Rewrite of the play I did. I like this one a little more.
Henry
You think we’re stuck?
Zeta
I hope not, it could be a test, but I don’t know, I’ve never got on an elevator in Hell.
Henry
We were the winner though, weren’t we? There were so many other-
Zeta
(Trying the button a few times) Millions
HENRY
Yeah, and we won, so we don’t deserve this kind of treatment. We’re supposed to be at the pearly gates by now.
Zeta
(Trying both up and down buttons now, mixing his presses)
This is from the Devil though, remember that. We should have both expected this.
HENRY
He seemed nice though…never seen so much crushed velvet on someone before, but you know, it suited him.
ZETA
(Zeta stops pushing buttons) Did we even push these when we got on? Its been what? Two-three hours? I don’t remember.
HENRY
I don’t remember, I was too excited, I think I may have been holding my breath until we stopped. I’m sweating though, are you sweating? Am I flushed?
ZETA
(Moves away from the buttons, sets down case and walks the walls looking for something) You can’t be flushed
Henry
Why not?
ZETA
Because you’re dead. That’s not sweat, its just warmer up here, that’s condensation, like when a toilet sweats on a hot day. You’re not excited, you’re just a toilet.
(He spys the panel on the floor and begins to run his fingers on the handle)
I found something, find something to help me open this!
HENRY
(While Zeta tugs on the handle, Henry looks for a moment then goes for the case, noticing the nameplate)
Zeta? What kind of name is that? Sounds made up.
ZETA
I don’t know, its just a name. I don’t remember mine, so I took that one? You going to help me?
HENRY
(While Zeta struggles, he opens the case and looks for a moment then gasps and tosses the case up, spilling the contents. Photographs scatter and a large wrapped up hunk is displaced midstage. While this happens Zeta is able to pop the hatch and quickly grab a piece of paper from beneath it.)
What the hell?
ZETA
(Zeta bends down and looks at the hunk, he picks it up and its found to be a dead bird wrapped in a paisley tie)
Oh god…
HENRY
Why the hell is there a dead bird in there? What did you do?
ZETA
I don’t know, I don’t remember! I’ve never even opened it before…
Henry
(Beat, while Henry notices the paper in Zeta’s hand)
What’s that?
(He snatches the paper and reads it aloud)
Thank you for using a quality inspected Hell-o-vater…blah,blah…Oh! In power emergencies the lift can be restored by a blood sacrifice…Oh,shit…
ZETA
(Half-chuckle, pointing to the floor) Heh, so that’s why the floor is sloped like that
HENRY
(surprised and afraid) That’s hardly fair, we won fair and square, we were both supposed to go up!
ZETA
Like I said, we should have been expecting this, there’s always a catch…But we can settle this reasonably, like proper people.
HENRY
Yeah, like men. But how do we do that?
ZETA
Well, we should go by who was more evil in their past life, they have to be the blood sacrifice. (Zeta extends his hand) That sound fair?
HENRY
(Hesitant, but extends his hand, they shake) Okay, yeah, well, may the better man win.
ZETA
Exactly my point. You mind going first?
HENRY
No, I’ve got nothing to hide. What should I do?
ZETA
Well stand there, (Zeta kicks the photographs and case to side and sits down opposite side of the drain) I’ll sit and listen to what you remember about up there.
Henry
Well…My name is Henry, I’m not sure what I remember, but-(He produces his picture) I have this, (He shows Zeta) I remember them a little.
ZETA
Your family?
HENRY
(unsure) Yeah…Yeah, I’m sure.
ZETA
We’ll why don’t you tell me what you remember, I know how memory goes when your down there.
HENRY
(nods) Well, I’m walking from work, I remember, its cold, I can see my breath, and I’m staring through the window. And the kids are in the living room, staring at something-T.V. and she’s there, turning away to get something. And then my hand’s on the side door latch and its cold without gloves, and then I’m inside. There is something in the air, murky, dark tea, and nobody turns around as I walk to the mantle, and theres the photograph (He smiles and holds it up) this one right here, and I’m so quiet when I take it, you don’t ever hear me take it out of the frame (He mimes the rest of the sentence) and set it back, and then I take it…I put it in my pocket…I turn around…(beat where he stares at Zeta, expression changes from worry to anger)
ZETA
Yes? What happened?
HENRY
And then I wake up in Hell. I didn’t get a chance to speak.
ZETA
Oh…Anything else?
HENRY
No, nothing else--your turn to go
ZETA
(Stands up) Okay
(They share a look, then Zeta gestures for Henry to sit, and he does, holding the stare.)
I don’t remember as much as I feel. There was this feeling of warmth, I remember being very warm, like I was swallowed in sunlight, it felt great, energizing. And then there’s a wind, like falling, all over my face and arms (He spreads his arms wide) It peels the heat off me and then everything tightens up (He brings his arms in close) Close to snapping, and then…And then nothing, I wake up here too.
HENRY
That doesn’t help us. You’ve got to remember more. Look at the photos, you’ll remember something.
ZETA
What?
HENRY
We’re at a stale mate, just look, try! It couldn’t hurt.
(Another beat look, Henry gestures to the case and photos, and Zeta turns his back and bends down to inspect them, picking up a few. Henry bends down to the bird and gets the tie off it. He wraps it around his hands taut and advances behind Zeta)
Anything?
ZETA
I just get a sad feelng, like something was wrong or went wrong. They look happy…This one even has a cherry tree like yours.
HENRY
(chokes Zeta from behind) I know, you bastard
(Zeta fights to breathe, while Henry tries to choke and hold him down)
You’re a murderer, you deserve this, you sent me down there, I didn’t even have a chance to explain!
(They tussle up to a standing position, and Zeta tries to speak)
Shut up! You don’t get a chance to defend yourself, I didn’t-
(With a solid lunge Zeta sends the two of them into the Stage right wall of the elevator, Henry lands face first and crumbles to the floor holding his nose and whimpering)
Zeta
(heavy breaths as Henry tries to roll over, but Zeta kicks him in the face and he yelps and goes down again)
Henry
(holding his face) You don’t deserve to go! You killed me, I remember-
Zeta
Be Quiet! Victims don’t go to hell, that’s a free pass! Which means you deserved it!
(Zeta looks up, finally noticing the rain sound. He walks underneath the emergency hatch and jumps to get it open. It swings free and cloudy light and rain spill in)
But I’m not going to kill you again. You don’t deserve it. (He steps on Henry and heaves himself up to the hatch and climbs out)
Henry
Wait!
(Henry stands, looking up into the hatch)Help me out, too!
(Pause, there is a gush of blood running down Henry’s front from a broken nose)
…Shit
(He covers his face for a moment, then remembers the drain in the floor and kneels over it. He puts pressure on his nose to make it bleed more and it leaks a small stream before he yelps and pulls his hands away. The elevator shudders and raises a few feet.)
…Shit…Shit!
(Henry paces then sits down by the case and picks up the photographs and begins to leaf through them.)
A whole fucking month of this stuff, huh? Who would have thunk it?
Today I have a story start, a weird one, that I'm not really sure how it will play out, but I like it anyway. Here it is
"There's a man in my memories, so I'm going to need a little more time."
"I can't extend a loan payment another month because your seeing someone."
The office is narrow with dark wood walls that shine blue from the new phospherescent bulbs overhead. Dora feels like this must be what a fish feels like, in a fish bowl. what if must be like in a large glass of water.
"You're clearly three months behind, another 20 days and we have to start seizing assets. I can't do much else for it."
"See, that wouldn't be good because it would make it harder to think. If I have to think about losing my bed or my favorite reading chair, then I might not ever remember the man in my memories."
Dora wondered if her face could get as thin as Stacey Wilhelm, the loan officer whose office she was sitting in had. She began to suck in her cheeks but decided against it it might seem insulting if they both had sucked in faces.
"I can't defer a loan because you have forgotten someone." Ms. Stacey Wilhelm shuffles a group of papers, which were probably covered in Dora's long name, Theodora Fog, and birth date, and how much money she made, and spent, and owed to them, and probably other things that they didn't need to know but probably had asked her friends about, like how much pocket change, per average, did she give homeless people, or did she use energy efficient bulbs. She thought the way she shuffled those papers looked professional, and that Ms. Stacey Wilhelm had good hands for modeling, and could probably do it too, if she wasn't such a stickler about stuff.
"That's just it," Dora spoke, "I don't remember him, and he's been in more and more of my memories. Its like someone walking on set, but the set is me."
Edit: So this post didn't go through last night before I went to sleep. I spent must of the day with Sam so, it kind of slipped my mind but I had decided I would work on something quick before I went to bed, and then forget to post it.
A man has a box With a hand and box inside With a man inside
Definitely not my best work but I did right it sleepy as fuck. I'll have something later tonight too.
Almost a whole month. Here's a draft of a story start. It's not finished but I just wrote 3,000 words and I think I'm calling it for right now until I figure out what more to do.
Kingdom Come
Lynda never stole anything before Kingdom Come. She remembers every chance that she had the ability to, in fifth grade when she forgot her lunch, the cubbies in the small room paneled with wood where they hung their coats was full of sack lunches. She remembers running her fingers over the brown paper before grabbing her coat and trying to cross the street to the gas station to by a bag of chips. An adult had had grabbed her and brought her back in. She remembers the time in freshman year when she worked a school charity event selling tiny plastic cups of pink lemonade for two bucks each. She was left alone the whole time and the till was sitting open on her lap the whole night. She had thought about taking the hair band off the limp ponytail and strapping a few curled fives to her ankles before the end of the night, but she didn’t and shut the cold metal box up for the person running the even to retrieve the next day.
But this was her senior year and at her Uncle Cole’s place three nights ago she saw Kingdom Come sitting there like a relic from a dead civilization. Cole had invited Sam and herself over for a night to finally meet his new wife. His new wife was twenty eight and had lived on the East Coast before shipping out to Chicago. Lynda never really cared for Cole or the way he spoke around you, instead of at you, as if he were dictating instead of conversing; so when he turned back from the living room to the kithcen and began to tell his young wife and Sam about the new water heater that he had installed all by himself two weeks before, all by himself, without even the set of wrenches the pair had given him last Christmas, Lynda took off her shoes and stared at the weapon.
Kingdom Come was a bat, the last remnant of her Uncle’s “gold days” as he called it, bartending biker clubs in the Memphis area. He told stories of how he usedit to chase out anyone who would try to sneak drinks or feed them to minors, “But there’s only so many I could swing at,” was his line. It was a was quarter shorter than baseball regulation, with black friction tape around the handle and enough sealing wax (the kind used to weatherproof decks) that it added a solid inch to its circumference. Hidden in the milky whiteness of the wax were the faces of coins: quarters and half-dollar pieces with JFK’s face on them, added for weight and stopping power.
Her thin hands were quick when they plucked up the bat and brought up dust like flies jumping off in the light from the bay window. She ran a hand over the gnarled head of Kingdom Come and wondered if at any point Cole had actually used it to “beat a bastard to Kingdom Come”. That’s how it got its name, Cole wasn’t much using imagination. She ran a thumb over a spot of caked dust, pivoted on her left foot and let the bat drop down into her bag, and it fit into the darkness of textbooks and gym clothes like nothing, like she had never taken it.
When she zipped ever everything closed she imagined that her Father’s tired frame, or Cole’s gaunt form would be there, maybe the two of them together, eyeing her angrily, but it was only ghosts, and from where she crouched she couldn’t hear the joke but saw the shadow of Cole’s young wife laugh against the canary yellow of the kitchen wall.
Lynda ate the young wife’s food and wondered all night if her father would comment about the past, their college days in Tennessee, a past job, maybe if he kept drinking, her mother. But he didn’t, which was good, because if he did than Cole would be prompted to tell another story and every story ended in the “gold days”. Sam didn’t seem to want to talk all night, and left the new happy family to it. He only perked up when the young wife smiled at Lynda and asked,
“So, Lyn-you don’t mind if I call you that? We’re family now, so, Lyn, how’s school? Good, I hope.”
And while Lynda chewed through a thick piece of gristle Sam looked up from his food and half smiled. “She got a scholarship for track to U of I. It’s not everything, but its not bad.” Lynda swallowed and didn’t take in the small smile hanging on Sam’s face.
“It’s good. I’m still running.” Said Lynda. And this was how the rest of the night went.
For three days Kingdom Come sat in her bag, it was Friday when they’d had the dinner and now on Sunday, Lynda had buried her prize and the bag beneath her bed for the few days, expecting each phone call that brought Sam up and to the kitchen would be Cole, his pale lips to the receiving screaming that someone had taken Kingdom Come. But each day was the voiceless contractor that Sam had named “Jag-Off” and they would talk like two toddlers about to tumble onto the woodchips.
She caught, “How many more days am I going to get a call saying their isn’t any work? Should I just sleep until six tomorrow and see if you need me?” as her hands went for the canvas but she closed her probing fingers and slung herself back up, then off the bed. It wasn’t time yet, Lynda was sure of that. She left Kingdom where it laid and went out of her room and into her Father’s room, a blanched white that still held the fumes of fresh paint. The only bit of color were the purple sheets and a watercolor done by an old friend of Sam and his father. Lynda always wondered how much color could fit in such a small square, especially on her father, the artist depicting him with cherry lips and a shade of green for a his eyes that didn’t seem correct, a bit too deep. Her mind was on the closet though and she opened it to see the three sets of paint flecked overalls that had always been in there. She reached in, feeling through sweaters and rain slickers till her fingertips felt something cold and textured and with seven great tugs spilled it out onto the cream carpet. It was a trunk, it went up to her knee and was made of thick wood stained deep with a dark polish that gave it a rub of purple to the eye in sunlight. It belonged to Sadie, and she dragged it by a wicker handle on its thick side, leaving a furrow behind her to the door, into the hallway, toward her room.
Her arms failed her as she tried to get it through the doorway into her room and she slipped and landed on her ass. Her father appeared on the other side of the doorway, done speaking with his employer. He wore no expression as he watched her get back up.
“I didn’t know you wanted any of it.” He worked his jaw like the words were coming at strange angles, like maybe they were too big or too small. “I told you last month you could take anything you wanted.”
Lynda took a step forward and let a knee fall over the trunk. “I think I’m going to take it.”
“All of it.” Lynda could see from the look of his face that he had meant it as a question but it came out flat. “The plan was to get rid of it soon.”
She finally caught his eye and played with a smile, it was a gesture, an olive branch that she was hoping he would take and he did. He smiled and she could see the capped tooth that was a shade bluer than the rest of his teeth, but his brows still held a bit of worry.
“If you think you want some of it, that’s fine. Let me know what you don’t want. I think I’m going to give the rest to Coral, to make Cole happy.”
“Hmmm.” Was the affirmation that she gave back and they were floating again, still holding a smile each until they parted and she hefted the trunk into her room. It was set at the foot of her bed, it stuck out wider than the frame by a good few inches on either side, but Lynda didn’t mind the space it took up.
She thought her father looked more excited than he had been in a while, and she had felt it too, and wondered if it was the trunk as she bent down at the waist and laid her palms over the surface of the trunk to see if she could find some kind of static spark to hit her or feel some kind of deep heat emanating.
--
(I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing. And I feel bad about it.)
Three hours later neither of the two eat dinner and Lynda leaves through the front with her bag and Kingdom Come. She hadn’t opened the trunk yet, truly. She had popped the latch down with her thumb and lifted it enough to get an arm inside, but just an arm. The air inside sprung up and she remembered rainy summer days, the clammy smell always reminding her of an old house of a relative she couldn’t remember where it would always rain, their whole house smelled like it, rain, and still air. She had reached inside probed around, something had told her not to look directly inside again, not for a fear, but for timing, this was a cheat what she was doing, reaching inside early. She wasn’t supposed to do this yet. So her fingers skimmed along the surfaces inside and she had to wiggle them to keep the blood flowing it was so cold. She found something smooth, round, with edges that flared out in strange directions. She thought it was maybe an earring or a brooch, something she had never seen Sadie wear, but she pulled out a glass eye. They had a moment, Lynda and the glass eye, staring at one another, and the gaze that it gave her said that “it was okay, it knew what she was doing, and it was fine.” And she slipped it into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. The lid closed and the Rain house smell still filled her room as she made it to the car parked in the drive.
The early evening sun caught the crushed front side panel as she popped the door open and the smell of cheap cherry potpourri and suburban weed hit came up easy.
“You tell your Dad this time?”
“No,” said Lynda, and she knew Rosie would be okay with it. Rosie was okay with most of the things that they did together and in her mind was a supportive cousin. They hadn’t been keeping a regiment of driving every Thursday after Sadie left.
“Is he going to get mad?” Rosie says, and cranes her neck back, leaning and pouring onto the space between the two of them. She has the seat pulled back and her arms are near straight at the wheel because of her size, and she has to drop her shoulder and lean hard to see out the back. Rosie is the daughter of Cole’s first wife, and they divorced coming on ten years ago. She has always been big, but with now five months out of her mother’s home, Lynda has noted the shift of living on her own, something she hasn’t been able to say to her yet.
“How were classes this week?” Lynda throws out, and with blind hands fishes out the pack of cigarettes from the darkness of the glove box. They get down the drive and she hands one to Rosie, who takes it between her fingers and lights it, then gets Lynda, and she heads North up McKinley hooking only her thumbs on the steering wheel and fingers out like letting the nails air dry.
“Same shit as last week,” she takes a quick drag and then spits the smoke out the side of her mouth. “I’m in community college, what the fuck do you think I’m going to say? ‘Oh Lyn, I’m having so much fun learning how to be a substi-fucking-tute teacher. You should join up, you’d love it, its like high school but now every one has given up and works at Denny’s.” She sweetens the air in the car enough with her joke to even knock a laugh out of Lynda. They talk about what the past week has brought up, and Lynda mentions the dinner at Cole’s place.
“Yeah? He called my Mom last week to brag about his water heater, she tried to keep him on long enough to bitch about the months he still owes for alimony, but he hung up.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” Says Lynda, and the car rolls past the little league baseball diamond that keeps its lights on all night and a parked cop car watches them roll past.
Rosie shifts in her seat and takes the long strand of dyed red hair and sets it just behind her ear.
“You know that bat he has?”
“Yeah,” and something seems to rattle in the bag by Lynda’s feet.
“He used that to kick Mom and me out. I don’t remember it, I was fucking six or something, but he took a swing at my mom. Bet he didn’t tell you that.” And she takes a long drag before she speaks again. “Makes you wonder why he still has it.”
And it feels like acute vibrations are pouring up the bones of her leg, a drumbeat.
“He doesn’t” Lynda shifts in her seat and brings the bag to her lap. “I do.”
“You took fucking Kingdom Come? How the fuck did you manage that?” Rosie is near hoping in her seat. She pulls over to the curb and paws at Lynda’s bony shoulder. “Do you have it, is it in the bag.”
A car passes by on the opposite side of the road and lights up the smile on Rosie’s face like a full moon. Lynda nods and reaches over with her right hand to unzip the bag. Kingdom is wrapped in an old t-shirt like an old artifact and when she uncovers it a new smell invades the place, a chemical stink, like neutral bath salts that seems to dry up the air. Where her hands touch the bat the skin feels chapped, like it still isn’t right. Rosie starts to speak excitedly but Lynda doesn’t pick up until a few sentences in.
“I’d like to walk up to his fucking place and throw it through his front window. I’d rubberband a note to the ugly fucking thing like they do in crime movies. ‘Fuck you from Rosie and Claire’ in big fucking letters.” There, that sentence, that seemed right.
“Let’s go over there.” Says Lynda and stuffs it into the bag. There’s a buzzing now, with the shakes, and it feels wrong to keep it in her lap so she drops it to the floor.
“Why? I wasn’t serious. You want to give it back or something?” She flicks the butt of a long dead cigarette out the window and looks at her side view for oncoming traffic.
“No, I want to do what you said.”
--
The plastic deer’s head broke like a Christmas ornament against a brick wall from the weight of Kingdom’s swing. Lynda thought it could only be Kingdom’s swing, couldn’t be hers, she had never managed to do any kind of damage like that before. She swung at a garden gnome and it exploded. Took a swing at a sapling and cracked it in half. Rosie is leaning against her car and biting the elastic on her sleeves to keep from laughing from the outrageousness. She’s Lynda’s giggling cheerleader. With three low swipes she uproots a sixteen tulips, and with a few kicks scatters them across the lawn. Her biceps feel a sharp ache from even lifting now, but she’s still swinging. A solid shot sends a white picket into a neighbor’s yard and a dog begins to bark. Lynda misses her first attempt and has to jump in order to take out a bird feeder, it spits up seed and plastic like a two month old jack-o-lantern.And Lynda feels right about this. She usually doesn’t feel right about a lot of things, track is one, taking the trunk was another, but mostly she goes through life feeling like something might be wrong. But not this, something about tearing up Cole’s lawn has a good and right feeling, and even though her muscles are pulling taughter and taughter she hefts it up to her shoulder and gets ready for Rosie’s fuck you. She stands beneath the front bay window, there’s no light, and the dog’s bark gets louder.
“There’s a fucking dog.” Is all that Rosie shouts before Lynda turns to the sound of a german sherpard prowling through the empty wicket and into the yard. It body shifts low and moves towards Lynda, and there’s that tingle again, running down her arm and into the ground.
“Stop.” Says Lynda, and the dog stops, with one paw raised in the air. She’s holding Kingdom in the air like a conductor’s baton. “Go back.” And the dog pivots back and away. It pauses before the open fence once to turn at look at Rosie, who picks herself up off the hood of the car, but Lynda says again, “Go back.” Pointing with Kingdom, and the dog does.
“Holy shit.” Mumbles Rosie as Lynda hustles back to the car.
So this is a sketch of a scene from The Unvanquished by William Faulkner where the main character/narrator and his friend, two twelve year olds, fire at a Yankee soldier. They manage to kill the horse.
And I love the book so far, I'm really glad I got to read it for the semester.
But the writing has not come so easily for myself. I've been in and out of the loop waiting at a medical clinic and its kind of got my brain messed up. I have to get focused, but I am fearful to write anything, like I am at the beginning of any semester, and because I really respect my professor and I want to do well. But, this is my last fucking semester and I should learn to chill out and just fucking do it. We'll see how the rest of today goes.
Zeta: Late thirties, long face with bony features, in three piece suit with briefcase in hand
Henry: Late Twenties, curly hair, wearing comfortable clothing and glasses.
SCENE ONE
(A large industrial elevator opens its gated doors and two men step inside. They face the audience. Zeta stands still while Henry is touching his picture. Both men wait for a moment, until it is realized that Zeta, though closest to the button, will not press it and Henry with a slight laugh and a glance to Zeta reaches across him and the doors shut and they begin to go up.)
Henry
I can't believe we won. I mean, its fantastic when you think about it, how many must have put in to the lottery. And only the two of all the thousands
Zeta
Millions
Henry
Millions! Each put in a ticket and we got it. It makes a soul feel fantastic, like I'm years younger, am I flushed?
Zeta
(Pause)
I feel just the same. Colder maybe, but I don't I'm sick. Maybe your sick, did you think about that? Perhaps, that's why you feel flushed.
HENRY
(His attention is back to photograph)
I doubt it, nobody I've seen gets sick. Its too warm to get sick. But I wouldn't let it bother me anyway. There's too much excitement.
(Gestures to Photograph)
Zeta
That's a nice picture
HENRY
Yeah, I know, don't they look great? I can't wait to see them.
ZETA
Your family?
(Pause. Henry works the muscles of his face looking for an answer, exhales and speaks with low confidence.)
HENRY
Well…Yes
ZETA
Oh...I know, with as much time as we have spent down there I think that anyone is prone to forget. Nice though, that we get to keep mementos.
(He raises his briefcase and shakes it)
I've been hauling this around for longer than I've been here. Can't get rid of it, always seem to feel pained, probably the same for you though.
Henry
Oh yes, well, I mean, I wouldn't want to. Look at the smiles on their faces, and that solid house in the back, and the cherry tree. I mean, isn't it encouraging? Every time I thought about setting it down and breaking, I would just look to their faces, smiling, all saying, "We miss you..."
ZETA
Daddy? Uncle? Kenneth? Jerry? Big Brother? Thief?
(Henry gives Zeta a hard look)
HENRY
I can't be sure. But, who are you to talk? You don't even know what that is.
ZETA
It’s a briefcase. I just haven’t opened it
HENRY
That's what I'm saying. How can you criticize me, if all you can remember is hard plastic clutched in your hand? At least open it.
(Zeta raises it to chest level and runs his hand over it for a moment)
ZETA
That's not true, I do remember a few things. Feelings mostly.
(He pops the latch off the right lock with his thumb.)
There was this feeling of warmth, like I had my eyes closed and the sun was pouring around me. It felt fantastic, energizing.
(He pops the second latch with his left thumb)
And then there was a feeling like wind, or maybe falling? But the heat was peeled off of me, and I was still blind, like I was holding them shut. And the wind kept coming faster and faster.
(Zeta looks up and away, towards the audience, for a beat, remembering.)
HENRY
And then what?
ZETA
And then…I’m not sure, but eventually I wake up down there. I have this case in my hand, and nothing else. Not even a name, so I call myself Zeta.
(He scratches at a gold plate near the handle with the word.)
It’s the case’s name really.
(Henry’s attention is on the case)
Henry
Well my name is Henry…
ZETA
Really? How did you remember? I’ve been trying for so long to get mine again. (Speculative) Did you have to pray?
HENRY
I just always had it, never forgot it. I’ve heard that doing something really terrible makes you forget everything, even your name. Do you think you did something terrible?
ZETA
No, no…Well-
HENRY
Well, you don’t know, just like I don’t know. I guess we’ll both be surprised when we get up there.
ZETA
Yeah…(He glances from his case to the photograph then back again)I couldn’t have done anything too terrible right? Probably just blasphemous; spitting on a church, or taking a pass at a nun, right? I didn’t do anything too bad.
HENRY
How should I know. We never met before. Look in your case, maybe there will be something special in there, like little red tally marks for each child you’ve killed.
ZETA
There wouldn’t be anything like that? Would there? I mean I’ve been hauling this around for so long.
HENRY
But you’ve never opened it. There has to be a reason for that. So do it, open it—or if you want I can do it for—
(The elevator shudders violently and lurches to the left, the lights flicker then steady themselves.)
HENRY
What do you think that means? Is it breaking down?
ZETA
I don’t think so. Maybe we’re just getting close to the top, to wherever we’re going to end up.
(Henry nods, then stands straight)
Henry
Then I have to get ready. I want to look good when I see them again.
ZETA
You’re fine. But how are you going to find them?
HENRY
What do you mean?
ZETA
I mean, how are you going to get to this family, that really might not be your own? We’re going to end up wherever this decides to put us, and that can be anywhere. Nowhere even.
HENRY
I think you’re just a pessimist
ZETA
How is that? How could you possibly come to that?
HENRY
You should be overjoyed right now, and your not, that how I know. We have been given a second chance at life, no matter what that means and you’ve been trying to drag me down into some kind of mire of paranoia. This—
(He holds up the photograph)
This is all I have, a I carried with me while I was down there, all I can remember in the slightest. And I don’t want you to belittle it. You don’t deserve to.
(Beat)
ZETA
So you remember something?
HENRY
A little now, yes. I think the conversation brought something up, its been so long since I’ve got my blood pumping.
ZETA
What do you remember?
HENRY
Well, its winter—I can tell because of the frost on the window and I’m outside. I can see my breath. And inside there are the kids, their backs at me, looking at something, and she’s just to my right, turning away like she needs to grab something quickly-teakettle or something.
ZETA
Then? Do you go inside?
HENRY
I don’t know, its still, like another photograph.
ZETA
Maybe you were outside for a reason, maybe you weren’t allowed inside.
HENRY
Well, I don’t want to hear it, not from a man who only has feelings to go back on. You don’t get to judge me, and you’re stalling anyway, so that you don’t have to look in the case.
ZETA
I’ve decided I don’t need to.
HENRY
What? Your not scared anymore?
(He takes a swipe at the case)
Not afraid to give it away?
ZETA
You’re nuts, and I don’t care anymore. I thought what you said was right, if I don’t even know my own name, then what the hell does this mean to me?
(The elevator shakes again and the lights go out. The sound of rain comes into the scene and the elevator arises up to a city street with heavy rain coming down. They both stare forward at the empty street and after a beat ZETA is the one to pull the gate open.)
HENRY
I wish I had an umbrella…
ZETA
Here
(He holds out his case and Henry takes it, then proceeds to take off his overcoat and put it over Henry’s head and shoulder)
I don’t want these. Take them and find your family, or don’t, I don’t care right now.
(He storms off stage left, covering his head with his arms from the rain)
Henry
…Shit
(He looks up at the rain and then tugs the coat up higher over his head and takes a few quick steps out before the case spills open, its lathes being undone. Photographs and small trinkets spill out and Henry tries to gather them back up, then pauses as he picks up a single photo, then produces his own and his eyes bounce between the two. He tucks them into pants pocket and scoops everything back in and begins to head off stage right.)
The same, they’re the same.
End
This is a draft of the ten minute play. I don't know. Its a thing.
Here's an story start that made me squeal like a little girl when Joe Meno told me that he liked it.
Kingdom Come sits on the mantle as the last remnant of my Uncle's glory days and as he turns to the kitchen and begins to tell his young wife and dad about the water heater he installed all by himself, didn't even need the set of wrenches we have him last Christmas, I grab it and send a dust storm like tiny flies up through the pillar of light coming in from the bay window.
Kingdom Come is a bat, three-fourths the regulation baseball size, nearly twice as wide and is covered nearly all over with amber-like sealing wax for decks or counter tops. It gives a solid inch all around, and the milky whiteness hides faces of metal coins that add weight and stopping power.
I tighten my hand around its base and can smell its chemical scent, like neutral bath salts, and in one motion I pivot on my left heel and glide it down into the depths of my knapsack. The instant my hand tugs up on the big blue zipper my eyes shoot to the doorway to the kitchen where I expect to see the slumped height of my father, or the stick thin frame of my Uncle, staring, angry. But its just ghosts, and I can his wife's laughing shadow agains the canary yellow wall at the far side of the kitchen.
Today I am going to post what I have so far of the screen play.
I'm still not sure about the whole concept but its all I have right now.
The two characters: Z- A tall man in business attire, carrying a briefcase H - Younger man, right around thirty, glasses, slight facial hair, wearing comfortable clothes (sweater, slacks)
Both men enter the elevator, Henry is excited, holding a picture with both hands close to his chest. Henry is smiling while Zeta stands and does not push the up button though he is on the side. A few moments pass while Henry takes it in that Zeta will not push the button, he makes a gesture out and leans over to push it, still smiling.
Henry - I can't believe we won. I mean, its fantastic when you think about it, how many must have put in to the lottery. And only the two of all the thousands
Zeta - millions
Henry - Millions! Each put in a ticket and we got it. It makes a soul feel fantastic, like I'm years younger, am I flushed?
Zeta - (after a brief moment) I feel just the same. Colder maybe, but I don't I'm sick. Maybe your sick, did you think about that? Perhaps, that's why you feel flushed.
Henry - (Turns attention back to photograph) I doubt it, nobody I've seen gets sick. Its too warm to get sick. But I wouldn't let it bother me anyway. There's too much excitement.
Zeta -(finally notices the photograph and gestures with a finger) That's a nice picture
Henry - Yeah, I know, don't they look great? I can't wait to see them.
Zeta - Your family?
Henry - (a slight pause and an exhaled laugh, his eyes go back and forth, mouth goes a few times)...Well, (Fake confidence) yes.
Zeta - Oh...I know, with as much time as we have spent down there I think that anyone is prone to forget. Nice though, that we get to keep momentos. (He raises his briefcase and waggles it in the air) I've been hauling this around for longer than I've been here. Can't get rid of it, always seem to feel pained, probably the same for you though.
Henry - Oh yes, well, I mean, I wouldn't want to. Look at the smiles on their faces, and that solid house in the back, and the cherry tree. I mean, isn't it encouraging? Every time I thought about setting it down and breaking, I would just look to their faces, smiling, all saying, "We miss you..."
Zeta - Daddy? Uncle? Kenneth? Jerry? Big Brother? Thief?
Henry works the muscles of his jaw on the last question and gives a hard glance to Zeta Henry - I can't be sure. But, who are you to talk? You don't even know what that is.
Zeta - Its a briefcase. I've just never opened it.
Henry - That's what I'm saying. How can you criticize me, if all you can remember is hard plastic clutched in your hand. At least open it. Your not going to need it in a few minutes.
Zeta - He toys with case and brings it up to chest level, looking at the latches. That's not true, I do remember a few things. (His thumb plucks one latch up) I remember a feeling, warm all over, like sunlight covering me up. And I'm suspended for a second, there in the warmth. I feel perfect (His thumb goes for the other latch, still not open), I feel like a saint. (He laughs and peeks inside).
And this is about all I have. I think I want there to be a dead bird inside. I'm not sure why yet, but I like the image of one of them holding it out by the tail. And I think that only Henry gets off the elevator. I don't know, I'm afraid of play writing.
So today I made Lentil Soup, this shouldn't really count, but I figured relaying the recipe, which is pretty good, to other people would work out pretty well
In this mix, because I accidently deleted the picture that had everything in it. There are two cut up carrot, peeled, two solid stalks of celery, cut evenly, and a few springs of celery heads roughly cut and half of a good sized onion, cut thin.
I really wish I had a picture of the lentils soaking, which was in the first picture, but just to say they should be soaking until they are soft, which is somewhere around 45 minutes or so.
The way that Phil taught me to do it is to accompany the soup with noodles of some kind, but I had a lot of rice and decided to use my rice cooker.
Now, you should have a big pot and coat the bottom of it with olive oil and let it get hot. While that is going bust open your tomato paste to get it ready, and toss in your onions to get them clear. Then add the rest of the veggies and healthy dollop of the tomato paste.
With all of it together it should look like this. You can salt and pepper here if you please.
Let all of this cook for a few minutes to co-mingle together and then add in the lentils.
Like dat. Then you take your carton of broth, in my case chicken and dump it all in there.
Like dis. Then keep up the heat until it boils up then lower it down to med-low or low to keep a simmer going. Add a bunch of salt and pepper here if you haven't and stir it around. Looking something like this when it hits the simmer, you need to cover it and let it cook for a while.
You basically want to cook it until the lentils go completely soft as do the rest of the veggies, just keep an eye on it and then line the bottom of a bowl with rice and plop on some soup. It may look like mushy gross stuff but its pretty fucking good. And you'll have lunch for a solid week.
I said that I would post the play today, but, well, shit, I'm still feeling weird about it, so it'll go up tomorrow. I promise, for reals.
Today is burger day. For those of you not acquainted with the concept, the twentieth of every month comes the dawning of day of cow flesh feasting. The requirement, to appease the burger gods, is to offer up one meal of the day to only consuming burgers. If more than one meal is offered then good luck smiles in your direction.
Me and Brendan ate hamburgers today. Except Brendan's was a bean burger, and mine was a lamb burger. So we really didn't eat hamburgers. I'm sooooooo tired.
Here is a sideways picture I drew. I wanted to post the script for the play that I'm working on, the ten minute one for class, but I'm feeling weird about it. It will probably be up tomorrow though. And tomorrows post will not technically be a day late.
But anyway, my idea for the play, just to lay it out, is about two people getting on an elevator. I know, its awesome right? But the twist is that these people were in Hell or some form of purgatory and have garnered the right to come back up to Earth through a luck lottery system. The lethe waters have erased their memories though and they don't remember exactly what they will walk back into. One man carries a picture of a family he cannot remember, but holds dear, another holds a briefcase that he cannot let go for a second. They try to keep conversation on the ride to the "surface", with the play ending when the get to the top. I'm messing around with it and all I know is that I need to be more precise.
A quick one. I read Buried Child, a play by Sam Shepard today to try and mix my brain around with playwright juices.
I got this.
No time spent, to its nothing big. Just wanted to sketch and idea I had in my head. The bottle is a re-occuring theme through out the play and so are carrots and a wooden leg. The ending came out of nowhere though. And I think that is something that only plays can pull off, endings that completely shift a story from where it was. You can't do that with a book because people will be like, "what the fuck is this? Why is this happening? You didn't answer any questions, you just created more!" and I'll go, "I know, doesn't it just make you so pissed?"
So I had my first day of classes today. I'm signed up for classes only on Monday and Wednesday and classes are stacked so I'm down there for most of the day. On Wednesday I have a speech class, which went over pretty quickly and easily, but the Playwriting class I'm a little afraid of. I've never really done anything like it before, the closest thing I've done to the form is writing script for comics a year back, which I enjoyed, but I was out of my element. Instead of easing us into the form, the entire class today was discussing what we would be doing: a ten minute play completed by week six, and a one act play (that being a complete action, not part of a larger work, done by the end of the semester) and instead of a lot of different exercises and homeworks to play with the form we will be assigned to simply work on out projects each week and progress them. There is no filler homework to get a feel for playwriting, he didn't even give us a format lesson, just go at it. And I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up.
So today, for my creation, I'll present the scene(s) I roughly hacked at from the exercises we did in class. The first was simple prompt, purposely bland to give a straight intro and characters together. Everyone was given the same prompt:
There is one character (1) sitting at a table in a room. (2) knocks at the Door (1): "Yes?" (2): "You don't mind?" (1): "Sure." (2) sits down, "I've got a proposition for you." And the exercise was then to present the proposition as if it was a beginning of a play, so that it was understandable. And at the end (1) accepts or rejects.
Here is my original for (2)'s monologue: "Stacey told me about the rats. He told me about how you wake him up at night, walking too and from the bathroom, tapping at the baseboard to hear a knock back. And Stacey was worried, but he shouldn't, because he came to me. I wanted to come by and let both of you know that it can all be handled. Now, I know you won't like it, another unwanted guest in your home, but I find it necessary to scout out the vermin. While your at the bank, I'll be here, waiting for them, and you can count on me, because Stacey is worried, and I know you don't like to worry Stacey. But the rats worry you. I've seen your eyes dart to the kitchen, and you need to know--I hear them too. Even is Stacey is so worried he says that he doesn't. I hear them, and I can get rid of them if you make me a copy of your key. (1): They have to be gone. (2): They'll be gone. I promise. And it will be painless for both parties. (1): Then you'll get the key.
Now, this is completely front loaded with information which can be presented at different points in a play. The sight of (1) tapping at the baseboards can appear earlier or later, the paranoia can appear elsewhere. These are the things that our professor came to talk about before I got to present the exercise. Oh, that's right, I didn't say that each week we would be acting out our scripts so that others can give their basic feel for it, not "That was good" or "That was terrible" but how they think the conflict is shaping and if the idea can be done in the format presented. It was intimidating though, really, really intimidating to have no experience in writing this form or this style and then have to act out a scene you wrote in ten minutes with a person you don't know. So while other people were going I cut up the proposition to this.
(2): Stacey told me about the rates. I know you won't like it, another unwanted guest, but leave me your key and they'll be gone. (1): They'll be gone? (2): And it'll be painless (1): Then you'll get your key.
And I feel like this is such a weird concept for me to get. I'm such a writer who is in my own head, so maybe it might be too hard to get good dialogue, I don't know. Anyway, everybody else in there seemed to know their shit better than I did, and there were a lot of acting and directing majors in there who were at least versed in the form. And the actors acted better than I did too. So its all a little overwhelming. There was another exercise but I don't want to post it, it was shitty.
And next week I have to have the opening moments of the ten minute play starting to be hammered out. Ugh, man, I don't know what to do really.
