Biweekly Theater Writing Challenge: Dolls That Say "I Love You" on Command

I just wrote a scene and I freaking love it.

Dolls That Say "I Love You" on Command

(SAM, a troubled former FBI agent, walks down the street. She grips her purse uncomfortably and hurries along. Soon she comes across a park bench where a little girl in a frilly dress sits, holding a baby doll and smiling at her. She recognizes this as a form of SARIEL, her guardian angel.)

SAM: Oh, Jesus.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Hi, Sam. I’m surprised to see you out and about. Since you think so little of these imperfect creatures God made.

SAM: Oh, save it.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: No, our conversation really got me thinking. It’s a good question, why God would make you all so full of sin and so prone to rejecting Him and all his love.

SAM: I’m not up for a deep theological discussion right now, okay?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Okay, okay. But don’t go. Since we ran into each other, you might as well come hang out a while.

(Sam looks around nervously to see who might be watching.)

SAM: Why do you show up like this? Why a little girl?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Because it means people are a lot nicer to me when I want to sit around and play with dolls.

SAM: People see me talking to you, they’re going to think I’m a kidnapper or something.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Oh, don’t worry what other people think for five minutes, okay? Just sit down.

(She sits on the bench beside him.)

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Check this out.

(He tips the doll forward and back. Its recorded voice box says, “I love you!”)

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Nice, huh?

SAM: So?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: So, they make these baby dolls who say “I love you.” Whenever you want, they just say it to you. It’s a present for you.

SAM: For me? Why?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: You know, since Chris and all.

SAM: Is this a joke?

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Well, you were really broken up about having been left by the person who loved you.

SAM: What? Oh, Jesus!

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: I thought this might fill the void.

(He proffers the doll, making it say "I love you" again. She shoves it back at him.)

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: What? It doesn’t?

SAM: You’re an asshole.

LITTLE GIRL SARIEL: Oh, I’m sorry. You mean to say, a doll that’s built to say “I love you” on command isn’t worth the same as a creature of free will who loves you of his own accord?

(Sam turns to stare at him, disturbed. Little Girl Sariel makes a snotty face and spreads his hands.)

Lame Swans, scene 5 - "Complement"

Yesterday I finished adapting the scene I wrote the draft of during 31 Plays in 31 Days, "Complement," for use in my graphic novel. While I have bits and pieces of other scenes, this is the first one I've done completely. Figuring out the perspectives and the content on each panel is pretty difficult, but I'm actually pretty pleased with what I envisioned here.


SCENE 5 - "Complement"

PAGE 1

Panel 1
LISE enters the studio. Over her shoulder both JASON and MARINA can be seen already in the studio. JASON is seated on a stool, wearing glasses and going through a notebook.
LISE: Jason? I’m here—

Panel 2
Closeup on MARINA glaring scornfully.
MARINA: What’s she doing here?

Panel 3
Closeup on LISE looking disturbed.
LISE: Where’s everybody else?

Panel 4
Closeup on JASON, focused on his notes, not looking at either of them.
JASON: Nobody else today. Just the two of you?

Panel 5
MARINA advances on JASON from his right in a posture of offense. He still doesn’t look up.
MARINA: What for?
JASON: The two of you need to work on your performance in relation to each other.

Panel 6
LISE advances on JASON from the left. He is in the same pose as before, but on the far right this time.
LISE: What does that mean?
JASON: Odette and Odile need to be identical, right?

PAGE 2

Panel 1
Double-width panel. From about chest height, the girls regard each other warily. Only the top of JASON’s head can be seen as he sits on his stool.
JASON: Enough that you can be mistaken for each other, but different enough to create a contrast. Two sides of the same coin.

Panel 2
Closeup on the left side of LISE’s face only, as if it is bisected by the right side of the panel.

Panel 3
Closeup on the right side of MARINA’s face, as if bisected by the left side of the panel. It lines up with LISE’s face in the previous panel as if it were the other half.
JASON: (off-panel, across both panels 3 and 4) So I want you to work on matching each other.

Panel 4
Double-width panel. LISE moves in on JASON in supplication, MARINA has her arms crossed stubbornly.
LISE: Our styles are completely different.
JASON: I’ve observed that.
MARINA: Why would you pick us if you wanted two dancers that looked the same?

PAGE 3

Panel 1
JASON stands up and eyes them in growing frustration.
JASON: Are you even listening to me? I want the contrast too. But you’ve already got the contrast down.

Panel 2
LISE and MARINA eye each other sideways.
JASON: (off-panel) Now I need you to figure out how to complement each other.

Panel 3
JASON sits back down on his stool and consults his notes again.
JASON: Show me the mirror dance. Tell me what you each notice about how the other executes it.

Panel 4
LISE and MARINA still eye each other.
JASON: (Off-panel) Go on, already.

Panel 5
The girl look away from each other, frustrated but resigned.

Panel 6
They turn away from the camera to walk out into the center of the floor.

PAGE 4

Panel 1
LISE assumes the preparatory position, facing right. She looks a little drawn and worried.

Panel 2
MARINA assumes the preparatory position, facing left. She is the mirror image of LISE. Her expression is stern and hard.

Panel 3
LISE’s arms transition into a hide third position. Her carriage is delicate and airy.

Panel 4
MARINA is in the mirrored position of hers. She carries herself with sharp precision.

Panel 5
LISE transitions into a lunge, arms in arabasque.

Panel 6
MARINA mirrors her.

PAGE 5

Panel 1
LISE dips her upper body toward her right side, sweeping her right arm low while keeping her left arm in arabesque.
LISE: Slow down.

Panel 2
MARINA executes the same move with a snotty smile.
MARINA: Can’t you keep up?

Panel 3
JASON regards them from his seat, head tilted in consideration to the right.
JASON: It’s not a contest. What do you notice?

Panel 4
MARINA curls her lip critically as she does a chêne turn to her right.
MARINA: Her arms are a technical mess.
JASON: (Off-panel) Marina.

Panel 5
LISE pirouettes prettily to her left.
LISE: Yeah, well, good thing you’re on that side, because you can’t pirouette to your left.

Panel 6
JASON claps a hand to his forehead in disgust.
JASON: Jesus, grow up, you two. Just do what I asked already.

PAGE 6

Panel 1
Double-width panel. Shot from over MARINA’s shoulder, LISE can be seen to the left of her. Her expression softens as she actually begins to study MARINA. They raise their rear legs in an arabesque lift.

Panel 2
Double-width panel. Now from over LISE’s shoulder, MARINA is to her right and has a hard, critical look. They combre to the side toward the camera.

Panel 3
LISE springs up into relevé, arms in fifth.
LISE: She’s… very precise.
JASON: (Off-panel) Right. She finds the marks and she hits them. You find something, Marina.

Panel 4
MARINA executes porte du bras, leaning back but her eyes turned to the left towards LISE.
MARINA: She’s fluid. Seamless from one step to another.
JASON: (Off-panel) Yeah, everything flows.

PAGE 7

Panel 1
MARINA turns away in a pique turn, but her gaze remains in the same direction. She glares.
MARINA: I feel like I’m dragging myself through so you can match me.

Panel 2
LISE stops dancing in outrage.
LISE: You’re too staccato, it’s all choppy!

Panel 3
Double-width panel. They go nose to nose furiously.
MARINA: I’m not compromising myself just to make you look good!
JASON: (Off-panel) Jesus Christ, get over yourselves!

Panel 4
Double-width panel. The girls turn to face him. He regards them in disgust.
JASON: I don’t have time for this. If I wanted to do a show with just one dancer on the stage for two hours, I’d just do it myself and not bother with any of you.

PAGE 8
Panel 1
Double-width panel. JASON walks off left, throwing up his hands. MARINA storms off to the right. LISE stands awkwardly in the middle, watching MARINA go.
JASON: Go take a break, and when you come back, I expect you to be ready to work.

Panel 2
As JASON walks away toward the camera, LISE can be seen following over his shoulder.
LISE: I can’t work with her.
JASON: Oh, save it.

Panel 3
JASON sits back down on his stool. LISE comes up on his side to the right.
LISE: She hates me. She isn’t going to cooperate.
JASON: Then you make it work.

Panel 4
Closeup on LISE, whose eyes go downcast with fear.
JASON: (Off-panel): You’re the lead, the show’s on you.
LISE: Oh, God.

Panel 5
JASON takes off his glasses and looks at her, hard and unsympathetic.
JASON: But hey, you’ve got it all down, right? Just so you know, Cechetti couldn’t turn on his left side either, you know.

PAGE 9

Panel 1
JASON stands and starts to walk away left. LISE trails after. JASON looks back over his shoulder at her.
LISE: Really?
JASON: He choreographed all his pieces so that he never had to. And he has a whole method named after him.

Panel 2
JASON turns his back on her as he walks away.
JASON: Find some way to make it work, Lise.

Panel 3
Double-width panel. Lise stands alone in the studio, distraught. The top of JASON’s head is visible in the bottom of the panel.
JASON: Back in five. And this time, be a little professional.

The Stand play series - "Wildflowers"

Over the last couple weeks I wrote another ten-minute play based on The Stand. This one is probably spoilery too, so probably only those who don't want to play in future runs should read. The characters featured are Sister Flora Johansson and Violet Wood, both PCs. I like the idea of this scene a lot, though the piece itself probably needs polishing.


Wildflowers
By Phoebe Roberts

FLORA JOHANSSON, a nun, early forties
VIOLET WOOD, a wild young woman, late teens

~~~

(The year is 1849 in the northern California cattle town of Reston. VIOLET WOOD is discovered onstage. Enter SISTER FLORA JOHANSSON wearing her nun’s habit.)

FLORA: Good day there, missie.

VIOLET: What? Oh. Good day there.

FLORA: I’m Sister Flora. What might your name be?

VIOLET: I’m Violet. Violet Wood. Do you… do you want something, sister?

FLORA: I wanted to see if you had a minute to talk.

VIOLET: You want to talk to me? How come?

FLORA: It’s a small town. Hard to miss when somebody new is around.

VIOLET: Oh. Well, yes.

FLORA: What brings you to Reston?

VIOLET: Ah… me and my fellow are just passing through.

FLORA: Have any business?

VIOLET: Oh, no, no business.

FLORA: You sure?

VIOLET: Of course.

(Pause.)

FLORA: I’ll tell you what I think. I think I know you.

VIOLET: Know me?

FLORA: There’s been a lot of talk about that outlaw pair. What do they call themselves? The Killdeer Kids, was it?

VIOLET: I— I don’t know!

FLORA: I think you do. Because I think you’re the little girl half of that outlaw pair. I think you’re a wanted criminal.

(VIOLET startles.)

VIOLET: Wh-what? What’d you say? I don’t know what— h-how’d you find out? Who told you?

FLORA: Nobody needed to. It’s written in your face as plain as day.

VIOLET: I ain’t done nothing—

FLORA: Easy, girl. I ain’t going to turn you in.

VIOLET: You’re not? Then… what do you want with me?

FLORA: I just wanted to have a talk with you.

VIOLET: About what?

FLORA: About… what you do. About how you’re living your life.

VIOLET: I don’t need some sister telling me to be a good little girl and come to Jesus!

FLORA: It ain’t like that. I thought I’d ask after you. See how you was getting on.

VIOLET: How I’m getting on? What’s your angle?

FLORA: (Shaking her head.) Got no angle. Compassion for folks is my job.

VIOLET: You got no reason to worry about me.

FLORA: I wouldn’t say that. Knowing the sort of life you leave.

VIOLET: You ain’t got any idea.

FLORA: Let me take a stab.

VIOLET: Oh, go on.

FLORA: No, give me a try. You grew up in some nowhere place with a mama and a papa that wanted to keep you small under their thumb.

VIOLET: Maybe so.

FLORA: Till you met a dashing young gent who wanted to take you away from your dull old homestead to go on romantic adventures on the frontier.

VIOLET: How’d you know that?

FLORA: It’s an old story, missie. Far older than you are. And I think you ought to know that quite a few what came before you wished their story could have ended differently.

VIOLET: What are you saying?

FLORA: Just that… you might want to get out while you still can. Before you end up the same bad way.

VIOLET: Don’t you try to lecture me! You don’t know what I had to bear back in townie life! Serving rich folks and getting looked at like I’m a little nobody! My mama always keening at me over how she knew I was going to end up wicked!

FLORA: Ah, honey. That’s rough and no mistake.

VIOLET: That weren’t no life!

FLORA: I know.

VIOLET: I had to get out of that!

FLORA: Can’t say as I blame you.

VIOLET: My fellow, Ralph… he got me out of that. He saved me from it. He gave me freedom and adventures and now we’re famous! Everybody knows the Killdeer Kids! We’re somebody now!

FLORA: Still. That’s an awful lot of danger you’re taking on yourself.

VIOLET: I ain’t afraid.

FLORA: Even if there’s no danger to you, there’s bound to be danger to somebody.

VIOLET: Oh, go on.

FLORA: You got guns, don’t you?

VIOLET: Got to!

FLORA: Ever shot anybody? Ever killed anybody?

VIOLET: Ain’t nobody ever died!

FLORA: You sure about that?

VIOLET: We give them a chance to give up the loot and go quietly! Nobody has to get hurt. We ain’t murderers.

FLORA: You ain’t yet.

VIOLET: Never!

FLORA: Even your Ralph?

VIOLET: I know Ralph! He’s smart, he uses his smarts to get the best of other folks. He ain’t some roughneck killer! We’re going to do better than that. We’re going to be another Deadeye and Sally Flowers!

FLORA: (Shaken, saddened.) That’s… that’s what you want to be?

VIOLET: Sure as hell we do. You heard the stories, right?

FLORA: I know them.

VIOLET: They was the wildest desperadoes on the range! Ain’t nobody was as brave or daring or clever as them, and everybody knows it! That’s what Ralph and I are going to be.

FLORA: That’s what you want, is it?

VIOLET: That’s what we always wanted!

FLORA: Of course. Should’ve known, I guess. Everybody wants to go that way when they don’t like the rules. But what they don’t know going in is the life’s got its own rules. Just like anything else. Can’t ever get away from that.

VIOLET: I do what I want.

FLORA: That’s the trouble, missie. You end up having to do things you don’t want to. To make a dollar. To stay alive. To stay those few steps ahead of the law.

VIOLET: It ain’t like that!

FLORA: You telling me you and your boy never got stuck in a tight spot?

VIOLET: Well… no, but—

FLORA: What might happen next time if you found yourself in a corner because things ain’t going like you planned?

VIOLET: Well… I don’t know! I don’t know, all right? But what else are we going to do? Settle down and— be like regular folks somewhere? With all them rules and laws? Ralph and I can’t live like that.

FLORA: All right, all right, we’ll let than one go. Here’s another thing…how is it that you see yourself ending up?

VIOLET: Not as a nun, that’s for sure!

FLORA: Right. I suppose I didn’t see it coming for me either. But I mean when you’re an old one. Too old to go gallivanting all over the range with a gun strapped to your back.

VIOLET: Well, I can’t see us digging ourselves into some old patch of dirt and getting gray and stupid.

FLORA: You got a different plan, then?

VIOLET: We’re going to get rich and famous, we… we don’t need no plan.

FLORA: Fair enough. Suppose you won’t if you end up dead. Plenty of famous outlaws do.

(VIOLET springs up in a rage.)

VIOLET: Oh, what do you know? You’re just some old lady in a black and white bed sheet, you don’t know a damn thing about us! We’re going to end up just like Deadeye and Sally, you’ll see!

FLORA: And how do you know they ended so well?

(VIOLET stops short and turns to look at FLORA.)

FLORA: Let me ask you— when was the last time you heard about the two of them?

VIOLET: They… they ain’t dead. Nobody could’a got them.

FLORA: Maybe not. But they sure as shooting ain’t riding around like they used to! Because they all end up the same way.

VIOLET: You can’t say that!

FLORA: Oh, child. Might be you’ll get lucky. Might be all your dream will come true. But might also be that one day... nothing’s like you planned. When you thought you was going to be a dashing rogue and you feel like nothing but a cold butcher. When the man you thought loved you best out of everything shows you he’s in so deep he can’t do nothing but save his own skin. When your pretty dream of all your romance and adventure fades out into finding yourself alone and with stains on your conscience you can’t never wash clean.

(VIOLET looks at her in shock.)

FLORA: So if you want to be like Deadeye and Sally, you ought to know how you’re like to end up.

(She stands up and turns to leave.)

VIOLET: Wait one minute, there. How do you know all that?

FLORA: All what?

VIOLET: About the life. The outlaw life. And… Sally and Deadeye.

FLORA: I told you, girl. It’s a real old story. You ain’t the first one to live it.

VIOLET: Who… who are you?

FLORA: Sister Flora. That’s all.

(She exits, leaving VIOLET to watch her in shock.)

The Stand play series - "Going Back"

Guess what, I wrote another short play based on The Stand! This one's very rough; it was tricky to write and I don't feel like I got the period diction down this time. But it depicts a very dramatic moment in the backstory of Carson Hill, one of my favorite PCs in The Stand. This one is also very spoilery, so read only if you've played the game. It's going to take a lot of editing, but I like the idea of it a lot. I made myself bang it out even though it was hard, which is the important first step to getting a play made.

The Stand play series - "Going Back"

(An old-fashioned study in the back room of the Barrister Tavern. CARSON HILL stands in his suspenders and rebuttons his shirt. MAYELLA SINCLAIR, in her slip, sits on the chaise and mopes.)

CARSON: Are you sure you can stay this late?

MAYELLA: Oh, certainly. Arlen’s out late with the hands again tonight. He’s always preferred their company to mine.

CARSON: And Rebecca?

MAYELLA: Her nursemaid’s about if she needs anything. She’s far better with the girl than I’ve ever been.

CARSON: You seem glum tonight.

MAYELLA: Oh, I’m always glum. It’s my nature.

CARSON: More so than usual, then.

MAYELLA: I suppose my typical diversions have failed to distract me.

CARSON: Isn’t that what I’m for?

MAYELLA: Well, you’re doing no good for me tonight. I’m so bored I could die.

CARSON: You wound me, ma’am. Is something new wrong?

MAYELLA: It’s only that… things… things haven’t gone quite as I planned.

CARSON: Planned? What do you mean?

MAYELLA: Oh, nothing. Just my malaise. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. Nothing ever happens on this empty range.

CARSON: I’ve never minded that.

MAYELLA: I don’t see how. I’ve never understood why a man of your breeding and education would stay in a town like this.

CARSON: What makes you think I’ve got any breeding or education?

MAYELLA: Come now, darling, I’m no fool. It may escape most of the bumpkins around these parts, but I’m from real society. It takes only a few words with you to give you away.

CARSON: I see.

MAYELLA: And one look around here is enough. This isn’t any cowboy roadhouse.

CARSON: Nobody’s ever back here except you.

(MAYELLA rises and goes to the bookshelf over the desk to rifle through the contents.)

MAYELLA: See, you have too many books to be just another roughneck. And… is this a playbill for The Spanish Tragedy? Where did you ever see this?

(He takes the playbill out of her hands and files it back on the bookshelf.)

CARSON: Mayella. It’s not polite to pry into a man’s things.

(She sighs exaggeratedly.)

MAYELLA: Fine. I suppose this place has worn away my manners. Of course, I have always given you your privacy. I never pried all those times you avoided telling me where you came from to this godforsaken town.

CARSON: It’s not something I like to talk about.

MAYELLA: I know, you’ve made that clear.

CARSON: It isn’t all theaters and galas back in the cities, you know. Where you get society, you also get a lot of shady fellows trying to take advantage of it.

(CARSON turns away as he speaks. While his back is turned, MAYELLA begins looking through the items in the shelf and desk again.)

CARSON: It’s peaceful out here. I like that peace. No… hustle and bustle. No scheming politicians. No wrangling for control, no twisting the law into knots. Just a lot of cowboys working to make a living.

(MAYELLA finds a letter. She unfolds and begins to read it.)

CARSON: Sure, it’s dull, sometimes, but I say it’s a fair change of pace.

(CARSON turns back around to see her reading the letter.)

CARSON: Jesus Christ, Mayella, what are you doing? Give me that, now.

(He reaches for the letter but she yanks it out of the way.)

MAYELLA: This is a letter… from your father? Jackson Hill, esquire? Yelling at you to come back home and take up your responsibility before you shame the family name?

CARSON: I asked you not to go through my things.

MAYELLA: What responsibility? What have you done?

CARSON: That is none of your never mind!

MAYELLA: This letter is from Albany! You got rich family back in Albany? This is what you’ve been keeping from me?

CARSON: Mayella—

MAYELLA: Carson, you tell me what this is right this minute!

(CARSON glares at her for a moment, then relents.)

CARSON: All right. All right, Mrs. Sinclair. You always wanted to know what brought me out to the territory. Well, I’ll tell you. You’re right, Mayella. I do come from breeding and money. My family runs one of the biggest tobacco plantations in George, and my pap was the head of the toniest law firm in Albany. I was going to follow after him. I was a prodigy. Graduated Harvard at sixteen, aced every other fellow in law school. I had everything in the world ahead of me.

MAYELLA: You’re a lawyer come from money, and you’re running some saloon out here?

CARSON: That isn’t the end of it. To make my fortune, my uncle sent a man from a neighboring plantation who wanted me to represent him in a case. Mr. Richard Corbett, a cotton baron, a real high roller down south. He wanted the state of New York to return five runaway slaves to him that had escaped past the border. The state didn’t want to return them. But I argued that case, used every legal trick in my book, and I got them back. Was a hell of a piece of lawyering, I’ll say that myself. And Corbett was pleased. He invited me down to his place in thanks. I hadn’t been on a plantation in a long time… and I saw what it was really like. All those slaves working themselves to the bone under the whips of their masters. Suffering, dying... I turned to Corbett and asked him what he did with the property I returned to him. He told me he had them beaten and set the dogs on them to make an example to the others. All because of what I did. I got them sent back to that hell. And there I was, feeling like I’d killed them myself, when all anybody could talk about was what a triumph of law I’d accomplished.

(Pause.)

CARSON: So that’s it, Mayella. That’s why I ran out here. That’s the culture and society that I came out here from.

(MAYELLA claps her hands over her mouth. She starts wordlessly laughing.)

CARSON: What’s gotten into you?

MAYELLA: Carson— what are you frowning over? This— this is wonderful!

CARSON: What? No, it ain’t!

MAYELLA: Don’t you see? We can go back. We can get away from this cow town forever.

CARSON: What are you talking about?

MAYELLA: You’ve got a place there, your father wants you back.

CARSON: He’s mad as hell at me for running off! He doesn’t understand what it did to me.

MAYELLA: There’s something for you back there! Money, family, society! You could take me away from here. We could get married and have a real life!

CARSON: Married? You’re already married!

MAYELLA: I don’t care about Arlen, he dragged me out to the middle of nowhere and forgot about me!

CARSON: He’s still your husband.

MAYELLA: I’ll get a divorce. You’re a lawyer, you could divorce us!

CARSON: You want that scandal on your head?

MAYELLA: Once we’re back east, that won’t matter! Who’ll give a damn about a scandal out on some frontier?

CARSON: And what about Rebecca? Doesn’t she matter?

MAYELLA: I don’t want to think about her anymore!

CARSON: How can you say that? She’s your child, for God’s sake!

MAYELLA: I’m no good to anyone like this, much less that girl.

CARSON: You can’t just leave your own child.

MAYELLA: Carson, this place is killing me! You’ve got to get me out of here!

CARSON: Mayella, I’m not going.

MAYELLA: What do you mean?

CARSON: Don’t you understand? I couldn’t bear that life anymore. I came out here to escape all that.

MAYELLA: How could you choose life in this nowhere to having a place somewhere real?

CARSON: Because out here there ain’t nobody celebrating the worst thing I ever did! I’d run to Russia if that’s what it took to never know that again.

MAYELLA: But… I thought you loved me. I thought you loved me enough to save me. Don’t you?

(CARSON is silent.)

MAYELLA: Of course not. Of course not.

CARSON: I care you for you, Mayella. And I’m sorry you feel so trapped. But I am never going back there. Not for you, not for anybody.

(MAYELLA looks at him in uncomprehending shock for a moment. Then she starts shaking and breaking into hysterics.)

MAYELLA: No. No. You can’t… you can’t just leave me here! You can’t just condemn me to this place!

CARSON: Mayella, be reasonable.

MAYELLA: I thought you’d be the one to save me from all this. But you’re abandoning me when I need you!

CARSON: Hush up, someone will hear you.

(He goes to her to quiet her, but she struggles.)

MAYELLA: You’ll regret this, my love. You’ll be so sorry for what you’ve done to me. You’ll see!

CARSON: Mayella, you’re talking crazy!

MAYELLA: Just wait. Just wait, Carson Hill. You’ll see. You’ll see. You’re going to regret this, mark my words.

(She shoves him off, grabs the rest of her clothes in an armful, and runs out. CARSON collapses on the chaise and rakes back his hair, stricken.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #31 - "Have That Dance"

I did it. I'm finished. I wrote a play for every day of the month of August. And I don't hate this one I'm finishing with either.

Christ. I used different names in an effect to not be distracting, but I’m sure you know who these people are. If I choose to do anything further with this, I should probably adapt it into a fic, rather than trying to hammer it into a distinct usable play.

Day #31 - "Have That Dance"

(An old woman, LENA, sits in a chair. Enter NICK, a very handsome, very fit young blond man carrying a bouquet of red roses. She turns around in her chair to look at him.)

LENA: You came.

NICK: Yes. I’m… sorry it took so long.

LENA: I saw the reports on the news. How they’d found you. How you were back after all this time.

NICK: I meant to call you. I wanted to. I just…. I didn’t know what to say. And then, everything happened, and I—

LENA: Not a word of that. I understand. I wanted to call you, but… I didn’t know what to say either.

NICK: I couldn’t… I couldn’t not see you.

(He proffers the bouquet.)

NICK: These are for you.

(She takes them and starts to cry. NICK kneels down beside her.)

NICK: I— I’m so sorry. If I shouldn’t have come—

(She sets the bouquet aside.)

LENA: Oh, no! Never that. It’s only—oh, Nick, you don’t know how I’ve missed you. After you were lost, and then all this time… I thought you were dead.

NICK: I was. In a way. But… after the procedure… I don’t know how it happened, but I survived.

LENA: Look at you. My God. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are.

NICK: Lena…

LENA: That wasn’t the sort of thing ladies said in those days, but I wish I had. There never was a man as beautiful.

NICK: Not as beautiful as you.

LENA: And look at me now. I’m an old woman.

NICK: Still. It’s… it’s so good to see you. I was afraid I’d never see you again.

LENA: So much time has gone by. A lifetime, Nick.

NICK: A lifetime, yes…

(He indicates the pictures on her table.)

NICK: Is this your husband?

LENA: Charles. Yes. He passed almost ten years ago.

NICK: He looks… he looks like a decent man.

LENA: He was.

(Pause.)

LENA: I’m so sorry, Nick.

NICK: You don’t have to apologize.

LENA: I did wait, you know. As they searched for you. Even after everyone else had given up hope. I never wanted to be with anyone else. But the years went by, and you stayed gone…

NICK: You had a life to live.

LENA: At that point, it seemed like Charles made more sense than waiting for a ghost.

NICK: Do you have children?

LENA: Yes. Two. This is Alexandra, my eldest… and this is her younger brother.

NICK: What’s his name?

LENA: Nicholas.

NICK: Oh, Lena.

LENA: Charles was a good man, and I loved him, but… he wasn’t you, Nick. Nobody could ever be you.

NICK: I’m—so sorry. I’m so sorry I had to leave you. I thought— I thought it was the only way. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to do… so many things… that I never had the chance to.

LENA: We had a date.

NICK: That was where I would have started. And I would have learned how to dance. And… I would have told you that I loved you.

LENA: Oh, Nick.

NICK: I wanted to. The time wasn’t right then, so I didn’t. We weren't at that place yet. But now… now it’s way past time. I love you, Lena. You’re the one I was waiting for.

LENA: I love you, too, Nick. I always have, even all through the years with Charles. And God help me, I always will. For however long that is.

NICK: Lena, I’m here now—

LENA: No— none of that, Nick. Don’t… don’t say anything about that, not right now. Just… just be here, for a while. Be here with me.

NICK: I’ve waited seventy years to do that. I still owe you a dance, you know.

LENA: Yes, you do.

(He stands and extends his hand to her to help her frail body from the chair.)

NICK: You promised to teach me.

LENA: Yes. It’s about time you learned.

(He pulls her close and she begins slowly showing him some old-fashioned steps.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #28 - "Better Design"

This piece follows my previous Project Runway-inspired piece, "Slimming." I kind of like this character of Freddy Moreau, a talented but emotionally fragile young man based on my current favorite PR designer Christopher Palu (who won last night with an elegant design, woohoo!) I also like dealing with body image issues inherent in the fashion industry, so it's a cool topic to get into. I think I could write something interesting about Freddy learning that.

Day #28 - "Better Design"

(FREDDY MOREAU and OTTO JOHANSSON work in a design studio. OTTO dresses a mannequin while FREDDY cuts bias strips at a worktable.)

FREDDY: I screwed up. I ruined everything.

OTTO: I’m sure you didn’t ruin everything.

FREDDY: Still, I really screwed up. She hates me now.

OTTO: What do you even do that was so bad?

FREDDY: Basically made her feel like I thought she was fat.

OTTO: Aw, shit.

FREDDY: Yeah!

OTTO: So, is she?

FREDDY: Is she what?

OTTO: Is she fat?

FREDDY: Otto! That’s not the point.

(OTTO stares.)

FREDDY: Okay, sort of. She’s like a size ten, maybe twelve.

OTTO: Geez.

FREDDY: The point is, I made her feel that way!

OTTO: Yeah, you can never do that. What’d you do, anyway?

FREDDY: I tried to steer her toward a slimming design.

OTTO: Oh, I don’t blame you.

FREDDY: Why? I completely screwed up.

OTTO: Well, it’s hard to design for big people.

FREDDY: Otto!

OTTO: It is! In school, I never made anything for anyone any bigger than a six.

FREDDY: I want to have more clients than just the world’s three supermodels, dude.

OTTO: Seriously, though! Don’t beat yourself up. Fat people never look good in high fashion designs—

FREDDY: Oh, Christ.

OTTO: —but if you stick them in something that doesn't make them look thinner they get mad at you. You can’t win.

FREDDY: She didn’t want me to make her look thin.

OTTO: Seriously? And you’re doing that?

FREDDY: She wasn’t happy with the designs I was giving her, so I had to come up with something else. That’s what you do when you’re working for a client!

OTTO: But you’re the designer! You’re supposed to have better taste than her. If she ends up looking terrible, everybody will blame you.

FREDDY: She’s going to be wearing my stuff. She’s not going to look terrible.

OTTO: She will if everybody thinks she looks fat!

FREDDY: Jesus, Otto. If I sounded to her like you do now, no wonder everybody thinks we’re all assholes.

OTTO: That’s the way it is. It’s not my fault.

FREDDY: You know what, I think Heidi was right. If that’s all anybody thinks, then I must be a pretty shitty designer.

(He sweeps all his materials off the table.)

FREDDY: Maybe you can’t handle it, but I’m much better than that.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #27 - "Gunning"

Another short scene from my ballet story for my graphic novel. Still need a name, probably something that is a play on Swan Lake. As you can observe from these pieces, I suck at titles.

Day #27 - "Gunning"

JOANNA: How did the audition go?

LISE: Great. Well, okay. Well, I have no idea.

JOANNA: You really have no idea how you did?

LISE: Oh, I don’t know. I might feel okay about it, but the way he looks at me, I don’t know if I can trust myself to judge.

JOANNA: Who, Jason? I seriously doubt he thinks as little of you as you seem to think he does. I mean, he’s given you roles before.

LISE: Yeah, but you don’t see how he is. Like… like no matter how hard I try, I am never going to do well enough for him. No matter how well I think I do, he always pushes for more.

JOANNA: No wonder you’re so stressed out. He sounds like a pain.

LISE: No! It’s not him. Joanna, he’s brilliant. He has so much talent and creativity, and all this passion for dance… if anything, it’s because I’m not good enough.

JOANNA: You’re an amazing dancer, Lise.

LISE: Not amazing enough. Not for him, anyway. But believe me, he’s not the problem.

JOANNA: Then what is it?

LISE: It’s… this other girl. This other dancer in the company.

JOANNA: Which one?

LISE: Her name’s Marina. Maybe it’s crazy, but I feel like… like she’s gunning for me.

JOANNA: Oh, come on.

LISE: Not like that! Like she sees me as competition, and she wants me out of the way.

JOANNA: Well, as far as I’m concerned, you are the dancer to beat.

LISE: She’s really good, Jo. And she’s good at all the things that were tough for me. She’s clean, she’s precise, she’s consistent… Jason’s got to see that.

JOANNA: Was she at the audition too?

LISE: Yeah.

JOANNA: How’d she do?

LISE: I wasn’t really able to watch her. But I’m sure she was great. She has so much focus, you know? I bet she wasn’t second-guessing herself, trying to gauge Jason’s reaction.

JOANNA: I hope you didn’t trip yourself up worrying about him rather than what you were doing.

LISE: Geez. That’s probably exactly what I did.

JOANNA: Don’t beat yourself up too much about it. That seems like exactly the way to psych yourself out.

LISE: I just… don’t know if I have it, you know?

JOANNA: I know. But that’s one way to never find out.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #24 - "The Old House"

This is based on a truly fabulous scene from The Golden Girls featuring some excellent acting by Betty White and some brilliant, spot-on-for-the-character writing. I love that show, and I love how it deals with issues so rarely seen on prime time television.

Day #24 - "The Old House"

(An older lady, ELLA OSSING, cooks in her kitchen. The table is laid with two places of fancy china and has tall candles on it. ELLA lays her meal in a pretty dish and brings it to the table. She lights the candles with a match and sits down. She addresses the place across from her.)

ELLA: Surprise, Bill. Montalcino chicken and figs! Well, I guess it’s not really a surprise. I make your favorite every anniversary. And, well… I always make your favorite when I have something tough to tell you. I hope you won’t be upset, Bill, but… I’m thinking of moving. Of selling the house. I know, I know. We’ve got so much time in this house. It’s not like I want to leave. Feels like I just got it all done up the way I like it. Goodness, I don’t like the idea of anyone greasing up my countertops or letting their dog mess up my Berber carpets. I don’t like the idea of leaving the place where we’ve got so many memories. God. I miss you, Bill, I miss you so much. That’s why I’ve stayed. Because I like looking around the house and remembering… everything we did here. The kids’ birthdays, and the block parties, and watching movies on the couch. When I’m here, it’s easier to pretend that things are just the way they always were. It’s less lonely with those memories. But, Bill… it’s still lonely. There’s not much here for me besides those memories. I like setting places for you and playing your favorite radio shows and keeping your shirts ironed, but… it just makes me see all the places where you should be where you aren’t anymore. I read in a book just now that stuff is all just ways of making the dead stay dead. I don’t want that, Bill. I want you along with me. So I can’t just… stay here where I used to be, doing things that keep you dead. That’s not good for either of us. That’s what’s keeping me from moving on with my life. I could have a long time left, you know. So I think I’m going to have to start somewhere new. Somewhere without… all of this to hold me back in old things. So… that’s why I’m selling the house. To get that new start. Not sure where yet. I’ll have to do a little research. But I’m looking forward to it, actually. It’ll be hard, letting go… but after that, I think it will be good for me. And that’s what you always wanted for me. So I knew you would understand.

(She serves herself some of the dinner and picks up a fork.)

ELLA: I love you, Bill. Happy anniversary.

(She begins to eat the lovely meal.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #23 - "Lie Down and Die"

This piece attaches to the very first one I wrote for my 31 Plays 31 Days challenge, which comes from an idea for a play about a model who must cope with rebuilding her life and identity after being horrendously disfigured in an assault. This section has a psychiatrist tell her she still has a life ahead of her and insist that she get busy living, or get busy dying.

Incidentally, I submitted piece #1, Pretty is Power, for a "one page play" call. You may be amused to know that the theme was "Heroine." That section alone is a bit horrific out of context, and perhaps even a bit disgusting when you think of it as relating to theme of "Heroine," but I kind of like the awful turnabout of it. I think deep down I am a creep.

Day #23 - "Lie Down and Die"

(Former supermodel CHRISTINA MORAY lies around on a chaise in a bathrobe. Her face is completely covered by bandages and a mask.)

(A professional middle-aged woman, DR. MAUREEN BELL, enters at a respectful distance.)

DR. BELL: Miss Moray?

(CHRISTINA sits up and spins to face away from her.)

CHRISTINA: Who’s there?

DR. BELL: Dr. Maureen Bell. Your assistant let me in.

CHRISTINA: Who the hell are you?

DR. BELL: I’m the psychiatrist your primary care providers referred you to. You were supposed to call me, but you never did.

(CHRISTINA stands and moves off.)

CHRISTINA: So you just barge in here?

DR. BELL: Dr. Gorman was concerned about your mental state, so when I didn’t hear from you I thought it might be prudent to check in in person.

CHRISTINA: Ah, because I’ve become a crazy shut-in.

DR. BELL: It is a fairly significant behavioral change.

CHRISTINA: Oh, yeah, huge red flag!

DR. BELL: Of course, it’s understandable. You have suffered an enormous trauma.

CHRISTINA: Ha!

DR. BELL: That’s the sort of thing a person needs help to deal with.

CHRISTINA: Help? You’re going to help me do what?

DR. BELL: Process what happened to you, and move forward from it.

CHRISTINA: Move forward? You’re going to help me move forward?

DR. BELL: That’s my hope.

(CHRISTINA turns around to stare her down.)

CHRISTINA: Didn’t anybody tell you what happened to me, doc?

DR. BELL: Yes. You were horrifically assaulted.

CHRISTINA: Assaulted? Nobody stole my goddamn purse! Nobody jumped out of the bushes and raped me! Let me make it perfectly clear to you— some freak threw hydrochloric acid at me and melted my entire face off! How the hell do you move forward from that?

DR. BELL: You have to do something to take care of yourself, or you’ll be destroyed.

CHRISTINA: Are you kidding me? I’m already destroyed! I was the most beautiful woman most people would ever see, and now I have to consider myself lucky that I can even still talk! Forget my fucking career! I don’t even look like a person anymore!

DR. BELL: But you are. You’re still a person.

CHRISTINA: No, I’m not!

DR. BELL: You can still have a life.

CHRISTINA: What life? My life is over! I’m not who I was! Everything over! There’s nothing left! I don’t want to move forward, I want to fucking kill myself!

DR. BELL: Then why haven’t you?

(CHRISTINA freezes, looks at her, then collapses on the chaise.)

DR. BELL: Yes, your old life is over. So you’ve got to make a new one. Unless you really do want to lie down and die.

(She turns and starts to exit.)

DR. BELL: I’ll see you tomorrow at two o’clock. We’ll get started then.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #22 - "Complement"

Another piece that came of thinking about my graphic novel project. Which still needs a name, now that I think of it. This'll need a lot of work, but I'm just struggling to get all my pieces done for the challenge.

The ballet they will be doing in the piece is Swan Lake. I didn't want to do that, as another prominent ballet-themed property The Black Swan used it recently, but its plot serves the rivalry I wanted so well.

Day #22 - "Complement"

(A rehearsal studio. JASON the director is flipping through a notebook. MARINA is carefully stretching her legs, the picture of focus. LISE enters, surprised.)

MARINA: What’s she doing here?

LISE: Where’s everybody else?

JASON: Nobody else today. Just the two of you.

MARINA: What for?

JASON: The two of you need to work on your performance in relation to each other.

LISE: What does that mean?

JASON: Odette and Odile need to be identical enough that you can be mistaken for each other, but different enough to create a contrast. Two sides of the same coin. So I want you to start working on matching each other.

LISE: Our styles are completely different.

JASON: I’ve observed that.

MARINA: Why would you pick us if you wanted two dancers that looked the same?

JASON: Are you even listening to me? I want the contrast too. But you’ve already got the contrast down. Now I need you to figure out how to complement each other.

(They look at each other warily.)

JASON: Show me the mirror dance. Tell me what you each notice about how the other executes it. Go on, already.

(They take their places facing each other and begin to perform a dance with movements that mirror one another.)

LISE: Slow down.

MARINA: Can’t you keep up?

JASON: It’s not a contest. What do you notice?

MARINA: Her arms are a technical mess.

JASON: Marina.

LISE: Yeah, well, you can’t pirouette on your left side.

JASON: Jesus, grow up, you two. Just do what I asked already.

(They continue dancing, watching one another.)

LISE: She’s… very precise.

JASON: Right. She finds marks and she hits them. You find something, Marina.

MARINA: She’s fluid. Seamless from one step to another.

JASON: Yeah, everything flows.

MARINA: I feel like I’m dragging my through so you can match me.

LISE: You’re too staccato, it’s all choppy.

MARINA: I’m not compromising just to make you look good!

JASON: Jesus Christ, get over yourselves. I don’t have time for this. If I wanted to do a show with just one dancer on the stage for two hours, I’d just do it myself and not bother with any of you. Go take a break, and when you come back, I expect you to be ready to work.

(MARINA storms off.)

LISE: I can’t work with her.

JASON: Oh, save it.

LISE: She hates me. She isn’t going to cooperate.

JASON: Then you make it work. You’re the lead, the show’s on you.

LISE: Oh, God.

JASON: But hey, you’ve got it all down, right? Just so you know, Cechetti couldn’t turn on his left side either, you know.

LISE: Really?

JASON: He choreographed all his pieces so that he never had to. And he has a whole method named after him.

(JASON turns to exit.)

JASON: Find some way to make it work, Lise.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #21 - "Don't Tell Anyone"

Working out more bits for use in my graphic novel. Right now the one particular thread of it is standing out in my mind, so I am writing out pieces involving that thread while I have the inspiration to do so.

Day #21 - "Don't Tell Anyone"

(MARINA is collapsed in a heap, her face contorted in pain. LISE rushes over.)

LISE: Marina, what's wrong!?

(MARINA struggles to pull up her tight. LISE comes over and helps her.)

LISE: Here, let me...

(MARINA's knee is bulgy and covered with a dark bruise.)

LISE: Oh, my God...

(She stands up to go.)

LISE: I'll— I'll go get someone. I'll get Jason—

(MARINA heaves herself up and clamps onto Leto's arm to stop her, pulling her close so that the two girls are facing each other.)

MARINA: No! Not Jason!

(MARINA drags herself up from the ground.)

LISE: You need help!

MARINA: What I need is for you to shut up!

(MARINA sits and extends her injured leg in front of her.)

MARINA: Shut up and grab onto me.

LISE: What?

(MARINA grabs LISE's arms and places her hands on her calf just below her swollen knee.)

MARINA: Grab on! Right here!

LISE: O-Okay...

MARINA: Now pull.

(LISE looks up at her in horror.)

MARINA: Just pull!

(LISE pulls tentatively.)

MARINA: Ahhhhhh!

(LISE releases her leg.)

LISE: Marina—!

MARINA: Just do it!

(Again LISE pulls, face screwed up and turned aside. MARINA grits her teeth in agony, but her knee back into place. She makes a small sound of mixed pain and relief.)

MARINA: Ahhh! Oh, thank God!

(MARINA grabs onto LISE.)

MARINA: Now help me up.

LISE: You need a doctor or something—

(MARINA reaches down to roll her tight back down, holding onto LISE for balance.)

MARINA: I have to go back on!

LISE: You can't go on like this!

MARINA: Watch me!

LISE: Marina—

MARINA: And don't you dare tell anyone about this! Don't you dare.

(MARINA dances back out as if nothing happened. LISE hangs back, looking after her in shock.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #20 - "Last Shot"

Been picking away at my graphic novel idea. So today's piece is an important scene near the climax of that story that I want to adapt for the comic. I feel kind of bad spoiling what's supposed to be one of the most powerful moments before I even introduce the story, but I had to write something for today, and it was one of the most fully formed moments in my mind.

I am borrowing an element of my ten-minute play Fountain Thoughts, of the performer who is reluctant to go on and runs away to wade in the water while she's trying to make up her mind. I think this can be a powerful motif and tie into some thematic elements of the greater story I'm working out.

Day #20 - "Last Shot"

(LISE wades knee-deep in a pond. MARINA approaches in a cold fury.)

MARINA: So is it true? Are you going to bail on the performance?

LISE: I don’t know if I can do it.

MARINA: My God. You are gutless.

LISE: You don’t understand!

MARINA: What’s there to understand? You’re punking out!

LISE: They don’t need me.

MARINA: Jason picked you.

LISE: Well, you can dance both parts! That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?

MARINA: Jason didn’t want me. He wants you.

LISE: Well, Jason was wrong. I don’t have it.

(Pause.)

MARINA: You selfish little bitch.

LISE: What?

MARINA: You haven’t thought about anybody besides yourself since you came out here to wallow.

LISE: I just don’t want to screw this up for everyone.

MARINA: Unbelievable. You have no idea how to push, do you?

LISE: What? Of course I do! That’s all ballet is!

MARINA: You never had to push. You’re all talent, all perfect form. It was always easy for you, wasn’t it?

LISE: I worked hard too!

(MARINA splashes into the water with her.)

MARINA: Worked through what? You never had anyone ever tell you that your legs were too stocky, or that your hips were too tight. You never had to fight against a turnout that wasn’t wide enough, or too-short ligaments, or… or…

LISE: Your knees.

MARINA: Yeah. Or knees that never seem to loosen up, no matter how long or how carefully you work them. You’ve never had to do that, have you?

LISE: No. But I know what it’s like to work through the pain, Marina!

MARINA: Really? You know that it’s like to keep pushing and keep pushing no matter how much it hurts, until eventually you work them so hard they can’t take it anymore.

LISE: I saw. It’s bad, isn’t?

(Pause.)

LISE: Isn’t it?

MARINA: You have no idea.

LISE: You won’t be able to go on much longer like that.

MARINA: Exactly! Don’t you get it? This is my last chance! It’s going to blow, Lise. I know that, I’m not an idiot. It’s only a matter of time.

LISE: So why are you doing this to yourself? Do you want to ruin that leg forever?

MARINA: What’s the use if I can never dance again anyway?

LISE: Is that worth being in pain for the rest of your life?

MARINA: Ha! Too late for that now.

LISE: Oh, God.

MARINA: I’m on my way out, Lise. I’m going to go out on top. And I can’t do that if you bail out. You’re the one they want to see.

LISE: Marina, you are a beautiful dancer.

MARINA: Not beautiful enough. You’re the one that has the talent, the skill, the passion, the look… everything they want. Jason saw it, that’s why he picked you. And I could never stand you because… you’re everything I’ve always wanted to be. This was… supposed to be my whole life. Now I’m going to have to figure out something else. That’s going to be hard enough without… without getting my one last moment. People are going to see me one more time. They’re going to see what I can do. But the only way that’s going to happen is if they come to see you. So you can’t bail on this now. You can’t do that to me.

LISE: Marina—!

MARINA: Don’t you ruin this for me. Don’t you take my last shot from me!

(She storms away, leaving LISE alone in the water.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #19 - "Pushing for Perfection"

This short piece is something I may use as part of my graphic novel project, which will be about rival ballet dancers. This may be the words and imagery that opens the piece. I thought getting some thoughts out about it might help me figure out what it should look and read like.

Day #19 - "Pushing for Perfection"

(LISE, a ballet dancer, is folded up in a traditional “sleeping” position. She sits up and faces the audience, hands folded in front of her.)

LISE: In ballet, there is a traditional motif of the dancer sleeping and waking.

(She rises fluidly to her feet and takes a few balletic steps forward.)

LISE: She rises, unfolding like a flower, light as air… and then she goes into focus. First.

(She snaps into full first.)

LISE: Second.

(She snaps into full second.)

LISE: Third, fourth, fifth.

(She goes through full third, fourth, and fifth in quick succession.)

LISE: Ballet is closely codified, sharply defined. Tendu.

(She extends her left leg before her.)

LISE: Dégagé.

(Her left leg pops into the air.)

LISE: Ronde du jamb.

(She rotates the leg in the arm so that it’s behind her. She lowers the leg, still extended, to the ground, and moves her arms to first and arabesque.)

LISE: An established repertoire of movements that form the building blocks with which all choreography is designed.

(She slowly, deliberately begins to dance.)

LISE: The practice in its entirety consists of learning and honing the performance of this limited repertoire.

(She executes a piqué turn.)

LISE: The company is run like an army, and we are the soldiers.

(She lunges and combres.)

LISE: It requires total focus and concentration.

(She pirouettes.)

LISE: Constantly pushing, striving for a perfection that can never be achieved.

(She relevés with her arms in fifth and extends her other leg before her.)

LISE: By its very nature, I will never, ever be good enough.

(She slowly fondus, finally crouching on the ground.)

LISE: I understand why a dancer would want to sleep after.

(She folds herself back up into the sleeping pose.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #18 - "Chapfallen"

So you may remember that few years ago I directed a little play called Hamlet. Because I was determined to not make it an heavy emotastic dramaslog, I wanted it to be funny in some places to contrast with the tragedy. This led to some decidedly weird bits making it into the final production. One of the weirdest being the idea of Mr. Alex d'Anjou, who played the gravedigger, who ended up being apparently a collector of his dead charges' skulls and the only truly happy character in the play. We began joking about how he must have had a field day with the throne room after the end of the final scene, with all those new pretties to harvest. I have no idea why it came to me today, but that wast the inspiration for today's weird-ass piece.

Day #18 - "Chapfallen"

(A row of skulls of various shapes and sizes sit on a brick wall in a mausoleum. A GRAVEDIGGER in shabby clothes, with another skull hanging on a rope from his belt, enters with a shovel over his shoulder.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Good sooth, my pretties, how fare ye?

(He goes over to inspect the skulls.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Ah, clean and cleaner, I espy. Soon ye shall be smooth and fair as eggs. The beetles well have nibbled off your shabby bits. Alas but there’s not more fine sun for ye, but you’ll blench full in time enough. And I shall tell thy tales.

(He lifts and displays the first one.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Here’s a fair noggin, fair enough to turn the living heads of brothers while she lived. She had two crowns once, flaxen soft with a golden circle nestled in. She won a third when she wed a second king. All those crowns be gone now, but this snowy smooth one quite becomes!

(He replaces that skull and bends to look the second in the eye sockets.)

GRAVEDIGGER: As for thee, thank me prettily, sweet, for I went to pains to dig you from your berth and join ye with your fellows. I though ye need not lie lonely evermore, not when thy company was gathered elsewhere. And no more hurts of thine for them to cast aside!

(He hefts the skull and examines it approvingly.)

GRAVEDIGGER: The lady’s death were doubtful, but her bones do bleach as white as any blameless maid.

(He turns the bulbous skull beside it.)

GRAVEDIGGER: You as well, rescued from the dirt! But I presume thy children are a comfort to thee.

(He picks it up and touches it.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Such a ponderous dome! Were ye as wise as your globe could hold? Or were ye hollow and filled with gusting like a rotted tree, with your blather rattling around within?

(He exchanges it for the next skull.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Through quite the sturdy neck I must needs hack, to harvest this thick head. With more ease I unearthed those others graves, and the blood did fly with my labors! But it matters not to the new strong-armed king, and it pleased him muchly to see thee carried away from his throne room. By any measure a worthy effort, for union of the family. Though from these bare bones alone none would see the likeness.

(He turns around to look a cluster of three nearly identical skulls.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Not so to regard the three of them! Any knave may see the borne resemblance. The brooding brow, the gentleman’s jaw, the lordly straight white teeth.

(He picks up the first two and weighs them in his hands.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Thou hast held up well since thy brother coveted all the things that had been thine! But now all’s well, is it not, for all you have you have alike. Peace between thee at last! But though fine in troth but I see not how princely. Prithee, are the worms in this mud more regal than those in the village churchyard for having et the flesh from the bones of kings?

(He shrugs, replaces the, and turns reverently to the last skull.)

GRAVEDIGGER: Alas, poor princeling! I knew thee. It does me good in my old heart at last to see your forehead smooth and without burden, with none of glinting madness in thine eye. Still, quite chapfallen? Now I spy you grinning! Fear me not, young prince. Perhaps I’ll hang thee on rope beside thy dear old jester, and he may make you laugh at that. The flights of angels have sung, and I remain to tell thy tale.

(He picks up the last skull, and, tossing it happily up and down in his hands, exits.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #17 - "Slimming"

Today's piece came from watching Project Runway, which my mom recently got me into. The teaser for next week's episode suggested they'd be designing for non-models-- people bigger than a size two and below five-ten --and perhaps even actual plus-sizes. Unfortunately there was the definite suggestion that the designers were struggling to make nice clothes for people who weren't built like the walking coat hangers, and I know they design those teasers to be as shocking and inflammatory as possible to draw people in, but I will be very displeased if they spend the whole episode making fat people feel bad about themselves. So I wrote this in response to that attitude-- if that is in fact a mindset on the next episode of the show, I hope they are similarly disabused.

For those who know the show, I picture Freddy being a lot like Christopher Palu (whose Jared-like combination of great talent and emotional delicacy I find endearing) and Heidi is named, of course, in tribute to the Aryan Uberfrau who hosts.

Day #17 - "Slimming"

(Enter FREDDY MOREAU, gangly in avant-garde dress, with HEIDI KLEIN, heavyset and well put-together. He leads her to sit in a chair beside a drawing table and a body form.)

FREDDY: Heidi, I’m so honored that you came to me.

HEIDI: Well, I really liked what you did on Design Star. That tuxedo-styled cocktail dress with the peplum was great.

FREDDY: Oh, thank you! I was really proud of that one. So you need an evening gown, right?

HEIDI: Mom’s up for an Oscar this year, and they say she has a decent chance of winning, so we all have to look good for the cameras.

FREDDY: Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you look amazing for the big night.

(He pulls some pages out of a portfolio and hands them to her for inspection.)

FREDDY: I was making some sketches…

HEIDI: Wow, Freddy. These are… flowier than you usually do.

FREDDY: Yeah, I thought it would work for you.

HEIDI: I was kind of hoping we could do something with a peplum. Like on the tuxedo dress.

FREDDY: Oh, trust me, this will be much more flattering. See, it’s got a long, A-line skirt and an empire waist—

HEIDI: How come?

FREDDY: A-lines always look good. And empire waists are very forgiving to the midsection.

HEIDI: Okay.

FREDDY: And we’ll do it all up in a sophisticated black taffeta.

HEIDI: I like brighter colors. I was thinking maybe orange, or coral.

FREDDY: But black is so sleek! Or navy, navy is easy to wear too! And with your skin— you’ll glow!

(He pulls out a length of black taffeta and drapes it over HEIDI.)

FREDDY: See? Very elegant.

HEIDI: Freddy.

FREDDY: Yeah?

HEIDI: No matter what, I’m still going to be fat.

FREDDY: What?

HEIDI: No matter how slimming all your little design tricks are, nobody’s actually going to think I’m slim.

FREDDY: Oh, Heidi, no! You’re not fat, you’re just… full-figured!

HEIDI: Seriously, Freddy.

FREDDY: But that’s okay! We just have to pick the right style for you!

HEIDI: The style to make me look most like… I’m not fat?

FREDDY: Everybody looks good in different things.

HEIDI: But if you’re fat, that’s big and drapey in boring colors.

FREDDY: Every figure is different!

HEIDI: Exactly. I know you got used to designing for runway models, but we’re not all walking coat hangers.

FREDDY: I was trying to consider that.

HEIDI: And not everybody wants to look like one. Consider that.

FREDDY: I just… I just wanted to help you look good.

HEIDI: Good, yeah. Not thin. And if you need a six-foot hundred-pound woman to make your clothes look good, well, maybe you’re not that good a designer after all.

(She gets up and goes to leave.)

FREDDY: Wait! Please, Heidi… why don’t you tell me what you want to look like? I… I’m sure I can make that happen for you.

(HEIDI considers him a moment, then returns to the chair.)

FREDDY: So… you like orange and pink, huh?

31 Plays in 31 Days: #16 - "Confronting It"

And we're back to The Stand as subject matter! This one is about frontier dwellers Zachariah Harper and Clarissa Dunn as they make their decision to go back to the town of Reston together, to confront their respective responsibilities. I don't believe there's anything spoilery about this one, so it's fair game to all.

Day #16 - "Confronting It"

(ZACHARIAH HARPER, a young man dressed in buckskins, sits beside a campfire reading a letter, a distressed expression on his face.)

(Enter CLARISSA DUNN, a teenaged girl similarly dressed, with her big rifle Matilda strapped to her back. She is nervous and distraught.)

CLARISSA: Zachariah? Is that you?

ZACHARIAH: Clarissa? Hey, Little Sister. I ain’t seen you in months.

CLARISSA: I been looking all over for you. Mind if I set here with you a while?

ZACHARIAH: Course not. Any time.

CLARISSA: Thank you kindly.

(She sits, taking the gun from off her back and cradling it like a baby.)

ZACHARIAH: You all right there? You look like you seen a ghost.

CLARISSA: No ghost, but… things… things been rough. But-but what about you, you got a mug as long as a horse.

ZACHARIAH: Yeah. Stepped into the trading post this morning. There was a letter waiting for me.

CLARISSA: Oh, no. Was it bad news?

ZACHARIAH: From my mother. She’s… she’s real sick, Clarissa. She thinks she might not have much longer.

CLARISSA: Aw, Zach. I’m so sorry.

ZACHARIAH: She wants me to come back home. Before it’s too late.

CLARISSA: Well, sure.

ZACHARIAH: I never wanted to go back.

CLARISSA: Zach! Your ma might be dying! You got to go see her one more time!

ZACHARIAH: That ain’t it! If it were just that, wild horses couldn’t keep me from going back. She’s my mother, for Christ’s sake.

CLARISSA: Then what’s the hold up?

ZACHARIAH: She… she wants me to come back for good.

CLARISSA: For good? Why’s that?

ZACHARIAH: If she’s not going to be around much longer, she says… she says I got to take over her work in town.

CLARISSA: Her work? What work does she do?

ZACHARIAH: I’m not sure, exactly. All my life, she and my pa and my grandfather, they sat behind that big desk, doing what they called “town business.” I never rightly knew.

CLARISSA: But she wants to pass it over to you.

ZACHARIAH: It’s my family’s job, taking care of that place. I told you about my Grandpap, right?

CLARISSA: Sure did. About how he was a real roaming frontiersman before he settled in the territory and founded his own town.

ZACHARIAH: Right. I heard how he talked about those early days. Adventures, travels. Could hear the love in his voice. And I knew right away that was the life I wanted. Not… not the other part. The part with the desk and the same old patch of ground forever and ever.

CLARISSA: Going back would mean leaving everything you love.

ZACHARIAH: Just like Grandpap. And my ma’s worked her whole life to take care of it.

CLARISSA: Means a lot to them, don’t it?

ZACHARIAH: I can’t just… throw that all away.

CLARISSA: I see. Maybe… maybe you don’t got to give up your life. Maybe you can find a way to set things in order… find the right person to take of things. Do right by all you.

ZACHARIAH: It’s supposed to be my responsibility.

CLARISSA: Might be the right person is the person what wants to do it. Not somebody what got to be dragged back by wild horses.

ZACHARIAH: I just don’t know.

CLARISSA: Well… only one way to find out.

ZACHARIAH: Yeah. Got to do the right thing. I got to go back.

CLARISSA: The right thing, huh?

ZACHARIAH: It’s all a man can do.

CLARISSA: What if… you thought you was, but you don’t know anymore?

ZACHARIAH: Sis? What’s eating you?

CLARISSA: I done the wrong thing, Zach.

ZACHARIAH: What wrong thing?

CLARISSA: Zachariah… I killed a man.

ZACHARIAH: You did? What man?

CLARISSA: That’s it, Zach, I-I don’t know.

ZACHARIAH: Then why’d you kill him?

CLARISSA: I thought— I thought it was him!

ZACHARIAH: Him?

CLARISSA: The one I been looking for!

ZACHARIAH: You mean, the varmint what killed your father?

CLARISSA: Yes!

ZACHARIAH: Well— what happened? Weren’t it him?

CLARISSA: You got to understand— he had everything I remembered! I told you, the black hat, the Spanish silver coin hanging off the chain of a watch! How many fellows got Spanish silver hanging off the chain of a watch!?

ZACHARIAH: I don’t know, Sis.

CLARISSA: But… he didn’t have no mole. I shot him, and then I turned him over, but there weren’t no mole.

ZACHARIAH: You’re sure?

CLARISSA: I remember that mole, clear as day! So it couldn’t have been him, Zach. He couldn’t have been. I killed an innocent man.

ZACHARIAH: Gentle Jesus.

CLARISSA: I didn’t mean to. I never meant to kill no innocent man!

ZACHARIAH: I know, Sis!

CLARISSA: I ain’t no murderer!

ZACHARIAH: I know!

(He hugs her tightly.)

CLARISSA: What do I do? How can I… how can I fix this?

ZACHARIAH: Ain’t no fixing now, hon.

(CLARISSA sobs a little.)

ZACHARIAH: All that’s left is owning up to it.

CLARISSA: Owning up. Yeah. I’ve got to own up. Or else… what makes me any better than the outlaw what shot my father? I just…/ don’t know how.

ZACHARIAH: Come with me.

CLARISSA: What do you mean?

ZACHARIAH: Come with me back to Reston. There’s folks there what knows things about what’s gone on around here. Might be they can help you.

CLARISSA: How?

ZACHARIAH: I don’t know. But both of us got to try something. With what we got ahead of us… don’t want to face that alone.

CLARISSA: All right. I guess… there ain’t no running for either of us. Might as well go on together.

(They clasp hands, and begin packing up their camp.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #15 - "No Trust Left"

This scene is set within the universe and timeframe of The Tailor of Riddling Way, one that didn't really have a place in the actual script but probably happened behind the scenes. It's Rowan and Emma Loring right after Rowan learns a disturbing truth about their father and his business affairs-- it's a bit spoilery for the full story, just as a warning. It's not all that powerful a scene as it doesn't advance the plot much, nor get into the meat of the revelations, but I do like the idea that Emma and Rowan had different reactions to the revelation, and different instincts about how to handle it.


Day #15 - "No Trust Left" based on The Tailor of Riddling Way

(EMMA LORING, a prim young woman stern beyond her years, sits at a desk sorting through paperwork. Her handsome brother ROWAN LORING storms in.)

EMMA: Rowan?

ROWAN: It’s all been a lie. He holds himself up like… like a decent, enterprising man. But it’s all a lie.

EMMA: Whatever’s gotten into you?

ROWAN: It’s Father, Emma. He… he told me what he’s been up to. He finally told me.

EMMA: Told you what?

ROWAN: He’s a traitor. He’s made a deal, Emma, a deal with the Germans. He’s agreed supply the German army in time of war. He’s a collaborator with the enemy!

(He looks to EMMA for reaction, but she says nothing.)

ROWAN: Don’t you understand, Emma…? My God. You knew.

EMMA: I suspected.

ROWAN: You did?

EMMA: I see the books, Rowan, I see the contracts. After a while it became clear.

ROWAN: And… you said nothing? You did nothing?

EMMA: What could I have done? I have no power over Father.

ROWAN: You could have come to me!

EMMA: I didn’t know that!

ROWAN: You… didn’t know that? What do you take me for, Emma?

EMMA: Rowan, for all I knew you were with Father all along!

ROWAN: Did you really believe that of me? Did you really think I would do such a thing?

EMMA: Rowan—

ROWAN: I see no one in this family trusts anyone else!

EMMA: Rowan! I thought I knew Father, too.

(ROWAN deflates a little. He heaves a sigh.)

EMMA: Well, we’re both in this now. What are we to do?

ROWAN: We’ve got to put a stop to this.

EMMA: Stop it? How can we stop Father’s entire enterprise?

ROWAN: We can’t simply allow him to profit off of supporting an enemy nation!

EMMA: What can we do? Expose him?

ROWAN: It’s no more than he deserves!

EMMA: Rowan, we’ll ruin the whole family then. Is that what you want? To punish ourselves along with him?

ROWAN: I’m not afraid.

EMMA: Oh, no? And what about Constance and Bethany? Will you do that to them, too?

ROWAN: All right, all right. But we must do something. Not just for the principle of it, Emma. There’s… there’s something else to this, I’m sure of it.

EMMA: Whatever do you mean?

ROWAN: He’s kept the truth of this from me for ages. He told me now for a reason. He… he must need something. My help, my support, something. Why? What’s different now?

EMMA: I couldn’t say. But all the more reason why we must not be hasty!

ROWAN: What do you suggest, then?

EMMA: We must… we must find out more. Find out precisely what, if anything, that means. And… perhaps you and I can take action then.

ROWAN: Very well. I’ll wait for now. But just until we’re certain we’ve unraveled all of this.

EMMA: Just so no more damage is done.

ROWAN: Just for that. No longer.

EMMA: That’s all I ask. Please trust me.

ROWAN: It had better be, Emma. I’ve no more trust left.

(He turns on his heel and strides out. EMMA covers her face with her hands.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #14 - "Work-Life Balance"

This piece is about superheroes, including Wondra from piece number five. I think this one came out pretty cute and funny, more fully realized than its predecessor. Here Wondra confronts a fellow superhero, Bantam, on a rooftop while on patrol because he took care of a crime in the area of the city she's supposed to protect. Perhaps I should delve more into writing humorous commentary on what it's like to live the life of a superhero, as this piece is rather successful.

I give full credit for the joke about Bantam's name to , who said it to me on Twitter.


Day #14 - "Work-Life Balance"

(BANTAM, a superhero in costume, perches of on a ledge overlooking the city. Suddenly another costumed hero, WONDRA, leaps out to land behind him.)

WONDRA: Bantam!

(He spins around with a start and goes into ready mode, but checks himself when he sees that it’s her.)

BANTAM: Whoa! Wondra! What gives?

WONDRA: You poached my collar!

BANTAM: What are you talking about?

WONDRA: You did! You foiled a crime on my turf yesterday! The heist on 24th Street!

BANTAM: Oh, come on.

WONDRA: You know that the west side is my territory— everything from the Cloverleaf Mall over.

BANTAM: The mall is on the border, it’s fair game. Plus, you never showed up!

WONDRA: I was on my way!

BANTAM: Yeah, well, if I waited for you to get there, I might as well have just driven the getaway car for them.

WONDRA: I had… something else to do.

BANTAM: Well, somebody had to take care of things, and I was right there!

WONDRA: Oh, you weren’t busy, imagine that! The only other thing you have to do is correct people about your stupid name.

BANTAM: It’s not stupid!

WONDRA: “No, it’s Bantam, not Batman…”

BANTAM: It’s like bantamweight boxer!

WONDRA: “No, it’s not Phantom either, it’s with a B!” What even is that?

BANTAM: It’s a kind of fighting bird!

WONDRA: It’s still a chicken, dude.

BANTAM: Better than being that special flour for making gravy!

WONDRA: It’s supposed to sound like “wonder!” When did everybody become a sauce expert all of a sudden?

BANTAM: Whatever. I handled it, it’s done. Just remember, if you’re going to say you’ve got the west side covered, try penciling a patrol or two into your busy schedule.

WONDRA: Yeah, well, let’s see how prompt you are getting to crimes in progress when you’ve got a kid you have to take to ballet class.

BANTAM: You’ve got a kid, huh?

WONDRA: Yeah. An eight-year-old girl. So sometimes I’ve got other stuff I have to do instead of chilling on rooftops all day long.

BANTAM: Hey, I’ve got responsibilities too, you know. You’re not the only one with people in their life.

WONDRA: Yeah? You got any kids?

BANTAM: No… but my parents live in town. And they get on my case if I can’t make it to dinner every Sunday. So I get the passive-aggressive phone calls, even though it’s not like crime takes a regular night off.

WONDRA: Oh, that’s the worst.

BANTAM: If you’re in the middle of taking out some robbers or something, and your cell phone won’t stop ringing.

WONDRA: And Mom leaves you six hundred messages about how you don’t call enough.

BANTAM: Because even though you’re in the process of cleaning up the streets they walk every day, apparently you’re still the worst and most ungrateful offspring ever.

WONDRA: So you end up having to blow off a few patrols you should be making just to get them off your back.

BANTAM: That’s for sure. If I tell my girlfriend I have to work late one more time, she’s going to start thinking I’m having an affair.

WONDRA: You haven’t told her?

BANTAM: No. We’ve only been dating a couple months, and well… got to be careful with your secret identity.

WONDRA: I know what you mean.

BANTAM: One bad breakup, and you could have every supervillain in the tri-state area showing up on your doorstep. Also, I want to make sure she isn’t going to think I’m a freak.

WONDRA: No kidding! My husband thinks we’re all crazy. For running around in skintight leotards risking our lives.

BANTAM: Geez, how that does work? Is he on your case all the time?

WONDRA: He… still doesn’t know.

BANTAM: He doesn’t?

WONDRA: Well… I took it up after we got married. It’s a hell of a thing to spring on somebody.

BANTAM: It’s true. But it’s either that or lie to them forever and feel guilty.

WONDRA: Oh, wait till you have kids. You might have been up every night this week making the world a safer place for them to live, but if you miss even one school play, you’ve ruined their lives. Then you’ll know what it’s like to feel guilty.

BANTAM: Talk about ungrateful offspring.

WONDRA: When we’re just trying to do the right thing.

BANTAM: To keep people safe.

WONDRA: To keep them safe. That’s just… not all they need from us.

BANTAM: Yeah. So… sometimes you can’t be out there to foil every crime.

WONDRA: Even if it is in your territory.

BANTAM: I guess… we’ll just have to cover for each other when we can. Watch each other’s backs, like.

WONDRA: That sounds pretty good.

BANTAM: You know… I got this family thing coming up next Thursday, they’ll skin me alive if I can’t make it… and the First National Bank over on Treadwell Street’s been seeing some suspicions vans driving around the place. If you’re not busy, maybe you could keep an eye on things for me that night.

WONDRA: My kid’s going to be visiting her grandparents then. I think I can do that.

BANTAM: Thanks, Wondra. That’s really cool.

WONDRA: No problem. And… good job yesterday on 24th Street.

BANTAM: No big deal. I’m usually pretty free on Monday nights.

(They nod at each other. WONDRA bounds off, while BANTAM goes back to keeping vigil from the ledge.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #12 - "One Can Hide Anything"

Today's piece isn't an independent play, but rather a scene for Mrs. Hawking. I am counting scenes for larger plays as complete pieces for this challenge as long as they have an arc. This scene is where Mary first begins convincing Mrs. Hawking can't always go it alone-- and that perhaps she can be that help.

Day #12 - "One Can Hide Anything" - from Mrs. Hawking

(MRS. HAWKING winces and tenses her left side.)

MARY: Mrs. Hawking, your arm.

MRS HAWKING: I'd quite forgotten.

MRS. FAIRMONT: Oh, my goodness, you’re still hurt! We should send for someone.

MRS. HAWKING: No doctors, Celeste.

MRS. FAIRMONT: But Victoria—

MRS. HAWKING: Certainly not!

MARY: Please— allow me.

(She moves close to MRS. HAWKING, who instinctively withdraws.)

MARY: I have some knowledge of this, madam.

(MRS. HAWKING regards her a moment, and then undresses to her shift. MARY pushes it down off her shoulders and she pulls out her bare arm to reveal a bleeding rawness.)

MARY: Oh, my. This requires some attention. Madam, if you'll bring me the dipper.

(MRS. FAIRMONT brings over the basin of water. MARY draws a white cloth from her apron pocket.)

MARY: Mrs. Fairmont, have you any clean linen about? This will want wrapping.

MRS. FAIRMONT: Oh, yes, of course.

MARY: And some alcohol to clean it.

MRS. FAIRMONT: I'll go and fetch it.

(MRS. FAIRMONT exits. MARY wets her cloth and begins dabbing at MRS. HAWKING's wound.)

MARY: This is serious.

MRS. HAWKING: I have seen worse.

(MARY examines up her arm.)

MARY: You have... so many scars.

MRS. HAWKING: As I said.

MARY: Does this happen... often? In this work that you do?

MRS. HAWKING: On occasion. You may count how often.

(MARY works in silence a moment.)

MARY: And... what do you do?

MRS. HAWKING: Beg your pardon?

MARY: When this happens. If you will not see a doctor.

MRS. HAWKING: I manage well enough on my own.

MARY: I see. If I may ask… what if it were more serious than this? Something that you could not manage on your own?

MRS. HAWKING: Seeking medical attention is out of the question, Miss Stone. Any outside attention risks exposure of my… enterprise.

MARY: I understand. But… you’ve no other assistance? Is there no one trustworthy?

MRS. HAWKING: I cannot chance it. Discovery by the wrong person could mean the end of everything.

MARY: I think you make a great mistake in that.

MRS. HAWKING: I did not ask your opinion, Miss Stone.

MARY: Everyone has need of help sometime.

MRS. HAWKING: You are out of turn, Miss Stone.

MARY: Forgive me, madam… but if there is never anyone to help when you need it, it could mean the end of everything.

MRS. HAWKING: It is an easy thing to say when you need not live in fear of your well-meaning fool of a husband putting a stop to you for what he thinks is your own good.

MARY: He never knew?

MRS. HAWKING: I could not permit it.

MARY: In twenty years of marriage?

MRS. HAWKING: One can hide anything from anyone if one so chooses.

MARY: You couldn't hide it from me.

(MRS. HAWKING’s eyes widen in surprise, and she turns her head to regard MARY very seriously. MRS. FAIRMONT returns with the linen and alcohol. She hands it over to MARY.)

MARY: Thank you.

(She soaks the linen in the alcohol.)

MARY: There will be pain, madam.

MRS. HAWKING: I have no fear of that.

(Her face is stern as MARY wraps her wounds in it.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #11 - "The Triumph of Law"

And we're back to plays based on The Stand! Apologies again that this one also contains a spoiler from the game. This one is about the backstory of Carson Hill, the PC played thus far by , , and . There's not much I can say about it at the moment, except that I think the ending needs work, but I think this is a very dramatic scene. Again I kind of took it for granted that you knew what they were talking about, so I hope it still reads.

Day #11 - "The  Triumph of Law"

(Three southern gentlemen in suits sit around a table. The two older men, brothers JACKSON and PRESTON HILL, celebrate with whiskey, while the younger man, CARSON HILL, sits staring moodily with his tumbler untouched before him.)

JACKSON: This is it, this is it! Carson, my boy, you’ve done it!

PRESTON: To states’ rights and Carson’s victory!

JACKSON: To the triumph of law!

(They cheer, raise their glasses, and drink. PRESTON then pours them another.)

JACKSON: Hill and Hill Associates… sweet Jesus, I always dreamed of this day. They’re going to be citing this case for decades to come. Any suit about returning runaway slaves, hell, any states’ rights case that comes along, they’re going to trot out Corbett versus the State of New York and that’ll be the end of it. This could be the making of your career already. Who knows what’ll come next? Judgeships, political office… hell, my boy could be a senator someday!

PRESTON: I always knew you’d take them Yankees by storm!

JACKSON: And you made quite an impression on your esteemed client as well.

PRESTON: I’m telling you, boy, it ain’t just anyone that Richard Corbett invites down to his plantation to meet his lovely daughter. Got a high estimation of you and no mistake.

CARSON: Must be.

PRESTON: And how about that Miss Lilah? Pretty little thing, wasn’t she?

CARSON: Sure was.

PRESTON: I hope you were a proper gentleman to her. If she takes a shine to you like her old man has, well, you might just get yourself in a position to inherit the whole place one day!

JACKSON: That’s quite a little kingdom to come into! Look at you, son, you’ll be a king in Georgia, and a conqueror in New York!

(They click glasses and laugh uproariously. CARSON forces a sickly smile.)

JACKSON: What’s the matter with you, now? You been frowning like a bullfrog ever since you got back. Things went well, didn’t they?

CARSON: Not certain I’d say that they did?

JACKSON: What? What happened?

CARSON: Been back east all this time, haven’t been on a plantation in so long. Wasn’t prepared.

PRESTON: For what?

CARSON: Seeing them. All the… all the slaves. Never saw so many before. Old ones, sick ones, covered with scars… pretty awful.

PRESTON: You’re from a plantation family, boy, you know we run on slaves.

CARSON: Yeah, but… I haven’t seen it, not with my own eyes…

JACKSON: Is that all that’s bothering you?

CARSON: No. I… I heard what happened to those boys.

JACKSON: What boys?

CARSON: Those boys we got sent back to Mr. Corbett.

JACKSON: You mean the runaways? What of them?

CARSON: I asked him what became of them when they got back. He told me he had them all killed.

(JACKSON is mildly surprised, but PRESTON shrugs.)

PRESTON: Did he, now? Well, sometimes it’s necessary. Make an example to the others.

CARSON: That’s exactly what Mr. Corbett said.

PRESTON: I’m sure he did. He knows how to run his own concern.

CARSON: We sent them back to their deaths.

JACKSON: Carson, be reasonable. Sometimes a man’s got to take drastic steps to take care of his own business. If he had to put a little discipline down—

(CARSON leaps out of his chair.)

CARSON: Pap! He beat them within an inch of their lives, and then he set a pack of dogs on them! They were ripped limb from limb!

PRESTON: Sure, that’s rough. But ain’t nobody going to run from that plantation anytime soon.

CARSON: Jesus Christ.

PRESTON: It’s the way of things.

CARSON: It’s sick.

JACKSON: What’s gotten into you, boy? Weak stomach all of a sudden? Well, you’d best get a handle on that if you’re going to move forward with your career.

CARSON: Can’t do it. Not anymore.

JACKSON: Can’t do what?

CARSON: I can’t… strut around Albany like I’m cock-o’-the-walk knowing that… this is what everybody respects me for. Fighting so hard to get five boys sent back to a whip and a pack of dogs.

JACKSON: Look here, now. I’m sorry you had to see the ugly side of things, but Carson, every case isn’t going be about slave law. You don’t got time to wrestle with a soft heart, you got a chance to make history here. You got to seize that chance while you can. This is just one case—

CARSON: No, Pap. You don’t understand. Everywhere I go, it’s all anybody can talk about. It’s the headline of every newspaper. How clever I was, how well I argued my case that the state was obligated to return Mr. Corbett’s property to him. “Congratulations, Carson.” “Job well done, Carson.” All I was thinking about was the law, and making it work for me, and the reward that would come once I did. But now… all I got is the blood of those boys on me. They wouldn’t have even been there if I hadn’t argued for it! And now they’re using my win as precedent for other cases against runaways. There are going to be others just like them. That’s my legacy, Pap. Sending boys back to Hell!

PRESTON: Jesus Christ, Carson!

JACKSON: Just what are you saying?

CARSON: I’m saying… I’m done. Done with the law, done with New York and Georgia, done with all of this. I’m moving out west. As far as out as I can go.

JACKSON: And why in God’s name would you do a thing like that?

CARSON: To get as far away as I can from all this. And from you.

PRESTON: You ungrateful wretch! What are you going to do out on some dusty godforsaken frontier? There ain’t no law out there!

CARSON: So much the better.

PRESTON: Have you lost your mind!? What about your career?

CARSON: I don’t want a career built out of dead boys’ bones.

JACKSON: You’d throw everything you ever worked for away… and everything we gave you so you could get there? You were such a smart boy, Carson, you was destined for something big. At sixteen you graduated Harvard Law at the top of your class. Your uncle sent this case your way to help you make your fortune. And you made it, Carson, you made it so that every jurist in the country is going to know your name. This could take you anywhere— the Supreme Court, to Washington, even to the White House someday. And you’d throw it all away for a pack of runaway niggers!?

CARSON: No, Pap. For five murdered men.

(CARSON turns on his heel and storms out.)