dearest Hera?

HERA:
Yes.

ATHENA:
Ask it of me and I’ll thunder it back, perhaps lighting your way.

HERA:
Perhaps.

ATHENA:
I promise I shall not attempt an answer. I’ll merely be your pawn.

HERA:
A puppet you’ve never been, Athena, a thundering headache, but no one’s marionette. (Beat.) Very well… If you had to choose, Athena, which of your children would you leave unprotected?

(This stuns ATHENA.)

ATHENA:
Unprotected? What a question! Which of our divine asked you such a thing? Eros? Hades?

HERA:
A mortal.

ATHENA:
A mortal?

HERA:
Zeus’ counterfeit king.

ATHENA:
That scoundrel!

HERA:
In that he is, yet not counterfeit.

ATHENA:
Ha!

HERA:
It was not asked of me, but of the mothers below.

ATHENA:
Zeus put the fool up to this, didn’t he?

HERA:
I’m afraid so. Yes.

ATHENA:
Did you turn this mortal into road kill?

HERA:
No. That would have been an improvement.

ATHENA:
Ha! What became of him then?

HERA:
I left him as he is. There’s more suffering in it.

ATHENA:
Not much mythological appeal, but it is the mother of all punishments. O! What fools these mortals be!

HERA:
And their foolish gods.

ATHENA:
So, which one of your children would you choose to leave unprotected, Hera?

HERA:
(Spoken mockingly.) I'd choose the one that's gay. (Natural pause.) No. The retarded one. (Impeded pause.) The child with A.D.D. (Quick pause.) No. I'd choose the one with A.D.H.D. (Quickly.) The blind child. The fattest! The deaf. (Silence.) The one with the heart condition. (Beat.) No. The one with Leukemia. (Lifeless pause.) The child with the darkest skin. The one that was a mistake! Or the youngest. (Slow turn.) Or the oldest... They've lived a bit more? NO! NO! OF COURSE NONE OF THESE WILL DO! NONE! I would sacrifice the one that's most like me; my voice, my ears, my eyes, my hands, my nose, my mind, my blood, my love. I’d choose the one that is the devil's spawn! The one that cries out when I'm sleeping! The one that screams when I'm busy! The one that pesters me when I'm thinking! The one that raped me!

ATHENA:
O! The gods and their lovelessness!

HERA:
I shall sacrifice your father, my husband and brother! I may end up being hung from the stars again, but his bloody reign must end!

ATHENA:
Now that has some mythological appeal! For this I’ll hang right along with you!

(ATHENA summons a thunderbolt that crashes across the mortal sky. Black out.)

Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman

Play #12

IRAN'S LABYRINTH (A one-act fantasy) 12

2007-03-04T01:37:00.003-06:00

On stage are a large group of massive, ancient trees, center. They appear angry; their limbs extended in a gruesome dance. As the audience waits for the houselights to fade and the fantasy to begin, a haunting didgeradoo solo begins to play. As the houselights fade, the didgeradoo will peak and then fade down, but not out.
OPEN THE PLAY +/-

(Nighttime. MASOUMEH (Sinless, Innocent) stands among the many colossal trees. She is waiting on someone…or something. In her hand she holds a small wooden doll with orange hair. The hair brushes against the leaves on the ground as she waits. The wind begins to pick up now as the didgeridoo gets stronger. Soon the ground around MASOUMEH begins to quake and the wind becomes fierce. The wind is furious, yet she is not lifted by it. Soon MASOUMEH looks up directly at the audience. She holds her doll in the air as if to offer it to them. After a long moment MASOUMEH brings the doll down again, its hair dangling to the ground. After a moment of looking very disappointed at the audience she suddenly darts behind a tree, it is as if she has vanished before our eyes. The didgeridoo intensifies and all lights fade out with the wind and the quaking. After a moment we hear someone approaching through the woods. Lights rise as JAHANGIR (JahAngir- Conquerer of the World) enters carrying a very large box. JAHANGIR is a large man with the strength of many. His face is the face of a man worn from sorrow. His eyes, full of an unreachable sadness. The didgeridoo fades down and he looks into the audiences faces.)

JAHANGIR:
Ah! You’ve come! Good! Yes! Very good! (Beat.) How many are you? (Beat.) Around one hundred! (Number of seats filled in the audience.) I expected more, but looking at your faces just now I see many of you look very eager and that counts for something. Tonight- Tonight we will conquer the enemy of Islam. Together- Together we will bring the beast to its knees! Eagerness is something, yes, but you might also work on looking ferocious! Ferocious! (Beat.) No! That, I’m afraid, is “fear” and that is not something we can have! There is no place for fear tonight! No dread! No terror! No horror! None! Tonight and the next and the next you must be ferocious! You must wear fierce faces! Faces of a lion on the prowl!

(Pause as he stares at the audience, gauging them for ferocious looks. Once he is satisfied that he has found enough fierce faces…)

JAHANGIR:
Yes! Yes! That is what I mean! Ferocious! Ferocious! This will be the battle of all battles! You mustn’t waiver! You must not waiver, flinch… or faint.

(He laughs with an empty echo. The wind suddenly begins to blow.)

JAHANGIR:
No. No. No. Fainting is not an option! Defeat is unthinkable!

(On “unthinkable” he slams the box to the floor. The ground quakes and the wind is again furious. A bright light comes from inside the box. The light escapes through the lid like tiny lasers. The box begins to quiver.)

JAHANGIR:
Shall I open the box? (Beat.) Well? I ask you, you with the eager and ferocious faces…Shall I open the box?

(Black out. Save for the beams coming from the box. The box begins to shake more and more. Suddenly it bursts open with a bright flash of light and then as suddenly as it burst open it slams shut. The theatre is in complete darkness. Silence. Soon we hear something very large breathing upon the stage. After a good moment of this a spot light comes up again on the trees and we see MASOUMEH come from behind them holding her doll. We can see the outline of the "thing" that breathes before us; it is tall and quite large.)

MASOUMEH:
Father? Father? What are you doing?

(The "thing" stops its heavy breathing and turns toward her voice.)

JAHANGIR:
Masoumeh? Masoumeh, what are you doing so deep in the woods?

(We now see that the very large thing was JAHANGIR standing on top of the box.)

MASOUMEH:
To pray, father. To pray for peace.

JAHANGIR:
Peace?

MASOUMEH:
Yes. Peace, father. I pray that the people will not allow empire to rule over their souls.

JAHANGIR:
O my child. My dear sweet, Masoumeh, whose name means innocence, war is not something you should try to understand. It is not for the innocent to comprehend.

MASOUMEH:
Only to suffer, right father?

JAHANGIR:
Do not speak to me with that tone, young lady.

MASOUMEH:
Father, I am not being disrespectful. You are the one that taught me to speak my mind. To always be strong in the face of adversity.

JAHANGIR:
You are not my adversary, Masoumeh.

MASOUMEH:
Why do you stand on a box and breathe like a monster? Is it to frighten them… so they might believe in the cause? Frightened and therefore fooled into believing that the war you ask of them is just? That revenge is a noble reason to slaughter other frightened fools with the same revenge in their hearts?

JAHANGIR:
O, Masoumeh, how can you be my adversary? How could this be? How have you learned of such things? You are but ten years old?

MASOUMEH:
I am twelve, father. I am twelve and I learned all of this from you.

JAHANGIR:
Me?

MASOUMEH:
Yes. Do you not remember what it was you were?

JAHANGIR:
You must go now! Go home, Masoumeh!

MASOUMEH:
Don't you remember what it was that you said? You told me that war, all war was immoral. You said that those that cheer for war are fools and that if I were to meet a person such as this that I should speak to them of peace, that I was not to bend in the wind of their hatred. You said that to defend ones country was honorable, but to conjure the flames of revenge was a sin.

JAHANGIR:
GO HOME I SAY! OBEY YOUR FATHER AND LEAVE THESE WOODS AT ONCE!

MASOUMEH:
Dwell not upon thy weariness, thy strength shall be according to the measure of thy desire.

JAHANGIR:
Why do you not listen to me child?

MASOUMEH:
He who sows the wind harvests the storm.

JAHANGIR:
Masoumeh, you do not know what you are saying! You speak in parables!

MASOUMEH
Father, it is you that said these same things to me. They are your own words.

JAHANGIR:
No.

MAOUMEH:
Yes. It was you that told me to not shrink from my convictions, to not waiver from them lest I be deemed a hypocrite. I speak your words, father.

JAHANGIR:
No. No. No.

MAOUMEH:
The Americans will stop this war, you said. The people of that proud nation will not allow empire to rule their spirit.

JAHANGIR:
AMERICA KILLED YOUR MOTHER! THEY SLAUGHTERED HER WITH THEIR BOMBS! She went to help her family flee before the war began! I told her not to go there! I said the war was going to touch her if she did! I said that America would not spare lives! I said they would rather spare a drum of oil than a thousand innocents! I told her not to go! I said they could make it to Iran on their own! I told her to stay! I begged her to stay! They killed her, Masoumeh! America killed them all! They killed your mother! They slaughtered her beautiful face! They slaughtered her beautiful face! They slaughtered her beautiful face!

(JAHANGIR now drops to his knees exhausted. He weeps loudly. MASOUMEH drops her doll and crosses to her father and pulls him to her. She comforts him as he weeps uncontrollably.)

MASOUMEH:
I know, father. I know. I miss her, too. I miss mommy, too.

JAHANGIR:
I was a coward! Your mother needed me! She needed me! I should not have let her go alone!

MASOUMEH:
I need you now, father. I need you. Our nation needs you to speak calmly. They need you to comfort them. They need you to speak of peace, not fan the flames of war. The neocons depend upon that. The warmongers rely upon our fury. You told me as much before mama left. Remember? Mama would want you to struggle toward peace, father. She would want it for you and for me. She would want it for Iran.

JAHANGIR:
Yes. Yes. She would, my child. I feel so ashamed. I am so ashamed.

MASOUMEH:
You should not feel shame at being human, father. You should not feel shame for that. Your name is Jahangir, it means “conqueror of the world”, but it does not say how you shall conquer it...

(JAHANGIR holds his daughter close for a moment. He stands now and walks toward the trees.)

MASOUMEH:
Where are you going, father?

(JAHANGIR picks up MASOUMEH’S doll and crosses back to her.)

JAHANGIR:
Mustn’t forget your doll. Let’s go home, Masoumeh.

MASOUMEH:
O, father! I love you!

JAHANGIR:
I love you, too, my child.

JAHANGIR:
Give me one minute, Masoumeh.

MASOUMEH:
Yes, father.

(JAHANGIR crosses down toward the audience.)

JAHANGIR:
I am sorry if I scared you. There will be no battle tonight. No war. I am going home to be with my family. I suggest that you do the same. Go home and listen to your children's prayers. They speak of peace. (Beat.) By the way, earlier, when I said I saw ferocious faces on you… I lied. I only said that to rouse the enemy of peace. Please forgive me. Allahu Akbar… (He begins to walk off, but then turns back.) Do not stand in a place of danger trusting in miracles. (Again he begins to turn, but adds his own end to the parable.) And... if you find yourself standing in a place of peace... the miracle is already upon you.

(JAHANGIR crosses back to his daughter.)

MASOUMEH:
Father?

JAHANGIR:
Yes.

MASOUMEH:
I’m twelve. I’m getting too old for dolls.

(MASOUMEH lays the doll down upon the top of the box.)

JAHANGIR:
Come my beautiful innocence.

(They walk off arm in arm, disappearing into the darkness beyond the trees. All lights fade, save for a spot on the box and the doll. The didgeridoo grows ever louder and the wind begins to blow and the ground to shake. The box appears to again be trying to burst open. Dim light escapes it as it vibrates. This for some time until it is evident that the box will not come open because it is being restrained by the doll. Blackout as the didgeridoo echoes its last somber note.)

The End

Play #12

TUMBLE DOWN (A Short Absurd Play) 11

2007-02-12T13:39:00.000-06:00

As the audience files in they see a humble dining room table center. Three humble chairs. Three plates and three sets of silverware. The Dixie Chicks “I’m Not Ready to Make Nice” begins to play, timed to end as houselights and stage fade out. The stage is dark as the last of the song filters through the theatre. Silence. The phone rings. After the third ring it is answered by CHRISTINE. We hear her voice in the dark.

READ THE PLAY +/-

CHRISTINE: Hello? Hey, Carla! …Yes! Craig’s back! He arrived today! Yes! Oh! Yes! …What? …No. No. He is. Yes. Of course, when have you known my football star brother not to look good? Yes. I know. I know what you meant. It’s just hard to talk about, ya know? Yes. …No! You can’t talk to him! …Downstairs. I don’t know. No. Yes. Everyone is very excited to have him back. What? Yes. I talked to him. No! I’m not going to ask him to tell me what happened and I suggest you don’t either. I’m serious, Carla. I am. Don’t. …What? …Yes. Yes. Both. …Yes. Both of them. What? No. Both of them are gone. Yes. Gone. Missing. Gone. …What? No. I haven’t told them. I’m going to do it tonight at dinner. Yes. Another reason I’m glad Craig’s home. Yes. I’m telling them tonight. Seriously.

(Suddenly we hear BARBARA yelling.)

MOM: Time for dinner, Christine! Get off that phone and come to dinner, dear!

CHRISTINE: I gotta go, Carla. Yes! Mom’s calling me. Okay. I will! Bye!

(Silence. Lights slowly rise on the dinner table. TED sits at the left end of the table. BARBARA at the right end. CRAIG, in a wheelchair, sits center facing the audience. CHRISTINE comes bounding in and sits center with her back to the audience directly in front of CRAIG.)

TED: Let’s have a prayer before we start shall we?

(BARBARA and TED bow their heads. CRAIG and CHRISTINE just look at one another.)

TED: Dear heavenly father, thank you for this opportunity to sit with my son again…

BARBARA: Our son.

TED: Yes. Thank you for this opportunity to sit with our son again.

BARBARA: Thank you.

TED: You’re welcome. Lord, thank you for bringing him back to us.

(CHRISTINE moves her chair around the table to sit next to CRAIG as TED continues with the prayer.)

TED: We thought we had lost him there.

BARBARA: We thought he was dead.

(CHRISTINE and CRAIG now begin to mimic the two parents. It is almost as if they are doing sign language to interpret the dialogue, as if the two siblings have a game that they have played since childhood and dinner prayers. It should be funny. Exaggerated and mocking.)

TED: Yes. Thank you. We thought he was dead…and that’s not an easy thing to think of your own son.

BARBARA: Our own son.

TED: Yes. …and that’s not an easy thing to think of our own son.

BARBARA: Thank you.

TED: You are most welcome. I mean, Lord, we hadn’t heard anything but glowing reports from the marines-

BARBARA: Army.

TED: -the military complex. Even from your man in charge.

BARBARA: GW.

TED: GW was saying that everything was peachy over there when it wasn’t.

BARBARA: Isn’t.

TED: Isn’t. Yes. When everything isn’t peachy over there. According to them my son-

(CRAIG begins to tire of the game for obvious reasons and instead begins to slowly rock back and forth in his chair. It is a very subtle movement but continuous.)

BARBARA: Our.

TED: -our son was in no danger because he rode in a big hunk of moving metal-

BARBARA: A humvee.

TED: -surrounded by steel plates and real thick stuff-

BARBARA: Armor.

TED: -and they said he would be safe from things-

BARBARA: IEDs and RPGs.

TED: And angry Arabs.

BARBARA: Terrorists.

TED: Terrible people with no soul. Ragheads.

BARBARA: Shemagh scarveheads.

TED: Religious zealots.

BARBARA: Islamic fundamentalists.

TED: Amen.

BARBARA: Amen.

(CHRISTINE stops mocking. CRAIG continues to rock back and forth.)

TED: Wow. I’m hungry.

BARBARA: Famished.

CHRISTINE: Starving, ravenous, could eat a horse, huuuungrrrrrryyyyyy-

CRAIG: Empty.

(Silence.)

BARBARA: Okay. That’s enough words for one meal. We needn’t worry our beautiful minds with words. Let’s eat and be thankful we’ve the wherewithal.

TED: Good idea, Barbara.

BARBARA: Thank you, Ted.

TED: Now, Christine. Don’t crowd your brother. Give him some room to rock.

BARBARA: Yes. People need room to rock, dear. Craig’s had enough of crowded spaces.

TED: Deserts and heat and crammed full quarters.

BARBARA: Jam-packed barracks of strapping fine warriors…

(Suddenly CRAIG stops his rocking and begins to eat ravenously as everyone watches him. After a good while CRAIG drops his fork to the floor. Everyone then looks aghast as if the world had crashed. After a moment CHRISTINE bends down and picks it up. She licks it clean and puts it back on CRAIG’S plate. Silence. CRAIG picks it up and begins to eat again. Everyone now eats like him and devours their food. The loud smacking and grunting goes on for some time until CRAIG drops his fork again. A moment as all are aghast at the event. Soon CHRISTINE drops her fork followed by BARBARA and TED.)

TED: That was a delicious welcome home meal, Barbara!

BARBARA: Thank you, Ted.. I made it special for our star-athlete son. Isn’t he beautiful?

TED: Handsome. Yes. Very.

BARBARA: Takes after his father, ya know…

CHRISTINE: After daddy?

BARBARA: No. His father, dear.

CHRISTINE: That’s what I said.

BARBARA: No, honey. Your daddy is not your brother’s father.

CHRISTINE: What?

TED: Nope. Our son is not our child.

BARBARA: Do you remember Dr. Fredrickson?

CHRISTINE: Your gynecologist?

BARBARA: Yes. Your daddy was working so much that I had to do something.

TED: I don’t work that much anymore.

BARBARA: Nope. Twenty years ago my one and only love was a slave.

TED: A white slave.

BARBARA: To the system. The oligarchy.

TED: What your mother, my first and only love, except that one weekend in Barbatos, said is true.

BARBARA: That was a fun weekend. I had almost forgotten my dearest. Oh! The joys of being young and childless!

TED: It wasn’t “Oligarchy”, dear. I never worked for them. It was Sears and Roebuck I was a slave to, remember?

BARBARA: Whatever you say, dear.

CHRISTINE: I don’t believe this!

BARBARA: Oh, honey. Your daddy was always working and a woman has needs to be-

CHRISTINE: Stop! You’re saying that he’s not my real brother?

BARBARA: Half of him is .

TED: Just half, Christine.

BARBARA: Your brother is your half brother.

TED: Half.

CHRISTINE: Half brother?

CRAIG: Ironic, isn’t it?

BARBARA: Oh! Stop that! Stop that this minute young man! You are a whole person! God gave you a beautiful soul! I know it was rough over there but get over it! You’re back safe with us now!

TED: Dirty towelheads took my sons legs!

BARBARA: Shemagh scarves.

TED: Raghead bastards took his legs but they didn’t take his State-Championship football trophy!

BARBARA: Shemagh son-of-a-bitches can never take that away from us!

(Suddenly CRAIG slams the table with his fist and the parents freeze in motion. CRAIG now stares front. CHRISTINE watches him.)

CRAIG: Are you there? (Silence.) Are you there?

VOICE: Yes.

CRAIG: I want some peace and quite.

VOICE: What do you call this?

CRAIG: Hell.

VOICE: Yes.

(Pause.)

CRAIG: What’s going to happen?

VOICE: What do you want to have happen?

CRAIG: I want to go back to the way it was.

VOICE: That’s not possible.

CRAIG: Then you tell me what I should want to happen.

VOICE: Rage.

CRAIG: Rage?

VOICE: Yes. Rage is all you’ve left.

BROTHER: I’ve had enough rage to last a lifetime.

VOICE: No. Your rage has just begun.

CRAIG: A throne made of water stands before me.

VOICE: Yes.

CRAIG: An abomination.

VOICE: Yes.

CRAIG: The war-tapped black sky dances upon the black moon.

VOICE: Yes. It has begun.

CRAIG: How much longer?

VOICE: Not long now. Soon.

CRAIG: Will you always be here when I need you?

VOICE: Throughout.

CRAIG: You and my sister are all I care about.

VOICE: Yes.

CRAIG: Can you save her?

VOICE: Who?

CRAIG: My sister.

VOICE: Yes. But she is the only one.

CRAIG: She’s too young to know any better.

VOICE: No. She knows. Christine knows all about your rage.

CRAIG: She does? How?

VOICE: Her dreams speak of colorless horrors.

CRAIG: I don’t want her to know everything I did.

VOICE: You can’t stop her dreams, Craig.

CRAIG: No.

VOICE: No. It is a breathless noise. Unreachable.

(CHRISTINE puts her hand on CRAIGS arm.)

CRAIG: Can I stop my own?

VOICE: No.

CRAIG: Can you stop yours?

VOICE: I don’t dream. I’m not real.

CRAIG: Streaming banners praying for blood dangle from my dreams.

VOICE: I know.

CRAIG: How much longer?

VOICE: Not long.

CRAIG: Am I evil?

VOICE: Evil is merely your good tormented by its famine.

CRAIG: What’s rage?

VOICE: A massive sea monster woven of fleece.

(Suddenly the parents unfreeze and begin where they left off.)

TED: See kids, that’s the beauty of life as an American! No good sonofabitches can’t just come in and take things without paying a price!

BARBARA: It’s called justice! Red hot white and blue pulsating justice!

CHRISTINE: I’m pregnant.

(Sudden silence.)

BARBARA: What?

TED: She said she’s pregnant, Barbara?

BARBARA: I know what she said, Ted!

CRAIG: Congratulations little sister.

BARBARA: Congratulations?

TED: Goddamnit! Our little girl’s a slut!

BARBARA: Harlot! Whose baby is it?

CHRISTINE: Mine.

BARBARA: Who is the father?

CHRISTINE: His name is Almahdi Rahman.

TED: An arab?!

BARBARA: What?

TED: Almahdi Rahman is an Arabic name, Barbara.

BARBARA: I know that, Ted!

CHRISTINE: He is a peaceful loving boy.

TED: When I see his towelhead ass-

BARBARA: -shemagh-head ass

TED: Whatever you call it, he’ll just be another dead Arab!

CRAIG: Now?

VOICE: No. Not just yet.

CRAIG: When?

VOICE: Soon. Very soon.

TED: Who are you talking to, Craig?

CHRISTINE: The voice.

BARBARA: It’s their little game, Ted.

CRAIG: You hear it, too?

BARBARA: These two half-siblings have always played their little games!

CHRISTINE: No, Craig, but I hear you.

TED: The voice? You’re hearing voices, son?

CRAIG: Half-son.

TED: Okay! Half-son, are you hearing voices?

CRAIG: Leave me alone.

TED: They told us that you might-

BARBARA: Posttraumatic stress disorder.

TED: They said that if you heard voices that we were to take action.

CRAIG: You touch me and I’ll-

CHRISTINE: No, Craig! They’re just slaves to the oligarchy, remember?

CRAIG: Staggering and once proud men took flight in jets made of crumbs-

TED: Call the authorities, Barbara?

CRAIG: And tumbled down a hailstorm of counterfeit promises and iniquity!

BARBARA: Pregnant! How could you be so stupid, Christine?

TED: Did this little Arab bastard rape you?

CRAIG: STOP! His name is Almahdi, it means “guided to the right path”! He’s a human being for Christ’s sake! I killed hundreds of them! Me! I did it! I murdered them!

TED: No! It’s war, Craig! Not you! It was war that killed the bastards!

BARBARA: You are not a murderer, Craig! We may be many things, this family, but murderers we ain’t!

CRAIG: Shut your filthy mouths, half-father and half-mother!

BARBARA: I’m your full mother, Craig.

TED: Call the number they gave us, Barbara!

BARBARA: Get me the phone!

(TED runs off stage and suddenly reappears carrying a remote phone and he hands it to BARBARA who begins to dial "the number".)

BARBARA: Oh! That's not it!

TED: Dial the number, Barbara!

BARBARA: I'm trying to remember it, Ted!

TED: Dial it! Dial it! Dial it!

BARBARA: Shut up! Let me think, Ted! 1-800-435-7787? Or is it 1-800-426-3323?
TED: Dial it! Dial it!

BARBARA: Let me think! Let me think!

TED: Dial it! He's hearing voices!

CRAIG: Take me out of here, Christine, before I kill again.

BARBARA: Our son is half-crazy and our daughter's a complete whore!

CRAIG: CHRISTINE!

CHRISTINE: Are you sure?

CRAIG: NOW, GODDAMNIT! NOW!

VOICE: Yes. Now, Craig. Do it now.

TED: (To Barbara.) Did you hear that voice?

(Sudden blackout. …Silence. The end.)

Sunflower (A one woman one-act play) 10

2007-01-10T22:07:00.002-06:00

As the audience files in they see a single flower growing out of center stage underneath a soft spotlight. It is a magnificent yellow sunflower rising up to greet the afternoon sun. A soft violin solo fills the air. Houselights fade and all is dark save for the soft light. The violin swells and the light slowly fades. The music fades out as we hear a woman speaking from the dark. Lights rise on and around the flower now and we see a woman kneeling on a blanket.

READ THE PLAY +/-

WOMAN:
Are you warm enough? I brought a blanket to sit on. I will leave it with you. I’m sure nights here are dreadfully cold. Is that okay? Can I leave the blanket for you? (Beat.) Good. Then I will. (Beat.) Yes. (Beat.) When I leave.
(Long pause.)

The children are doing fine. (Beat.) Chelsea made the honor roll. (Beat.) Wait? No. I- I probably already told you that, huh? (Beat.) That was last year. (Beat.) My mind always travels backward now. Since you were- …Since you’ve been gone I can’t even remember what day of the week it is. Or was I always like that? (Beat.) Forgetful. Harebrained. (Beat.) Yes. Yes. I guess I was. (Beat.) Still, I forget too many things now.

(Long pause.)

William won the fifth grade city football championship this year. I remember that. (Beat.) Yes. It was this year. This month. This week even. I know because I lost my voice for three days. I just got it back today. (Beat.) How? Well you know me… I screamed at the refs 'til I blew out my chords I guess. (Beat.) “What are you blind, ref?” “Where’d you learn to call like that, zebra boy?” (Beat.) “You’re an idiot!” “Penalty?” “Penalty?” “What the f’in’ hell is wrong with you, ref? Are you a g.d. f’in’ moron!?” “Oh! F you, ref! He was not out of f’in’ bounds! It’s a damned touchdown you f’in’ brainless imp of an s.o.b.!” “F you, you stupid cocksucker! F you!”

(Sudden and long pause.)

They didn’t do anything to me. They didn’t even threaten to kick me out of the stadium. Bunch of cowards. (Beat.) They just stared at me… They thought I was nuts! That I was crazy… But they knew. Of course they knew. …All those dazzling and polished PTA Sunday School mothers and fathers with their sideways glances loading their damn kids into their Escalades! They- They know. They know! Everybody knows! “Oh. Poor Jenny. She lost her-“ …”Shut up! Shut up! You think I don’t know you’re talking about me? F you! F you you stupid pretentious bitch!”

(Pause.)

Of course they did, Michael. They knew why I was yelling. They damn well knew. (Beat.) They didn’t do a damn thing to me... Just stared at me in slack jawed sympathy like I was a mortally wounded puppy.

(Pause.)

William couldn’t look at me after the game. He said I was just hurting and that I shouldn’t have gone to his game in the first place. (Beat.) He couldn’t even look at me, honey… Not a word was said on the way home. (Beat.) Well, except Chelsea telling me I was the coolest mom ever. She’s sixteen, what does she know, right? She kept saying how cool I was for telling off the ref. "You rock, mom!" "You f'in rock!" I slapped her. I slapped her across the face. It was so sudden. I don’t know where it came from. I slapped her hard. I don’t know why I did that, Michael… I made her cry. Not the kind of cry from physical pain. More like a staggered and broken soul kind of cry. You know? Like when they came to tell me you were-. (Beat.) It was the same kind of cry. The most awful thing to witness, you know? Mouth open wide, no sound, no breath, no tears... Kind of a gaping, empty cry. (Beat.) It’s more painful to watch than it is to actually do. (Pause.) Needless to say, the ride home was the longest fall off a cliff I’ve ever experienced. The worst kind of silence in the world.

(Long pause.)

After we got home Chelsea went over to Pam’s house. More like she ran to Pam’s house. (Beat.) Yes. You know the girl down the street. (Beat.) Yes. Her dad’s the man that sold us our house. Anyway, William went straight to his room without saying a thing or even looking at me. (Pause.) I could hear him throwing things around in his room for a long time. (Beat.) He broke all of his things. He broke them all with his favorite bat. (Beat.) He broke all of your things, too... He was screaming the whole time. Crash. Scream. Scream. Crash. ...Yelling at me, too. I'm downstairs and he's upstairs in his room yelling and screaming as if I'm right there with him. (Beat.) Then he starts yelling at you. (Beat.) Terrible things, Michael. I had never heard him talk like that before. It scared me. I was shaking and crying and then... everything went silent. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Of course, I panicked. I thought “Oh God! Oh God!” I ran upstairs to his room and he was laying on the bed, what was left of it anyway. He was just laying there reading one of your comic books… (Beat.) Yes. A comic book, Michael. He had your entire collection in his room, and the one he was reading? Superman! He was reading Superman! Super-f'in'-man! It was the only one he hadn’t torn to shreds! Superman... Isn't that ironic? (Beat.) He won't even look at me. He won't. Nobody else seems to have a problem looking at me, just our son...

(Long pause.)

Why, Michael? (Beat.) Why did you have to go to that damnable war? You should have stayed home, Michael. You should have stayed home with your wife and kids. (Beat.) I could kill that son of a bitch! I could!

(She can contain her flood no longer.)

Oh! God! Goddamnit! They just stared at me with that disgusting pity! The kind of pity that can only be found in “Thank God it wasn’t my husband or wife or son or daughter that was slaughtered by those scary fucking Arabs!” The pity of stained ignorance! Fools! Bunch of goddamned fools! Think they know everything! They don’t know a goddamned thing, Michael! Nothing! (Beat.) No! What makes you think you can help me? Jesus! You’re not here, Michael! You’re not here! I need you, but you're not here are you? Your children need you! They need their father more than they need me! I’m here, so why the hell would they need me!? (Beat.) They’re going to grow up to hate, Michael. They’re going to grow up plotting revenge. Problem is they’ll be plotting against the wrong enemy. (Beat.) What am I supposed to do, Michael, huh? Tell them their father was killed by Iraqis? Arabs? By Islamic fascists? By the brown skinned? By people jealous of our freedoms? Huh? What am I supposed to tell them? What's the right thing to do? (Beat.) Does everyone in this fucking country expect me to lie to my children? That I should say that America's the greatest nation on earth? We're the defenders of freedom for freedom's sake? That it was because Iraq posed some threat, orchestrated 9/11, WMD? Well I will not do that! I will not lie to my children! (Beat.) I’ll curse at refs and take all the shitasses' sideways glances, but I will not lie about the reason their father died! (Beat.) I will tell them exactly why. I will tell them that you died for nothing, Michael! For greed! For rich motherfucking assholes so they can get richer! I don’t care how that sounds, Michael! I don’t! I don’t give a damn if the slack jawed PTA try to run me down with their Escalades, I will tell our children the truth! They deserve to know! They deserve to know that you loved them dearly and that you were murdered! Executed by fucking oil barons bent on goddamned empire!

(She is nearly spent now. Long pause.)

I will tell them the truth. I will not lie. I will tell them the whole ugly disgusting truth. I will not pretend. I will not wave the flag and act like the good little patriot’s wife. I won't do that.

(Lights begin to fade.)

There’s nothing left, Michael. (Beat.) Nothing but the truth. The truth and this beautiful sunflower. (Beat.) This sunflower is the truth. It is the only thing left. (Beat.) Isn’t it beautiful, Michael?

(Lights have faded now, save for a single spot on the sunflower.)

Isn’t it just beautiful?

(The spot on the flower intensifies with the sudden and ferocious start of the violin solo. After a moment the music shrieks to a halt. The sunflower stays lit until the audience is gone.)

The End.

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

Play #10The Origin Theatre

Unbind It (A short one man play) 9

2007-01-05T22:58:00.000-06:00

(As the audience files in the stage is bare and dark. Before the houselights fade the sound of wind begins to filter through. As houselights fade the wind grows stronger. Soon from the darkness we hear the repeated sound of a coarse rope being pulled taut. This for some time… followed by silence. From the dark we hear a mans voice.)

READ THE PLAY +/-

MAN:
Listen, children. Never kneel or bend when attacking
When in battle always treat our enemy with honor.
In your body runs the blood of the great land of Iraq.

(A small spotlight now rises on [only] the man’s face as he speaks out toward the audience.)

MAN:
She is crowned in all of your hearts
And on the tongue you are the poem of the poets.
Never let her misfortune shake your sword
Or sap your resolve.
Remain with her always, children.
Always and forever know that you can lean upon Iraq.
She is your mother…she is your father. Your family.
Never turn your back on her. Never!

(The sound of the rope being tightened breaks through the air after “never”. The man glances upward for a moment and then looks to the children.)

MAN:
Do not cry, children,
Instead find laughter…you will need it more
And you can use it to fill your hearts with strength.

(The tightening rope sound again cuts through.)

MAN:
You will need your strength my dears.
The enemies have forced strangers into her sea
And he who serves them will be made to weep.
Here we unveil our chests to the wolves
And will not tremble before the beast!
(Beat.) No house or government can shelter you as she can.
I will sacrifice my soul for her and for you.

(The tightening rope sound again cuts through.)

MAN:
Remember this children, above all else;
Never carry a grudge against your oppressors.
Unbind your soul my dears.
Unchain it.
Set it free to lay with you in the orchards.
Set it free that it might return to the sun.
(Beat.) Your soul needs to remain unfettered
So it might retain its endless spirit.
Your spirit is your soul mate
And you are the soul’s beloved.
Your spirit stands firm and will not fall.
Your beautiful spirits will never fail.
Maybe your blood. Yes.
Perhaps your blood for it is cheap in hard times,
But the spirit is priceless.
Never let them take that from you.
I know these things now.
Had I only learned them when I was your age.

(Pause.)

Now I must pray. Would you beautiful children like to pr-

(The man’s face suddenly drops down out of the light and we hear the piercing snap of bone and the wrenching sound of the rope. Silence.)

The End

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

(Play #9)

Cut and Run (A one-act play) 8

2006-11-30T19:33:00.002-06:00

"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root."
Henry David Thoreau

PROLOGUE

DECIDER'S VOICE: Okay! Okay! Cut! Goddamnit! Where are all the extras? This scene requires bodies! Loads of them! Bring on the fucking children! Quite on the set! Cue the bombs! Mothers start screaming! Fathers get that look of anger and hate in your eyes! Children you just lie there! And roll camera and ACTION!"

OPEN THE PLAY +/-

CUT AND RUN (the play)

Lights rise and we see what appears to be a war movie set. There are lights and cameras and debris and bombed out shells of homes and buildings; all the bells and whistles! There are many dead bodies of Iraqi children, women and men (extras) lying all over the stage in various positions. It is, quite literally, a bloodbath. Down center stage, near the edge, is a huge oversized director’s chair. It looks almost throne-like. On the back it reads “DECIDER”… Soon we hear a walkie-talkie ring out.

VOICE OF ASSISTANT:
Sir? There are no more extras. The few that were left marched off the set ten minutes ago. It’s over.

DECIDER:
(Unseen but from the chair.) Over? Over! I’m the damn decider! I’ll tell you when it’s over you sniveling twit of an assistant! I’m the decider! And as decider I say this movie is not over! It has merely hit a lull! A bump in the road! All movies have delays and whining shitass extras! It ain’t over till the goddamned fat lady sings!

ASST:
The fat lady left yesterday, sir.

DECIDER:
Was she singing?

ASST:
No. She was screaming.

DECIDER:
Screaming?

ASST:
And crying and cursing and throwing things! She trampled over the sound man, the greensman, the gaffer, the grip, and the two remaining extras. They’re all dead, sir.

DECIDER:
Were the cameras rolling?

ASST: …Yes.

DECIDER:
Excellent!

ASST:
Excellent?

(DECIDER now hops down from his chair and surveys the set. He is dressed in full cowboy regalia all the way down to the boots!)

DECIDER:
Yes! Yes! I wasn’t selected bloody decider twice for nothing ya know!

ASST:
Of course not, sir.

DECIDER:
We can use it for the Cut and Run finale! It’ll also be good for the outtakes on the DVD! The people love that shit!

VOICE:
They do?

DECIDER:
Hell yes! They’ll rent it just for the outtakes alone! That, and the funny accents.

ASST:
It’s lunchtime, sir.

DECIDER:
Great! Pick me up my usual and be back here in half an hour. We’ve got a lot of filming and cutting and splicing and cadavers to position for the finale! Cut and Run's final scene! "The Fat Lady Screams"! I’m a genius!

ASST:
Soy milk, sir?

DECIDER:
Is there any other kind, shit for brains?

ASST:
No, sir. Not since the global Mad Cow epidemic.

DECIDER:
Just go!

ASST:
Yes, sir.

DECIDER:
Idiot… Always answering rhetorical questions.

(He walks about nudging bodies with his boot. After he discerns there are none living he calls out.)

DECIDER:
Hello?! Hello?!

(DECIDER’S voice echoes for several moments as he stands in his own cavern of emptiness. Soon he comes downstage and scans the faces of the audience for quite a long while.)

DECIDER:
This is not my fault! (Beat.) If you’ve been in the business as long as I have, my father before me and his father and his father’s father, you get to see this happen from time to time. It’s part of the territory. Come to think of it…I’m five for five. All five of my movies have had massive resistance! …It all began with my debut film of “One Flew over the Whitehouse”, then came “Neo-Con Air Part Two”. I tried the Cinema Verité style with this particular movie. What a load of crap that one turned out to be! I’m not very good at sequels… or the truth… But you go where the money is. At least I do. …But this one! This albatross is not my damned problem!

(Long pause.)

DECIDER:
Where was I? Oh. Yes. After “Neo-Con Air” I directed “The Last of the Neocons”. Raised quite a stink with that one. Sure did. The premise was stupid anyway and it had the additional benefit of being quite implausible. I should have known better, but you go where the money is right? Let’s see, after that behemoth flop I directed a film called “Kill Bill - The Aftermath”. Another damned flop. Not because it was far-fetched, or had a weak plot, or even the fact that it was a sequel. No. It was real enough, but it was my first go at Dark Comedy. My audience wasn’t quite ready for such full bore irony. Neither was I. …Then came the film that was supposed to be my masterpiece. The one that should have sent my marketability through the damned roof! “Mid-Term”. Oh! “Mid-Term”! It was Oscar time, baby! I was going to be king of the world! King of the world I tell ya! King of the goddamned world! Oh! Mid-Term! The glory! The suspense! The spectacular drama of a group of people who won the most decisive election battle in U.S. history! God! What unmitigated drama! Utter suspence and elation! …But, again, my audience, many of them captured, weren’t ready for such high concept realism. A dramatization of the battle that turned out to be the turning point for the entire world isn’t exactly going to keep them in their seats, unless you’re Mel fucking Gibson…

(He roams about the stage again nudging bodies.)

ASST:
This film. This one is my last go, folks. My decider finale. Seriously. I’m done after this one. Hollywood can make a person forget what’s important in life, ya know? Forget who we are. Ruthless bastards! So, I’m going fishing with daddy… or duck hunting with Dick. (Beat.) On second thought…

(Suddenly the walkie-talkie blares.)

ASST:
Sir?

DECIDER:
(Startled.) Holy mother of God!

ASST:
Sir?

DECIDER:
What!? What for Christ sake you goddamned sniveling toad!

ASST:
I quit! Get a different assistant you washed up no-good abusive prick! I called the authorities, too! I told them all about all the dead bodies and that you don’t care! You don’t care as long as you’re making money! Well I’m not that kind of person! I have a conscience! I’ve taken the cashbox, too! You not only don’t have any actors or crew, but now there’s no money! It’s all gone and so is every living soul! They’re all gone! They all blame you for ruining this film! You did it! You barked orders and treated people like dirt! You’re the worst decider of all time! And that’s an extremely long list of asshats!

DECIDER:
You’ll never work in this town again! You walk off this set and you’re history! You hear me? History! H.I.S.T.E.R.Y! Got that?

ASST:
Jesus! You're a stupid bastard!

(A loud feedback is heard as the ASSISTANT has obviously thrown the walkie-talkie. It comes skidding to a stop at DECIDER’S feet. He stands motionless for a good while not moving. Soon he turns and faces the audience. Smiling weakly, he comes downstage.)

DECIDER:
Fishing with daddy.

(DECIDER looks front watching the audience intently. The extras begin to move. They slowly begin to rise like zombies.)

DECIDER:
I am the decider. I’ve decided to go fishing. I’ve already been paid! And they call me the idiot! Ha! I’m rich beyond my audiences imagination so what the hell do I care! Right? You are all going to regret my absence, but you know what? Screw you! Yeah! You heard me! Screw you! My genius is lost on the world! My talents are out of your reach! I know how to get things done in this town! I’m a genius and I’m rich rich rich! I’m the decider and as the decider I get to decide and I’ve decided to go fishing! So screw you! (Turning.) And screw this movie! Agggghhhhhh! What the-

(The zombies are upon him. The women, men and children zombies now begin to devour him.)

DECIDER:
Cut! Cut! No! Bad choice of words! ...Help! Help!

(His emptiness echoes for a good moment as lights fade.)

The End.

Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

The ORIGIN Theatre

(Cinéma vérité is a style of filmmaking, combining naturalistic techniques that originated in documentary filmmaking, with the storytelling elements typical of a scripted film. It is also known for taking a provocative stance toward its topics. The name is French and means, roughly, "cinema of truth".)

(Play #8)

Second Language (A short play) 7

2006-11-14T12:05:00.000-06:00

(A group of Iraqi men and women, old and young sit outside a café smoking and drinking coffee. They are all relaxed and there are no bombs or guns or any sound but the sound, save for that of their voices.)

READ THE PLAY +/-

ONE: I was born on the day the tanks first...

TWO: ...rolled?

ONE: Yes. Into Kuwait.

TWO: All those years ago-

THREE: Seems like yesterday.

TWO: -upon the blistering desert sands my father raised his hands in surrender.

THREE: I too raised my hands. They-

TWO: Yes.

THREE: -only thought I was surrendering…

TWO: Yes.

THREE: I was praying.

TWO: Praying.

FIVE: Praying. Yes.

FOUR: Americans and their tanks and jeeps and humvees and guns and bombs-

SIX: -were everywhere then.

FOUR: Yes. Like locust.

ONE: For a short time English was the regions second language.

SIX: Today.

ONE: Today it is.

SIX: English speaking infidel.

FIVE: We, my father and our friends, were nothing more than puppets for Saddam-

SIX: Yes.

FIVE: -and Saddam was the American puppet.

SIX: Yes.

TWO: We were so afraid they would invade our land and take our pride and lives and oil... but they just left.

ONE: Yes. They left us to the wrath of sanctions.

FOUR: They can have the goddamned oil!

FIVE: Yes.

TWO: So many died.

THREE: So many-

FOUR: -children.

(A sound now begins to cut through the peace. It is a droning noise with an eerie, nightmarish quality to its tone. From here forward the noise increases until, by the end of the play, it fills the stage.)

THREE: The children. Yes.

FOUR: -died… so many.

FIVE: This time around America has been much more efficient.

SIX: Quicker.

FIVE: Deadlier.

ONE: Sanctions were a…

TWO: …a creeping death?

ONE: Yes. …Occupation is…

TWO: …a swooping death?

ONE: Yes.

FOUR: Civil…

THREE: Civil war.

FOUR. Yes.

SIX: The US war machine is like no other in history.

FIVE: They brag about it.

SIX: Yes.

THREE: Crow and crow and crow about it.

ONE: It's a- a-

TWO: -a nasty bird?

ONE: ...No.

TWO: Terrible?

THREE: It's an awful sounding bird?

TWO: Caw! Caw!

ONE: Yes. But-

FOUR: Loud. It's a loud bird.

ONE: No. No. It's-

FIVE: Shrill as a war machine.

ONE: Yes, but- No. It's-

FIVE: Shrill as…

TWO: …empire.

ONE: No. It's...

SIX: Yes?

THREE: Awful as occupation?

SIX: Yes.

THREE: Loud as civil war?

FIVE: Yes.

(Blackout! The noise is deafening. After a moment it suddenly stops and from the darkness we hear ONE's voice ring out.)