31 Plays in 31 Days: #7 - "Pierced Silver Piece"

Another short piece based on The Stand. This one is slightly awkward, as it attempts to depict an instance of backstory from the game that probably doesn't especially lend itself to theatrical portrayal. It needs a good deal of cleaning up, but I was pushing to finish, and it plays a little abruptly. But I think if I could manage to whip it into shape it might fit nicely into a theoretical larger piece, featuring a certain character I have been lately inclined to write about.

Again, this is EXTREMELY SPOILERY for the game, so do not read if you have not played and someday intend to. But for those who have, this piece features the PC Clarissa Dunn, played so far by Tory, Jenn, and Sam LeVangie, in a rather significant moment in her short life.

Day #7 - "Pierced Silver Piece"

(CLARISSA DUNN , a young girl in buckskin clothes, sits at a small campground eating jerky. An enormous rifle lays at her side.)

(Enter DAMON BARRETT, a middle-aged man in frontier garb and a black hat with a pack on his back. He stops short when he sees CLARISSA, surprised.)

DAMON: Howdy there.

(She snatches up her gun.)

CLARISSA: You stay back now.

DAMON: Why, you’re just a slip of a thing.

CLARISSA: Matilda here makes it so that don’t matter so much.

DAMON: Matilda, huh? That’s a big gun for a little girl.

CLARISSA: And I know how to use it! So don’t try anything funny, you hear?

DAMON: Fear me not, I seen what pretty little things can learn to do with those. Mind if I rest awhile, if I promise to behave myself?

CLARISSA: If you want.

(She lays the rifle across her lap. DAMON sits down a little ways off from her, laying his pack aside.)

DAMON: Don’t see too many girl children out here on their lonesome. Where’s your ma and pa?

CLARISSA: Ain’t got ‘em no more.

DAMON: Well. Nothing for that. Reckon you must take care of your own self, or else you’d not have made it out here.

CLARISSA: That’s for damn sure. I know most of the trappers around these parts, but I ain’t never seen you before. You from hereabouts?

DAMON: Used to be sometimes, not anymore. I just… go out every now and then. Roam around, see what I see.

CLARISSA: Yeah? What for, if you got settled someplace now?

DAMON: Looking for… for something, I suppose. Not even sure I know for what any more. Probably something I can’t find.

CLARISSA: Well, I know exactly what I’m after. Justice for my old papa.

DAMON: Yeah? What happened?

CLARISSA: Some varmint shot him. And I mean to see him pay for it.

(She hefts the gun.)

DAMON: Aw, hell. That’s a heavy load for a young thing to bear.

CLARISSA: Ain’t nobody else going to do it.

DAMON: Would your mama want you dragging that gun around the woods just to get vengeance?

CLARISSA: Sure as she didn’t. But she left after my papa died.

DAMON: Christ. That’s rough, sweetheart.

CLARISSA: Can’t say as I blame her. She was all alone in the world after that. The woods was no place for her. And I ain’t your sweetheart.

DAMON: No, that’s plain. Well. I wish you good fortune on your way. Hope you find it before it’s too late.

CLARISSA: Too late for what?

DAMON: For everything else. Can be right hard to have a different life when you spend so much time another way. Things slip away before you know it.

(He leans back thoughtfully. He takes hold of a length of chain hanging off his vest with a silver coin on the end of it and begins idly twirling it. CLARISSA notices it and starts.)

CLARISSA: What’s that!?

DAMON: What’s what?

CLARISSA: That there! On your watch chain!

(He holds it out to look at it.)

DAMON: This? Nothing, just an old Spanish coin.

CLARISSA: I remember that thing, that thing on the watch chain dangling off his belt… it was you. It was you who done it!

DAMON: Me? Done what?

CLARISSA: And your black hat! I remember that black hat too!

(She hefts the gun and clambers to her feet.)

DAMON: What are you doing?

CLARISSA: I ain’t going to forget in a million years! It was you that day! He was a trader up in the territories named Marlon Dunn, and you killed him!

(He knocks the barrel aside just as she pulls the trigger.)

DAMON: A trader from around here? I killed no such man!

CLARISSA: He was my father and you killed him!

(With effort she swings that massive gun back toward him. He begins backing up hurriedly.)

DAMON: Swear on my mother’s grave!

CLARISSA: And for that, I’m going to kill you!

(She fires again and hits him in the leg in an explosion of blood and bone fragments. He falls to the ground, howling in pain.)

CLARISSA: I know what I saw! He had a black hat, a black mole on the back of his neck, and a pierced piece of silver on a watch chain!

DAMON: Jesus Christ!

CLARISSA: I was six years old! He was working at a trading post, and you gunned him down before me and my mother’s eyes!

DAMON: A trading post…? Wait! Wait! What was that name? What was your father’s name?

CLARISSA: Marlon Dunn.

DAMON: Marlon Dunn— oh, Jesus. Oh, gentle Jesus.

(He collapses in on himself.)

CLARISSA: Now shut up! I been waiting years to say my piece. His name was Marlon Dunn. He was my father and you killed him. And for that, I’m going to kill you.

DAMON: I see. Well, little lady, I do not blame you one bit.

(She hefts her huge gun and levels it at him.)

DAMON: Flora, my girl, you and Jesus forgive me.

(CLARISSA fires. DAMON collapses in a heap, dead. She lets the heavy gun drop, gasping for breath, almost sobbing. After a moment, she goes to the body and yanks off the silver piece on the watch chain. Then she kicks him over so that he lays face down and kneels beside him.)

CLARISSA: Where is it… where’s your damn mole…?

(She pulls down his collar and pushes away his hat so she can look at the back of his neck.)

CLARISSA: There… there ain’t one. No. No. Can’t be.

(She searches intently for a minute, then backs away quickly.)

CLARISSA: Black hat, silver piece. It has to be him, it has to be. But… he ain’t got no mole. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus.

(She snatches up Matilda and clings to it as if for comfort. She dithers there a moment, back and forth.)

CLARISSA: If you ain’t him… what did I just do?

(She scrambles to pack her campsite back up, holds her gun to her chest, and scurries off like a hunted animal.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #6 - "Public Enemy"

Who would have thought that my biggest source of inspiration for short plays would be the backstory of The Stand? I was always proud with how rich the storyline for that game was, and as I cast about for subject matter for this writing challenge, I find there are many scenes from the larp that are perfect for dramatizing. I have done three already, two in this month alone, and I expect there will be many more. Maybe I can use that connectedness for performance reasons, and someday produce an evening of Stand-related theater.

That said, the following scene, unlike the other two, is EXTREMELY SPOILERY FOR THE GAME. If you have not played The Stand and someday intend to, do not read this piece. For those who have played, it may interest you to know that it involves two important NPCs, Amelia Royce, the wife of the sheriff, and Caleb Coleman, a rival to the Sinclair Company in the local cattle business.

Day #6 - "Public Enemy"

SETTING: 1847, the small cattle town of Reston in the Northern California Territory

(CALEB COLEMAN, a wealthy middle-aged gentleman, sits at the desk in his study. AMELIA ROYCE, a nice-looking woman, simply dressed, enters deferentially.)

AMELIA: Mr. Coleman?

CALEB: Why, Mrs. Amelia Royce! What brings you out here?

AMELIA: Forgive me for just showing up, I’m sure you’re real busy, but I was hoping you might have a moment to speak with me.

CALEB: Always got a moment for the charming wife of the sheriff. Please, come sit.

(AMELIA takes a seat across the desk from him and smooths her skirt.)

AMELIA: Thanks very much for your time, sir.

CALEB: It’s good to see you. I’ve been meaning to say thank you for that mighty fine pie you sent over. I am right partial to cherries.

AMELIA: It were for all that money you gave to Bonnie Harper’s charity. A pie’s a small token for that.

CALEB: Oh, think nothing of it.

AMELIA: It was a right generous thing for you to do, Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: Well, thank you kindly for saying so, ma’am.

AMELIA: My husband is happy to see so more and more decent citizens moving out west here.

CALEB: Reston’s been lucky to have him come out too. They say he’s the best in the territory.

AMELIA: Well, at chasing varmints at least.

CALEB: He’s got a hell of a record for that. Nobody else could’ve cornered Red Jed Palmer in that cider mill, and chased the Mad Indian through six miles of burning countryside. He collared all of them.

AMELIA: Except for one. Deadeye Damon Barrett. You know about him?

CALEB: Everybody knows about him. He’s got a hell of a price on his head.

AMELIA: He was the real outlaw. Tricking townies, outriding cowboys, better shot than the governor’s best marshals. Malcolm chased him for years, but never did catch him. We still don’t know what became of him.

CALEB: I reckoned he was dead. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him in ages.

AMELIA: Well, they’re not about to forget about him. Not after he knocked over that US Treasury wagon. Folks still talk about it.

CALEB: Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It were the biggest robbery pulled in the territory since the US took it on.

AMELIA: I know— one hears things as the sheriff’s wife. Sometimes the little details that don’t get in the papers.

CALEB: That so?

AMELIA: Yes, sir. You see, it was something at the Easter picnic. I heard some of you fellows talking about that robbery. I remember you saying that… that Deadeye run off with ten thousand dollars in bullion. Is that so?

CALEB: That’s what I said.

AMELIA: That’s just it, you see. That weren’t in the papers, Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: What? I’m sure that can’t be.

AMELIA: I’m sure that it is, sir.

CALEB: Well… must be I heard it somewhere, I traveled around.

AMELIA: And then you turn up in town one day, richer than almost anybody.

CALEB: What are you saying, Mrs. Royce?

(AMELIA takes a crumpled piece of newspaper out of her handbag, smooths it carefully, and lays it on the desk.)

AMELIA: There ain’t no good pictures, so they weren’t enough to be sure. But when I heard what you said… I got sure. I think your name ain’t Caleb Coleman. I think it’s Damon Barrett.

(CALEB looks down and grows very still. He makes a fist on the desk.)

CALEB: It’s been thirteen years since anybody called me by that name. Thirteen years since I left that life.

(He rakes a hand through his hair.)

CALEB: Can I count on Sheriff Royce coming up after you to march me away in cuffs?

AMELIA: He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.

CALEB: You didn’t? And… why would you do a thing like that?

AMELIA: I wanted to talk to you my own self first.

(CALEB rises from his chair and paces a little, finally pausing with his back to AMELIA.)

CALEB: Tell me, Amelia, ma’am… am I what you thought I’d be? Face to face with the most hunted man in the western territories… is this what you expected?

AMELIA: No. No, nothing like that.

(He marches up close and stares her down.)

CALEB: So how can you think you can march into my house play judge and jury on me like you know who I am?

AMELIA: Sir. I came out here, a woman alone, to accuse a man of being the most feared bandit in the west. Do you think I would have done that if I thought him just a beast? Do you think I don’t mean to give him a fair chance?

(He takes a few steps back. AMELIA stands.)

AMELIA: So here’s your chance. What should I make of you, Mr. Barrett? Wild, wanted Deadeye Damon Barrett?

(Some of the ire goes out of him and he deflates a little.)

CALEB: I know you got no reason to cut me any slack. Everything you heard about me, all the cons I pulled, all the crimes I did… they’re all on my head, I ain’t going to deny it. Any woman in your place would hand me over to her lawman husband on a silver platter and see it make his career.

AMELIA: Not to mention protecting folks from a public enemy.

CALEB: Right you are. But, ma’am… I ain’t no public enemy. Not anymore. I’m no danger to people. On the contrary, you said it yourself, I been good for this town. I gave jobs to decent men. I been generous, I gave cash to folks what needed it. Ain’t I?

AMELIA: Yes. Yes, you have.

CALEB: I done good since I got here, Mrs. Royce. The first real good I ever done anybody in my life.

AMELIA: And that means you’ve atoned? For everything you’ve done?

CALEB: Might not be, ma’am. Might be I got a long way to go before I’m right with Jesus. But I can’t do no good to anybody in a cell. Or swinging off the end of a rope.

AMELIA: A lot of folks suffered for what you did.

CALEB: I know. And I quit because I regretted that. Because I wanted to put a stop to that. I know it don’t make up for it, but I suffered for it too.

AMELIA: How? All those lawmen chasing after you with their guns—

CALEB: You think I mean about comfort and safety? That ain’t nothing of what that life cost me!

(He struggles a moment, then reaches into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdraws a lock of brown hair tied with a blue ribbon. He tosses it down on the desk. Carefully AMELIA picks it up and examines it.)

AMELIA: Oh, Caleb… Damon… was she…?

CALEB: The sheriff ain’t the only one to judge me for what I did. And that’s one hell of a penance from where I stand. You remember that when you go home into the arms of the husband that loves you.

(AMELIA considers, then carefully goes to CALEB and places the lock of hair back in his hand.)

AMELIA: Malcolm doesn’t have to know.

CALEB: You mean that?

AMELIA: I do. You got a long way ahead of you before you atone. I ain’t going to stop you now.

CALEB: Thank you.

AMELIA: This you can’t quit. You can’t ever quit.

CALEB: I won’t. I swear it.

(CALEB presses the fist clasping the lock hair to his chest. AMELIA nods.)

AMELIA: Good day, then. Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: Thank you, Mrs. Royce.

(AMELIA exits. CALEB collapses against his desk.)