31 Plays in 31 Days: #25 - "Most in Need"

This is another attempt at a rewrite of a scene previously written for Sally and Deadeye, based on the backstory of The Stand. This one comes just before piece #3 for the month, and is extremely spoilery for The Stand if you have not played.

Day #25 - “Most in Need”

FLORA JOHANSSON, formerly an outlaw
SISTER ESME, a nun at the convent
~~~

FLORA: You needn’t do anything for me.

SISTER ESME: Nonsense. It’s our duty. You look like you’ve not eaten in days.

FLORA: Well… it’s been rough.

SISTER ESME: It’s our business to comfort folks in a bad way.

FLORA: That’s real good of you, marm. But you don’t got the whole story. I ain’t your sort.

SISTER ESME: What sort’s that?

FLORA: The sort you want about here. I done things. Bad things.

SISTER ESME: In my time, miss I found that them’s the folks most in need of a little pity.

(Pause.)

FLORA: It ain’t just that, though.

SISTER ESME: Yes?

FLORA: You see, marm… it ain’t just me. There’s somebody else too.

SISTER ESME: Who?

(FLORA looks away and lays her hands across her stomach.)

SISTER ESME: I see.

FLORA: Hasn’t got a daddy. Hasn’t… got anybody. So you don't want nothing to do with me.

SISTER ESME: Miss, that’s the sort we’re concerned with most. Always room for one more lost soul.

FLORA: I ain’t even Catholic.

SISTER ESME: It’s not safe for a little one out there.

(Pause.)

FLORA: Just… just for a spell, then.

(The sister extends her arm to show FLORA the way. FLORA hesitates a moment, then scurries off stage right. The sister follows after.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #16 - "Not My Brother"

Another piece drawn from the back story of The Stand. Buck and Kenneth Dillon were a team of brother who were some of the most successful US Marshals in the territory, until Kenneth was rescued by a Yurok woman by the name of Negahse'wey and found he wanted to follow her way of life instead of the one he'd been raised to. But when he returned to his brother Buck, he did not find a warm reception to his new identity. I'm surprised I never worked on this scenario before, because it has a lot of dramatic potential.


Day #16 - "Not My Brother"

BUCK DILLON, a US marshal
TALL BEAR, his brother, formerly Kenneth Dillon, recently become a member of the Yurok tribe
~~~

BUCK: Look at you! What the hell’s this getup?
TALL BEAR: It’s what they wear.
BUCK: Them, Ken, not you!
TALL BEAR: Buck, don’t call me that no more.
BUCK: Don’t call you what?
TALL BEAR: Well… “Kenneth.” That ain’t my name.
BUCK: Are you joking me?
TALL BEAR: I got a new name now. A Yurok name. I go by Tall Bear now.
BUCK: Are you outta your mind!?
TALL BEAR: It’s who I am now!
BUCK: You’re my brother. You’re my partner. That’s who you are.
TALL BEAR: That part ain’t going to change.
BUCK: How you going to tell the bosses that you’re playing redskin now? They won’t let you serve like this.
TALL BEAR: Then I ain’t doing that no more.
BUCK: The marshals need us! What could be worth giving all that up?
TALL BEAR: You don’t understand, Buck. The Yurok live like I always wanted to. They’re close the land. They’ve got ways of hunting and tracking like I never seen. It’s everything I ever wanted from life on the trail!
BUCK: But… we’re the Dillon boys. We’re a team.
TALL BEAR: Don’t go taking it all like this, Buck.
BUCK: You shut your mouth! What am I supposed to take it like, you telling me you’re leaving me for a lot of naked savages!
TALL BEAR: They ain’t naked savages! You don’t know nothing about it!
BUCK: That can’t be it. You can’t be blowing out on your own blood just to sleep in a damn plank house. What’s got you, Ken? What’s got you?
TALL BEAR: Nothing’s got me!
BUCK: You telling me there ain’t nothing else?
TALL BEAR: That’s the life I want, I’m telling you! It’s just…
BUCK: Just what?
TALL BEAR: Just… Negahse’wey’s part of that.
BUCK: Negahse-what?
TALL BEAR: Negahse’wey. It means “rainbow.” She’s part of that life.
BUCK: So that’s it. Some red woman’s got you in her spell.
TALL BEAR: It ain’t like that, Buck!
BUCK: There’s plenty of gals in the world that won’t make you eat raw fish and wear animal skins!
TALL BEAR: Not like her.
BUCK: You can’t be throwing me over for some— red savage slag!
TALL BEAR: Don’t you talk about her like that!
BUCK: You’re right. You ain’t Kenneth no more. Kenneth was my brother, and you ain’t him.
TALL BEAR: What are you talking about? Of course I’m still your brother, I’ll always be your brother!
BUCK: Not no more. Not now.
TALL BEAR: Don’t you say that, Buck. Don’t you ever say that!
BUCK: No. I thought you was dead. Then I prayed, and then you came back… like this. Now, I don’t know if I was right… or if I just wish I was.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #14 - "Back East"

Catching up. Another piece based on The Stand, involving PC Rebecca Sinclair and her NPC mother Mayella. Probably nothing spoilery here. This is meant to be an exercise in getting a point across by characters' behavior rather than what they say to each other. It's a bit sparse, but I actually think I did better than I usually do.

Day #14 - “Back East”

MAYELLA SINCLAIR, Philadelphia-born wife of California cattle baron Arlen Sinclair
REBECCA SINCLAIR, their daughter, age nine
~~~

(California, 1830s. MAYELLA SINCLAIR mopes moodily on a chaise. Enter her daughter REBECCA in her nightdress.)

REBECCA: Mama?

(Pause.)

REBECCA: Mama!

MAYELLA: Not now, child.

REBECCA: It’s my bedtime.

MAYELLA: Where’s your nan?

REBECCA: She tucked me in already, but I can’t sleep.

MAYELLA: Go back to bed, Mama’s head aches.

REBECCA: But I’m lonely.

MAYELLA: I won’t tell you twice, Rebecca.

REBECCA: Will you tell me a story?

MAYELLA: Rebecca...

REBECCA: I promise I’ll sleep if you do.

MAYELLA: Mama’s not much good at stories.

REBECCA: Tell me about the city. Tell me about Philly-delia.

MAYELLA: Philadelphia. Very well, then, girl.

(She pats the seat on the chaise beside her. REBECCA toddles over and sits on it.)

MAYELLA: Oh, Philadelphia. It’s just the most wonderful place. Back east, the buildings are all brick and marble and have been around for decades. And the people! They’re genteel there. They ride around in carriages, not jostling wagons. And they’re so busy, all the time. They never idle the evenings away.

REBECCA: What do they do?

MAYELLA: Oh, but there’s so much to do. Museums full of important works of art. Ballrooms for dancing and mixing with all the most fascinating people. Theaters and opera houses that put on the grandest shows. Back east, the ladies and gentlemen can go out every night and never see the same place twice.

REBECCA: And they wear pretty clothes.

MAYELLA: The prettiest. Everything is pretty there. Pretty, and clean, and everything’s taken care of.

REBECCA: What do you mean, everything’s taken care of?

MAYELLA: Back east, it’s not like out here, where… it’s all catch as catch can, and all manner of folk can do what they like, when they like.

REBECCA: I don’t understand.

MAYELLA: Not to worry, child. You needn’t.

REBECCA: Philly-delia sounds nice, Mama.

MAYELLA: It is. Nicer than I can tell you. Now. I think it’s quite time for bed.

REBECCA: All right, Mama.

(She climbs down off the chaise.)

REBECCA: Good night.

MAYELLA: Good night, Rebecca.

(She starts to exit, but stops.)

REBECCA: Will you take me there someday?

MAYELLA: If I do, it’ll be a miracle for both of us.

(MAYELLA turns away again. REBECCA turns and exits.)

31 Plays in 31 Days - Day #9 "A Fair Trade"

This is based on The Stand, and a scene from a possible play I could write about PC Carson Hill, about the first time he ever met PC Emma Holloway, the young black woman he employs in his saloon. This scene is somewhat spoilery for the game, but to minimize that, I will say that Carson feels a huge sense of guilt that fires up upon meeting her, and drives his behavior in the scene.

Day #9 - "A Fair Trade"

CARSON HILL, formerly a lawyer, now opening a cowboy saloon out west
EMMA HOLLOWAY, a runaway slave
~~~

(CARSON is closing up his bar at the end of the night. As he cleans up, he hears a knocking. He pauses a moment and listens. The knocking comes again.)

CARSON: Sorry, we’re closed.

EMMA: (Off-stage) Just need a moment! Please!

(CARSON exits briefly, as if going to a door, and backs up onto the stage as EMMA enters, dressed in tatters. He stares at her.)

EMMA: Beg pardon for pushing in. Just that I’m mortal hungry. I thought a body could have a bite here.

(CARSON stares.)

EMMA: I ain’t got three heads.

CARSON: Oh! Forgive me, I… I, uh… there isn’t much I’ve only just opened up… but, uh…

(He searches behind the bar and digs up some biscuits.)

CARSON: The sheriff’s wife brought these. You’re welcome to them.

(EMMA takes them after a moment and begins to eat. CARSON watches her with trepidation.)

EMMA: I’ve got money.

CARSON: Oh— no, no.

EMMA: I pay my way!

CARSON: It isn’t that.

EMMA: Ain’t you never seen a negro before? We eat the same as anybody.

CARSON: No— it’s just been a while. I mean… I never met one in Reston before.

EMMA: I’m new out west.

CARSON: How did you come here?

EMMA: On the boat that come through the canal.

CARSON: Is that so? That’s… that’s a long way. What brings you here?

EMMA: Same reason as all folks, I reckon. Making a new start.

(Pause.)

EMMA: You’re awful curious.

CARSON: I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrogate.

EMMA: I be moving on soon.

CARSON: Moving on? Do you have any place to stay?

EMMA: Never you mind.

CARSON: No… it’s only… it’s a rough place out there. To have nowhere to go.

EMMA: I make my way.

CARSON: I’m sure.

(He paces off, then rushes back over to her.)

CARSON: You want a job?

EMMA: Beg pardon?

CARSON: If you don’t have anywhere else to go, you might work here.

EMMA: Don’t need your charity, I’m sure.

CARSON: I could use the help. I’m new out west too, and new to keeping a
place like this. Can you cook?

EMMA: Yep.

CARSON: Well, I can’t. Can you serve up a plate?

EMMA: Course I can.

CARSON: The bar could use a maid. You seem like you can meet a hard day’s work.

EMMA: Harder than you ever.

CARSON: I don’t doubt that. I’ll pay you a fair wage, and you can stay here if you like.

EMMA: Why you so hot to have me?

CARSON: I think we both could use a fair trade. Just… trying to do something right.

(EMMA considers.)

EMMA: I could take a fair wage.

CARSON: Thanks very much, miss… I don’t even know your name.

EMMA: Emma.

CARSON: Good to have you, Emma. The name’s Hill. Carson Hill.

(After a moment, he extends his hand to shake, uncertainly. She regards it, then warily reaches out and takes it.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #3 - "For Her"

Today's piece goes to that source of inspiration that served me so well the first time around, drawing from the backstory of The Stand. This is an attempt at doing a better job at a scene that would have appeared in Sally and Deadeye, my original thesis piece that for whatever reason wasn't working the first time I tried to write it. (As you'll recall, I ended up abandoning it in favor of writing Mrs. Loring.) But I think it could still possibly be salvaged, especially since I'm no longer morbidly depressed. So, without looking at my original draft, I redid this scene from whole cloth. This is rough and rushed, but it's a stab.

This is extremely spoilerly for The Stand, just as a warning. It follows sometime after No Clean Break, a ten-minute I wrote in my first semester of grad school, which has had several readings now and is considered to be one of my more successful pieces.

Also, surprising no one, it features of one my more common Author Tropes.

Day #3 - "For Her"

FLORA JOHANSSON, formerly an outlaw, now seeking refuge in a convent
SISTER ESME, a nun at the convent
~~~

(FLORA sits up in bed, still tired and disheveled from giving birth, holding her newborn baby. Enter SISTER ESME.)

SISTER ESME: How is the little one?

FLORA: She’s sleeping now.

SISTER ESME: She is a pretty little thing.

FLORA: She is. God bless her. More than I deserve.

SISTER ESME: And how are you, miss?

FLORA: Tired is all.

SISTER ESME: Glad to hear. We’ll talk after you’ve had a rest.

(She turns to go again.)

FLORA: Talk? About what?

SISTER ESME: About what your plans are.

FLORA: My plans?

SISTER ESME: Now that the baby’s come.

FLORA: Oh. I reckon you’ve got rules about keeping babies here.

SISTER ESME: It’s only… there’s a great deal a baby needs besides a home.

FLORA: No mistake. I suppose… I haven’t thought so much of it.

SISTER ESME: You know, we’ve helped many a fatherless baby find their place in the world.

FLORA: What are you saying, marm?

SISTER ESME: We’ll talk when you’ve rested.

FLORA: No. We’ll talk now.

(The sister sighs.)

SISTER ESME: It is a shame for a child to go without a family. We could find her one.

(Pause.)

FLORA: You want me to give her up? Let you… find her some nice mama and papa to take her away?

SISTER ESME: It’s a choice you might consider.

FLORA: She’s my baby. I’m her mother!

SISTER ESME: Just as you say. And as her mother, you’ve got to do the best for her.

FLORA: How can I do that if I give her up?

SISTER ESME: There are decent people you could trust her to. Them who won’t trouble if she hasn’t gotten a father or a name or a place in the world. For they have them to give to her.

FLORA: You folks do that a lot? Find respectable wedded couples to raise babies?

SISTER ESME: Very often. We’ve saved many unwanted babies that way.

FLORA: She ain’t unwanted!

SISTER ESME: I know, child. But you must ask yourself what you can provide for her.

FLORA: I can care for her. I can love her.

SISTER ESME: So you can. But it’s a hard world for a little one with no home and no father to look after him.

FLORA: And a mama what lived how I lived.

(Pause.)

FLORA: And you think that what I ought to do?

SISTER ESME: It’s your decision. We’ll abide by it.

(FLORA begins to cry.)

FLORA: You don’t understand, sister. I gave up… everything. My whole life.

SISTER ESME: You were right brave.

FLORA: I need something to hold to, sister. Something to make it not all some crying waste. She’s all I got now. Sure I
mustn’t… give her up too?

SISTER ESME: Flora, what did you do it for?

FLORA: Why, for her. Why else?

SISTER ESME: Why else, indeed?

(Pause.)

SISTER ESME: You needn’t decide anything now. You best get your rest. We’ll talk more later.

(Exit SISTER ESME. FLORA holds her baby close.)

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: #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: #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.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #9 - "One Drop"

Another spoiler-packed piece based on The Stand, not for the eyes of those who hope to play someday. I like the idea behind this piece a lot, but I am very dissatisfied with the execution. It is forced and needs work, so I will have to seriously edit it when I have time.

This piece is about Bonnie Reston Harper, the mother of PC Zachariah Harper who has just passed away at the start of game. The other character was difficult for me to decide on, given the point in the timeline and the subject matter of the discussion. I wanted to use someone already established in the universe, but nobody seemed to work, so I made a new character. I think it works, but I may change her to someone else if I think of any already existing character.

I am working on implying things in my dramatic writing without making them explicit. I wrote this as if taking it for granted that the reader knew what these two women were talking about. I hope it reads even without that definite prior knowledge.

Day #9 - "One Drop"

(Enter two middle-aged women, fair-skinned BONNIE HARPER and black-skinned IDA BOW, who sit at two simple chairs with a table between them. There is a cloth-draped rectangle upstage. BONNIE is frail and wan from illness. She lights a small lamp on the table.)

BONNIE: Ida, you shouldn’t have come back all this way. What if somebody catches you?

IDA: Had to, Bonnie. I heard you was real sick, and you’s all alone in the world now. After everything you done for me, I couldn’t let… anything happen to you, not without seeing you one more time.

BONNIE: Aw, honey, God bless you.

IDA: Is it so?

BONNIE: It’s so.

IDA: How bad is it?

BONNIE: Real bad. Bad as can be.

IDA: Aw, sweetheart. You sure?

BONNIE: Had Doc Harris check me out. He said it were certain.

IDA: The drunken war doc? Not sure I’d bet the farm on what he says.

BONNIE: Wouldn’t matter if he was the surgeon general, I can feel it. There’s a… rattling, like, in my chest. Getting a little worse every day. Won’t be long now, I expect.

IDA: Honey, I am so sorry.

BONNIE: It ain’t the worst thing there could be. It’s just… all this. After I’m gone… who’s going to keep things going? Who’s going take care of everyone who comes through?

IDA: You learned from your papa, didn’t you? Couldn’t you pass it on to your own children?

BONNIE: Believe me, Ida, I been thinking about it. But it’s not so simple. Can’t be my girl Julia, she’s married to a carriage-maker all the way in Alabama. Doubt I could even reach her in time.

IDA: In time?

BONNIE: Before it’s too late.

IDA: Oh. Well…what about that boy of yours? Zach… Zachary?

BONNIE: Zachariah.

IDA: What’s become of him? He… he went off into the frontier, didn’t he?

BONNIE: He’s a good boy. Done well for himself, made a bit of money by finding the right spot at the right time. Sends most of it home to me, the dear, and I see a letter from him once a month.

IDA: A real good boy. So what’s the trouble?

BONNIE: Lots of trouble, love. First off… he don’t know. Him nor Julia know.

IDA: They don’t? Twenty years you been helping runaways through, and you never said nothing about it?

BONNIE: When they was growing up, we hid it from them. Maybe it were foolish, but we thought that way we might not bring anything down on our children’s heads if ever we was caught. I… I have an awful lot of explaining to do.

IDA: I see. But you ain’t afraid he won’t understand, are you?

BONNIE: Not that, Ida, never that. Sure, the Indians are the darkest folk he’s ever seen, but we raised him better than that. Still… it’s a lot to ask of a young man.

IDA: Sure it’s a hard thing to do alone. I remember when your Lucas passed.

BONNIE: That was rough and no mistake.

IDA: But a decent boy like your Zach would want help you. Wouldn’t he?

BONNIE: It’s ain’t that, Ida. It’s only… it’s ain’t what Zachariah wants. Being bound to some patch of ground for any reason. He used to listen to his granddad’s stories of living on the frontier, and… his eyes would go wide as dinner plates. He went off to live those stories for himself the minute he was old enough to go. He writes about how he has an adventure every day and sleeps under the stars every night. He ain’t never been happier in his life. Asking him to take it over would be asking him to give all that up. Every time I start writing him… I hate myself for trying to drag him back here.

IDA: The boy would want to see his sick mother before she goes.

BONNIE: But he wouldn’t want me to chain him here.

IDA: Ain’t just anyone who’d risk it all just to do right by some other people.

BONNIE: Oh, Ida. Did I ever tell you why I got to doing this?

IDA: No, honey, don’t think you ever did.

BONNIE: It were my ma and pa, you know.

IDA: Wish I could have met them. Walter Reston must have been quite a man. Ran his own town, and still worked to help folks what didn’t have anyone else.

BONNIE: More than that, dear. I never showed you their picture.

(She goes to the cloth-draped rectangle upstage.)

BONNIE: My father and mother… Walter and Daisy Reston.

(She unveils a huge portrait of a distinguished-looking couple, a white man and a black woman.)

IDA: That’s your ma and pa? But you look…

(BONNIE touches the image of her mother reverently.)

BONNIE: She had a white papa herself. Reckon I take after that part of her.

IDA: Was they married?

BONNIE: In secret. She belonged to a tobacco baron in Virginia. I was lucky. When I was born, because of how I looked they sent me to go live with my auntie. So I wouldn’t have to live that life. That’s why Papa went out west. To earn the money to buy her free, and bring us out here with him.

IDA: She never made it, did she?

BONNIE: Daddy worked his whole life so he could get her out. Get her somewhere where nobody could stop them living as man and wife. But she died a slave. He wasn’t going to wait for anybody to buy their out ever again.

IDA: Oh, honey… I never knew. And you done so much for us... when you could’ve lived your life forgetting all about it.

BONNIE: What’s that they say? One drop is enough. If they ever found us out, I would have been in the same place as you were. As my mother was. I couldn’t do nothing else.

IDA: The children… do they know?

BONNIE: No. They never had to think about it. And now my boy’s free. Freer now than any of us. But… I can’t let this thing die. Ida… what do I do?

IDA: Bonnie… your pa gave all his rambling up to help folks what needed it. That’s the mark of a good man. And I ain’t never met your boy, but… I think any man raised by you is going to be just as good. You write that letter, Bonnie. I’ll see that it goes out.

(BONNIE considers, then nods. She takes out a pen and paper and begins to write. IDA holds on to her hand.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #8 - "Earned a Little Something"

This play works better than it has any right to. It depicts a birth gone awry, a situation like the last piece's in that it is kind of tough to portray onstage. I think it gets away with it by coming into the story at the right moment, after the labor is done with, and by implying with lighting changes that they have moved from one room into another.

This is another bit of backstory from The Stand. This time it's non-spoilery, but it is sad, and dark, and creepy. It depicts the day that Amelia was to give birth to her and Sheriff Malcolm Royce's only child... only things do not go as planned. This was hard to write, and I ended up having to just force it out onto the page, so it's rough. But might be salvageable with editing, even given the difficult theatrical setup.

Day #8 - "Earned a Little Something"

(Lights up on the right side of the stage only. Sheriff MALCOLM ROYCE paces across the stage, casting worried glances stage left. There is an empty crib behind him.)

(SAMUEL HARRIS the town doctor comes out from the dark, disheveled and with the red face and shaky hands of a longtime alcoholic. He carries a swaddled bundle in his arms.)

MALCOLM: What’s happened?

SAMUEL: It’s bad, sir.

MALCOLM: I know that, that’s why I called you.

(MALCOLM notices the bundle.)

MALCOLM: Is that… is that the baby?

SAMUEL: Sheriff… she come out cold.

MALCOLM: You was supposed to fix this!

SAMUEL: She was already dead! Poor little thing…

MALCOLM: What about Amelia? Is she…

SAMUEL: Too much blood… can’t stop it coming.

MALCOLM: What did you do, you worthless gin-soaked fool!?

SAMUEL: Might be I am, but she was already too far gone.

MALCOLM: Couldn’t you pull yourself together just one night to do your damn job!?

SAMUEL: Weren’t nothing I could do!

MALCOLM: You bastard… get your hands off her.

(He snatches the bundled baby from SAMUEL’s hands.)

MALCOLM: Get out! Get going!

(SAMUEL stumbles out. When he is gone, MALCOLM peels back the blanket to look at her, and his face breaks.)

(Lights up stage left, revealing AMELIA in the bed. She stirs.)

AMELIA: Malcolm? Is that you?

(MALCOLM lays the little body in the crib.)

MALCOLM: Darling? Oh, Jesus.

(He goes over to her.)

AMELIA: Where is she?

MALCOLM: She’s… in the cradle.

AMELIA: I didn’t… I didn’t get to see her.

MALCOLM: You didn’t?

AMELIA: Doc Harris… carried her off. She… she’s not crying. Malcolm, why ain’t she crying?

(MALCOLM says nothing. AMELIA begins to cry.)

AMELIA: She’s dead, isn’t she?

MALCOLM: I’ll kill that drunken wreck of a sawbones. I’ll drag him down Main Street behind my horse.

AMELIA: Stop it. He done nothing that nature hadn’t already done worse. Nothing can bring her back now…

MALCOLM: We’ll… we’ll have another, dear. We’ll have a houseful. Remember what we said? God thought we’d earned a little something.

AMELIA: Malcolm… you know there ain’t going to be any more.

MALCOLM: We can’t say that! We never thought we could have this one.

AMELIA: No, love. That’s it… that’s it for me.

(She pushes off her blanket, revealing sheets that are soaked through with blood.)

MALCOLM: Jesus Christ. Oh, honey… oh, no, honey.

AMELIA: Should have known, eh? Too old for birthing babies. Poor little girl… she had no chance with me… never even got to hold her…

MALCOLM: Ain’t your fault, honey, these things… things happen.

AMELIA: No matter now. I’ll be with her soon.

MALCOLM: No! No, don’t talk like that.

AMELIA: It’s too late, Malcolm. It’s real bad.

(He starts stroking her hair and face.)

MALCOLM: It’ll be all right. We’ll find you a real doctor, even if I have to ride all night.

AMELIA: Malcolm.

MALCOLM: Was a miracle we even made that baby. Why not have another miracle? It’ll be all right.

AMELIA: It ain’t all right, love. I never wanted to go like this… not with something hanging between us.

MALCOLM: Hanging between us? There ain’t nothing, darling.

AMELIA: I never meant to keep nothing from you. You’re the best man I know. Can’t leave things like this with you.

MALCOLM: You’re right with me, honey. You’re right with me.

AMELIA: I wanted to tell you, I just made a promise…

MALCOLM: What are you saying, dear?

AMELIA: Malcolm, I should have told you. Before now. But… you must promise me you can forgive.

MALCOLM: Tell me what, honey? Tell me what?

(AMELIA’s head drops back and her eyes flutter closed.)

MALCOLM: Amelia? What is it? Amelia!

(Her hands slip out of his. MALCOLM’s face contorts in pain, and he lays his head down on her chest in grief. After a moment, he rises. He smooths her hair and takes the clean blanket and lays it over her, concealing the blood. He regards her a moment in sorrow.)

MALCOLM: Thought we earned a little something.

(He then goes to the crib. He gathers up the body of their baby girl, and steeling himself, carries the small bundle out.)

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.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #4 - "Colors in the Sky in Rain"

Today's piece uses characters from The Stand. It's spoiler-free for the game, so it's all right to read if you haven't played yet. It tells a bit of the backstory of two of the characters in the game, Negahse'wey the Yurok woman and a certain former US Marshall who once called himself Kenneth Dillon. I'm pretty good at writing the voice of a cowboy from the 1840s, but I struggled more with figuring out how a Yurok Native American who didn't know perfect English would talk. I tried to give it some verisimilitude without descending into stereotypes.

And hey, this one's not dark! In fact, it was playing these characters that and Adam were legally married while in my larp. I'm still tickled by that. :-D

Day #4 - "Colors in the Sky in Rain"

(A white man, KENNETH DILLON, dressed in flannel and denim lies asleep on a pallet. A Native American woman, NEGAHSE’WEY, sits a ways off mixing herbs and mud in a bowl.)

(After a moment, KENNETH stirs, moaning softly. He claps his hand to his forehead in pain, then pushes himself up to rest on one elbow.)

KENNETH: Jesus Christ, Buck… feel like a bull run me over… Buck? You there?

(He looks around and is surprised by his surroundings.)

KENNETH: What…? Where am I?

(He looks at NEGASE’WEY in shock. She looks back at him, considering.)

KENNETH: God damn! Who in the hell are you?

(He scrambles awkwardly back a bit.)

KENNETH: Jesus… one of them Yuroks, ain’t she. Gonna be lucky to get out of here with my scalp still on. Oh, Jesus. What in the hell does she want?

NEGAHSE’WEY: I know your talk some.

KENNETH: Oh! Oh. Uh, sorry, there, miss. Ma’am.

(As an afterthought he goes to take off his hat, and realizes he isn’t wearing it.)

KENNETH: Uh, where’s my…

(She reaches for it and hands it to him. He holds it to his chest.)

KENNETH: Thank you, miss. Feel naked without my…

(He clutches his hair again.)

KENNETH: You ain’t cut off my scalp.

(NEGAHSE’WEY looks at him as if he’s an idiot. KENNETH suddenly feels a fool.)

KENNETH: I guess… I reckon you had plenty of chance if you was going to do that. Sorry, ma’am. Can you… can you tell me where I am?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Yurok village. The old plank house where nobody goes.

KENNETH: Yurok village? How’d I get here?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Found you half-dead. Washed up in the river.

KENNETH: The… the river…

NEGAHSE’WEY: Very stupid, swimming with hide and wood and iron on your feet.

KENNETH: We got no choice! We was on the trail, after some varmint! Me and Buck… Oh, Jesus… Buck! He must think I’m a dead man.

(He struggles to stand, but collapses back onto the pallet.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Buck?

(She comes over with her bowl of herbs and tries to quiet him. She examines him, checking his pulse and looking into the whites of his eyes.)

KENNETH: My brother, my partner in the marshalls… he was with me. Going after the varmint. We chased him to the river, but the storm was picking up. Water was running wild, made it hard to cross, but we couldn’t just let him get away. Had to go in after him. But… the rain, and the current…

NEGAHSE’WEY: River swept you away.

KENNETH: Yeah… yeah, it did. Hit me like a freight train. That’s the last thing I recollect.

(She begins dabbing at his cuts with the contents of her bowl.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Found you after. In the mud after storm. Only a little breath, much blood. Though you dead, but… I saw your breath.

KENNETH: No wonder my head’s pounding like a stampede. So I been here since last night?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Three nights.

KENNETH: Three nights!?

NEGAHSE’WEY: You sleep. I wonder if you never wake.

KENNETH: Oh, Jesus. Gone all that time… I gotta get back, gotta tell Buck I ain’t dead…

(NEGAHSE’WEY tries to keep him still, but KENNETH staggers to his feet. He goes to leave but sways helplessly.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Not good to go out there.

KENNETH: Why?

NEGAHSE’WEY: People out there. Yurok.

KENNETH: Yurok?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Want you not here. Rather you die.

KENNETH: Oh. Oh, Lord.

(He sways. NEGAHSE’WEY helps him back to the pallet.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: I think you not go far.

KENNETH: Might… might be right, ma’am. Oof… like I was drunk of a week, I’m so dizzy. Reckon I’m stuck here until I can defend myself on the way out.

(He allows NEGAHSE’WEY to continue ministering to him silently for a moment, then looks to her.)

KENNETH: Wait a breath… if nobody wants me here… how in thunder did I get here?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Me.

KENNETH: You? Just you?

NEGAHSE’WEY: And my spotted pony. Lay you on his back, bring you here.

KENNETH: But… you said they don’t want me here.

NEGAHSE’WEY: Yes. They say, no white man here. Should leave you where you lay, leave you die. I say no. I say, carry you back here, lay you in the old plank house, tend your wounds. Much anger at me.

KENNETH: Why’d you do it, then?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Sad for you. Lying there, blood and hurt, with no one. Sad.

(KENNETH takes off his hat again.)

KENNETH: That was… that was right kind of you, miss. And… sounds like brave too. Thank you.

(Pause.)

KENNETH: Ah… the name’s Dillon, by the way. US Marshall Kenneth Dillon.

(She stares.)

KENNETH: Just… call me Kenneth. If you please.

(Awkwardly he extends his hand for a handshake. He is a little thrown when she touches it palm to palm.)

KENNETH: What’s your name?

NEGAHSE’WEY: (Considering) You say… Colors in the Sky in Rain.

KENNETH: “Colors in...?” Your name’s Rainbow?

(She stares.)

KENNETH: Uh… what do you say? In your tongue?

NEGASEH’WEY: Negahse’wey.

KENNETH: Negah— Negahse’wey.

(She laughs at his pronunciation.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: I have your tongue. You have no Yurok.

KENNETH: Well… I could! I think… I think I might be here for a little while. I could learn.

(She laughs again.)

KENNETH: (Trying hard.) Negahse’wey! See there! I know one word already! Might be… might be you could teach me more.

(NEGAHSE’WEY walks over to the pallet, tipping her head back and forth.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Might be. Might be not. So stupid you swim with your boots.

(KENNETH stares a minute, then, realizing she’s made a joke, bursts out laughing. Negahse’wey smiles.)