Post by athornontherose on Jan 30, 2009 21:46:21 GMT -5
SCENE ONE
Characters:
DESIRE. Passionate, romantic, a bit too obvious about her love for CRUSH.
CRUSH. Oblivious, takes everything literally, an aspiring (but terrible) writer, dimwitted.
Setting:
CRUSHs’ house.
---
DESIRE. (Soliloquy) He’ll never know. Even if I tried to tell him the secret, the words wouldn’t come out right. I’d probably end up saying something that would scare him away. That’s why I have to hold it inside. The secret. The filing of all of my feelings for him is becoming a disorganized mess. At first, I considered it infatuation, but now, it feels as if I’m stepping into a completely new world. A world that tests my boundaries. A world that contradicts everything I had ever said about love. It’s coming back to haunt me, this shadow overheard. And I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I, the one with the lock upon her heart, have let him pick the lock open with his handsome charms. And the thing is he doesn’t even try to do it. He just does. And then he’ll leave, leaving me alone and sad, missing him. Then, he’ll call me on the phone, his soft voice crooning into my soul. Or he’ll send me an email, flourished with an elegant language that only a writer can compose. Or, the greatest thing of all will happen; I’ll see him in person again. And suddenly, my heart will be overflow with rivers of love, caused by the burst of anticipation. But, still a part is empty, for an awareness of our eventual departure lingers in the back of my mind. Then, I tell myself “alright, don’t enjoy yourself too much. The more you enjoy yourself, the more you’ll miss him.” But I can’t help it. There’s a passion inside me, a pool of flames, just waiting to explode…Today, I need to tell him. I’m in this house and there is no excuse to hide any longer.
Enter CRUSH, who runs in with a Geometry textbook in his hand.
CRUSH. (Frantic) What were you saying, Desire? Something about a fire?
DESIRE. (Gasps) You heard me!?
CRUSH. Of course. I was just in the other room. (Dismisses it) Look Desire, if there is a fire we need to put it out immediately! We cannot take any chances! Where is the cat, Desire? Oh my God, we need to find Fluffy! I can’t live without her! Oh my God! All of my precious knickknacks will be ruined! Where is my prized Mickey Mouse doll from Disneyland?! That pencil I got from the dollar store?! (Burst of screaming energy) OH MY GOD, WE NEED TO FIND MY HAM SANDWICH! (Freaking out, Pacing, jumping, running out of breath.)
DESIRE. (Lighthearted and cajoling) Relax, Crush. There is no fire.
CRUSH. (Upset) No fire?!
DESIRE. (Chuckles) Of course not.
CRUSH. (Scolding) You know you shouldn’t be joking about such serious things. I thought for a second that my cat was in danger. That was a very mean thing to do. (Crosses arms and turns away from DESIRE, as if deeply hurt.)
DESIRE. The fire was a metaphor, silly.
CRUSH. (Interested) A metaphor for what?
DESIRE. (Uncomfortable) Umm…Nevermind.
CRUSH. No, really. What were you talking about?
DESIRE. Uhhh…I was…uhh…It is symbolic of…the uh…the uh…self-destructiveness of…humanity.
CRUSH. (Impressed) Whoa, man. That’s deeeep.
DESIRE. Uh huh. Yeah. I know.
CRUSH. I might use that in my writing sometime.
DESIRE. (Melts) Ah, his writing…(Spaces out, as if contemplating was a wonderful writer CRUSH is)
CRUSH. (Startled) Huh?
DESIRE. (Epiphany of CRUSH’s presence) Oh, oh! Uh, I meant…That’s a great idea, Crush. (Gradually breaks free from her trance and then whispers) Why do I always fall for writers?
CRUSH. (Gullible and oblivious to DESIRE’s whispering) Oh, okay. (Burst of passion) I just thought of lines for a poem…
DESIRE. (Feeds off his passion) Oh, speak them to me my love! I mean…errr…Crush. Disregard the fact I said love. Your name kind of rhymes…I mean, er, slant rhymes with ‘love’.
CRUSH. (Shrugs) No problem. (Starts speaking his poetry, which has absolutely no meter to it, but he makes a sad attempt to make it sound like it does. Each end rhyme sounds very forced.) There is a fire. Now that we’re down to the wire…We can acquire…The knowledge of the beginning of the…of the fire. And never will we tire. For the fire represents the self-destructiveness of humanity. Ah, yes. The fire. The fire that was acquired. And I know I already said that. But that’s part of the effect. The fire.
DESIRE. (Melts) That was…beautiful. I am at loss for words. (Looks at CRUSH dreamily.)
CRUSH. (Confidently and seriously) Yeah I know. I will make it big one day. (Stands proudly and then changes the subject.) Well, anyway, can you help me with my Geometry homework now? I mean, that’s what you came for, right?
DESIRE. Why, yes, Crush, of course. (Sits down with CRUSH as he opens the Geometry textbook.) Okay, the first thing you have to do is…(Drops lines, lights fade out.)
End of SCENE ONE.
SCENE TWO:
New Characters Involved:
REBECCA. Crush’s sister, unbearably mean to him
Setting:
CRUSHs’ house and the bathroom.
--
CRUSH. I don’t get it! Why the hell do I have to “prove” my answers?
DESIRE. That’s just the way it works, sweetie. Now why don’t we go over translations again?
CRUSH. Nah, I’ll just flunk high school. I mean, I’ll make millions with my writing anyway.
DESIRE. (Nods) Definitely. Hey, now that you mention it, you never told me what the publishing company said about your poetry…
CRUSH. (Proudly) They said it was atrocious! …I have yet to look that word up, but I think it means amazingly good. Do you know what it means, Desire?
DESIRE. (Awkwardly) Umm, no…but in my dictionary, it means fantastic.
CRUSH. You know, I should really look it up. Or at least ask my sister.
DESIRE. (Jumps) You sure you want to do that?
CRUSH. Yeah!
DESIRE. (Sighs)
CRUSH. (Calls) Rebecca! Rebecca!
REBECCA. (Reluctantly enters the room) What?
CRUSH. The publishing company told me my writing was atrocious. What does that mean?
REBECCA. It means you suck, you retard.
CRUSH. Like in a good way? Like a lollipop? (Smiles hopefully)
REBECCA. (Coldly) No. Like in a truthful way. You can’t write well. Give up. Period. End of story.
CRUSH. (Tears up) But…It’s my dream.
REBECCA. You ought to dream of being a dumbass. It’s the only thing you’ll ever be truly good at.
CRUSH. Is that an occupation? How much does that pay? Maybe I can quit high school after all! (Brightens up)
REBECCA. No! (Sarcastically) You’ll be poor and starve and make friends with the rats in the sewer.
CRUSH. (Changes subject) I once wrote a poem about a rat. Want to hear it?
As an annoyed REBECCA yells “No!” an excited DESIRE screams
Yes!” at the same time.
CRUSH. Okay, here goes. (Clears throat) I am ratty. But never fatty. ‘Cause I just eat cheese—
REBECCA. It’s mice that eat cheese, you dolt.
DESIRE. SHUT UP AND LET HIM FINISH! (Takes a swing at REBECCA. REBECCA passes out but no one pays any attention, Turns to CRUSH and speaks to him more calmly) Okay, Crush. Continue.
CRUSH. (Shrugs) Okay! But I have to get refocused…I need to meditate, First I need some candles.
DESIRE. (Excited) I brought some for us! They’re in my book bag!
CRUSH. You carry around candles with you?
DESIRE. Only on special occasions, my love…OH! I mean, uh, yeah! Doesn’t everybody!
CRUSH. I used to but I accidently burned my book bag, so my parents never let me again. A piece of advice for you, NEVER put a lit candle in your book bag. It might burn.
DESIRE. (Genuinely, without the slightest hint of sarcasm) Thanks! I’ll remember that! (Looks lovingly at CRUSH) Boy, aren’t you smart…
CRUSH. Yes, yes. I know. Now where are my candles?
DESIRE. (Reaches inside book bag and shows CRUSH) These are all romantic scents. I have chocolate and wine and rose and vanilla…
CRUSH. Do you have anything that resembles toilet water or smelly socks?
DESIRE. What?
CRUSH. Well, you see. My poem’s not the most romantic poem. It’s about a fat rat who only eats cheese and has to leave his basement to go to the sewer because his basement will soon be infested with rat poison!
DESIRE. I adore your creativity, CRUSH.
CRUSH. Me too. Now do you have it or not?
DESIRE. Have what?
CRUSH. Candles that small like toilet water!
DESIRE. No. But I can always put these candles in the toilet…
CRUSH. DO IT! HURRY! Man, I’m getting SO inspired!
DESIRE. Okay! (Runs to the bathroom with her candles)
End of SCENE TWO.
SCENE THREE
Setting:
CRUSHs’ house and the bathroom.
--
DESIRE. (Cheerfully enters the room, carrying 3-4 candles in her arms, soaking in toilet water) I got it!
CRUSH. Good. Did you vomit on them?
DESIRE. (Confused) No…
CRUSH. They’re not stinky enough. Go vomit on them.
DESIRE. What? No!
CRUSH. Do you want me to remember my poem or not?
DESIRE. Well, of course!
CRUSH. Then I need to envision myself in the rat’s environment! This place doesn’t stink enough yet. Now go in the bathroom and vomit on those candles!
DESIRE. Anything for you! Oh, Crush, you are a true artist.
CRUSH. I know. (Dismisses it.) While you’re vomiting, I’m going to dim the lights. So I can get in the mood of the poem. Turn the faucet on so I can’t hear you. I don’t like the sound of throw up.
DESIRE. You know, I really don’t like vomiting. Are you sure there’s not another way to do this?
CRUSH. Well…(Scratches his head) I guess you could pee on them or something.
DESIRE. Okay. Sure. (She leaves the room and heads to the bathroom)
(Long Pause)
DESIRE. (Walks in the room awkwardly) Ummm…Crush?
CRUSH. (Casually) Yeah?
DESIRE. Apparently I’m really, really bad at um…Aiming.
CRUSH. (Still calm and casual) What do you mean?
DESIRE. Well, you see, I’m a girl so I wasn’t really taught how to aim and um… (Long pause)
CRUSH. Yes?
DESIRE. Okay, um never mind, I’m just going to leave. The candles are in the bathroom. (Quickly runs out of CRUSH’s house.)
CRUSH. (Shrugs) What could she have possibly done? (walks into his bathroom)
(Long pause)
CRUSH. (Shouting from the bathroom) Oh my God!! She drowned my cat! My precious cat, Fluffy! (Comes out carrying a dead cat in his hands) Man that sucks. (Sits down on couch, puts Fluffy on the ground, and contemplates what to do next.) Hey! (Sudden joy comes from his voice) I remember my poem now! Fluffy smells awful! I can work now! Thank God for pee! Man, that was awful good thinking on Desire’s part. Death is the worst smell in the world. It really helps me to imagine the sewer the never fatty ratty has to live in! I must tell her! (Grabs phone and dials Desire, waits for it to ring and then talks to Desire excitedly, as if he’s discovered the meaning of life) Desire! Desire! (Pauses) what? Me, mad? What are you talking about? (Pauses) Yes, I saw what you did. (Pauses) No way! I thought it was brilliant! (Pause) Yes! (Pause) What? It wasn’t intentional? (Pauses) Okay, come over and talk about then, where are you?
(Desire rushes in with her cell phone next to her ear)
DESIRE. (Still on phone) I’m right here in your house.
CRUSH. (Also still on phone) Good! Now what did you want to tell me?
(Both DESIRE and CRUSH look at each other awkwardly after realizing they were both still on the phone. They both hang up their phones simultaneously to avoid looking retard, which ironically makes them look even more retarded.)
DESIRE. (Sympathetic and apologetic) Look, Crush. I didn’t mean to kill your cat.
CRUSH. (Apathetic) It’s alright. (Sudden burst of energy) It made me remember my poem!
DESIRE. (In shock) Really?
CRUSH. (Bouncing up and down) Yes, Desire, the smell of death is wonderfully awful! And this wasn’t just the smell of death—this was the smell of SOILED death!
End of SCENE THREE
Characters:
DESIRE. Passionate, romantic, a bit too obvious about her love for CRUSH.
CRUSH. Oblivious, takes everything literally, an aspiring (but terrible) writer, dimwitted.
Setting:
CRUSHs’ house.
---
DESIRE. (Soliloquy) He’ll never know. Even if I tried to tell him the secret, the words wouldn’t come out right. I’d probably end up saying something that would scare him away. That’s why I have to hold it inside. The secret. The filing of all of my feelings for him is becoming a disorganized mess. At first, I considered it infatuation, but now, it feels as if I’m stepping into a completely new world. A world that tests my boundaries. A world that contradicts everything I had ever said about love. It’s coming back to haunt me, this shadow overheard. And I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I, the one with the lock upon her heart, have let him pick the lock open with his handsome charms. And the thing is he doesn’t even try to do it. He just does. And then he’ll leave, leaving me alone and sad, missing him. Then, he’ll call me on the phone, his soft voice crooning into my soul. Or he’ll send me an email, flourished with an elegant language that only a writer can compose. Or, the greatest thing of all will happen; I’ll see him in person again. And suddenly, my heart will be overflow with rivers of love, caused by the burst of anticipation. But, still a part is empty, for an awareness of our eventual departure lingers in the back of my mind. Then, I tell myself “alright, don’t enjoy yourself too much. The more you enjoy yourself, the more you’ll miss him.” But I can’t help it. There’s a passion inside me, a pool of flames, just waiting to explode…Today, I need to tell him. I’m in this house and there is no excuse to hide any longer.
Enter CRUSH, who runs in with a Geometry textbook in his hand.
CRUSH. (Frantic) What were you saying, Desire? Something about a fire?
DESIRE. (Gasps) You heard me!?
CRUSH. Of course. I was just in the other room. (Dismisses it) Look Desire, if there is a fire we need to put it out immediately! We cannot take any chances! Where is the cat, Desire? Oh my God, we need to find Fluffy! I can’t live without her! Oh my God! All of my precious knickknacks will be ruined! Where is my prized Mickey Mouse doll from Disneyland?! That pencil I got from the dollar store?! (Burst of screaming energy) OH MY GOD, WE NEED TO FIND MY HAM SANDWICH! (Freaking out, Pacing, jumping, running out of breath.)
DESIRE. (Lighthearted and cajoling) Relax, Crush. There is no fire.
CRUSH. (Upset) No fire?!
DESIRE. (Chuckles) Of course not.
CRUSH. (Scolding) You know you shouldn’t be joking about such serious things. I thought for a second that my cat was in danger. That was a very mean thing to do. (Crosses arms and turns away from DESIRE, as if deeply hurt.)
DESIRE. The fire was a metaphor, silly.
CRUSH. (Interested) A metaphor for what?
DESIRE. (Uncomfortable) Umm…Nevermind.
CRUSH. No, really. What were you talking about?
DESIRE. Uhhh…I was…uhh…It is symbolic of…the uh…the uh…self-destructiveness of…humanity.
CRUSH. (Impressed) Whoa, man. That’s deeeep.
DESIRE. Uh huh. Yeah. I know.
CRUSH. I might use that in my writing sometime.
DESIRE. (Melts) Ah, his writing…(Spaces out, as if contemplating was a wonderful writer CRUSH is)
CRUSH. (Startled) Huh?
DESIRE. (Epiphany of CRUSH’s presence) Oh, oh! Uh, I meant…That’s a great idea, Crush. (Gradually breaks free from her trance and then whispers) Why do I always fall for writers?
CRUSH. (Gullible and oblivious to DESIRE’s whispering) Oh, okay. (Burst of passion) I just thought of lines for a poem…
DESIRE. (Feeds off his passion) Oh, speak them to me my love! I mean…errr…Crush. Disregard the fact I said love. Your name kind of rhymes…I mean, er, slant rhymes with ‘love’.
CRUSH. (Shrugs) No problem. (Starts speaking his poetry, which has absolutely no meter to it, but he makes a sad attempt to make it sound like it does. Each end rhyme sounds very forced.) There is a fire. Now that we’re down to the wire…We can acquire…The knowledge of the beginning of the…of the fire. And never will we tire. For the fire represents the self-destructiveness of humanity. Ah, yes. The fire. The fire that was acquired. And I know I already said that. But that’s part of the effect. The fire.
DESIRE. (Melts) That was…beautiful. I am at loss for words. (Looks at CRUSH dreamily.)
CRUSH. (Confidently and seriously) Yeah I know. I will make it big one day. (Stands proudly and then changes the subject.) Well, anyway, can you help me with my Geometry homework now? I mean, that’s what you came for, right?
DESIRE. Why, yes, Crush, of course. (Sits down with CRUSH as he opens the Geometry textbook.) Okay, the first thing you have to do is…(Drops lines, lights fade out.)
End of SCENE ONE.
SCENE TWO:
New Characters Involved:
REBECCA. Crush’s sister, unbearably mean to him
Setting:
CRUSHs’ house and the bathroom.
--
CRUSH. I don’t get it! Why the hell do I have to “prove” my answers?
DESIRE. That’s just the way it works, sweetie. Now why don’t we go over translations again?
CRUSH. Nah, I’ll just flunk high school. I mean, I’ll make millions with my writing anyway.
DESIRE. (Nods) Definitely. Hey, now that you mention it, you never told me what the publishing company said about your poetry…
CRUSH. (Proudly) They said it was atrocious! …I have yet to look that word up, but I think it means amazingly good. Do you know what it means, Desire?
DESIRE. (Awkwardly) Umm, no…but in my dictionary, it means fantastic.
CRUSH. You know, I should really look it up. Or at least ask my sister.
DESIRE. (Jumps) You sure you want to do that?
CRUSH. Yeah!
DESIRE. (Sighs)
CRUSH. (Calls) Rebecca! Rebecca!
REBECCA. (Reluctantly enters the room) What?
CRUSH. The publishing company told me my writing was atrocious. What does that mean?
REBECCA. It means you suck, you retard.
CRUSH. Like in a good way? Like a lollipop? (Smiles hopefully)
REBECCA. (Coldly) No. Like in a truthful way. You can’t write well. Give up. Period. End of story.
CRUSH. (Tears up) But…It’s my dream.
REBECCA. You ought to dream of being a dumbass. It’s the only thing you’ll ever be truly good at.
CRUSH. Is that an occupation? How much does that pay? Maybe I can quit high school after all! (Brightens up)
REBECCA. No! (Sarcastically) You’ll be poor and starve and make friends with the rats in the sewer.
CRUSH. (Changes subject) I once wrote a poem about a rat. Want to hear it?
As an annoyed REBECCA yells “No!” an excited DESIRE screams
Yes!” at the same time.
CRUSH. Okay, here goes. (Clears throat) I am ratty. But never fatty. ‘Cause I just eat cheese—
REBECCA. It’s mice that eat cheese, you dolt.
DESIRE. SHUT UP AND LET HIM FINISH! (Takes a swing at REBECCA. REBECCA passes out but no one pays any attention, Turns to CRUSH and speaks to him more calmly) Okay, Crush. Continue.
CRUSH. (Shrugs) Okay! But I have to get refocused…I need to meditate, First I need some candles.
DESIRE. (Excited) I brought some for us! They’re in my book bag!
CRUSH. You carry around candles with you?
DESIRE. Only on special occasions, my love…OH! I mean, uh, yeah! Doesn’t everybody!
CRUSH. I used to but I accidently burned my book bag, so my parents never let me again. A piece of advice for you, NEVER put a lit candle in your book bag. It might burn.
DESIRE. (Genuinely, without the slightest hint of sarcasm) Thanks! I’ll remember that! (Looks lovingly at CRUSH) Boy, aren’t you smart…
CRUSH. Yes, yes. I know. Now where are my candles?
DESIRE. (Reaches inside book bag and shows CRUSH) These are all romantic scents. I have chocolate and wine and rose and vanilla…
CRUSH. Do you have anything that resembles toilet water or smelly socks?
DESIRE. What?
CRUSH. Well, you see. My poem’s not the most romantic poem. It’s about a fat rat who only eats cheese and has to leave his basement to go to the sewer because his basement will soon be infested with rat poison!
DESIRE. I adore your creativity, CRUSH.
CRUSH. Me too. Now do you have it or not?
DESIRE. Have what?
CRUSH. Candles that small like toilet water!
DESIRE. No. But I can always put these candles in the toilet…
CRUSH. DO IT! HURRY! Man, I’m getting SO inspired!
DESIRE. Okay! (Runs to the bathroom with her candles)
End of SCENE TWO.
SCENE THREE
Setting:
CRUSHs’ house and the bathroom.
--
DESIRE. (Cheerfully enters the room, carrying 3-4 candles in her arms, soaking in toilet water) I got it!
CRUSH. Good. Did you vomit on them?
DESIRE. (Confused) No…
CRUSH. They’re not stinky enough. Go vomit on them.
DESIRE. What? No!
CRUSH. Do you want me to remember my poem or not?
DESIRE. Well, of course!
CRUSH. Then I need to envision myself in the rat’s environment! This place doesn’t stink enough yet. Now go in the bathroom and vomit on those candles!
DESIRE. Anything for you! Oh, Crush, you are a true artist.
CRUSH. I know. (Dismisses it.) While you’re vomiting, I’m going to dim the lights. So I can get in the mood of the poem. Turn the faucet on so I can’t hear you. I don’t like the sound of throw up.
DESIRE. You know, I really don’t like vomiting. Are you sure there’s not another way to do this?
CRUSH. Well…(Scratches his head) I guess you could pee on them or something.
DESIRE. Okay. Sure. (She leaves the room and heads to the bathroom)
(Long Pause)
DESIRE. (Walks in the room awkwardly) Ummm…Crush?
CRUSH. (Casually) Yeah?
DESIRE. Apparently I’m really, really bad at um…Aiming.
CRUSH. (Still calm and casual) What do you mean?
DESIRE. Well, you see, I’m a girl so I wasn’t really taught how to aim and um… (Long pause)
CRUSH. Yes?
DESIRE. Okay, um never mind, I’m just going to leave. The candles are in the bathroom. (Quickly runs out of CRUSH’s house.)
CRUSH. (Shrugs) What could she have possibly done? (walks into his bathroom)
(Long pause)
CRUSH. (Shouting from the bathroom) Oh my God!! She drowned my cat! My precious cat, Fluffy! (Comes out carrying a dead cat in his hands) Man that sucks. (Sits down on couch, puts Fluffy on the ground, and contemplates what to do next.) Hey! (Sudden joy comes from his voice) I remember my poem now! Fluffy smells awful! I can work now! Thank God for pee! Man, that was awful good thinking on Desire’s part. Death is the worst smell in the world. It really helps me to imagine the sewer the never fatty ratty has to live in! I must tell her! (Grabs phone and dials Desire, waits for it to ring and then talks to Desire excitedly, as if he’s discovered the meaning of life) Desire! Desire! (Pauses) what? Me, mad? What are you talking about? (Pauses) Yes, I saw what you did. (Pauses) No way! I thought it was brilliant! (Pause) Yes! (Pause) What? It wasn’t intentional? (Pauses) Okay, come over and talk about then, where are you?
(Desire rushes in with her cell phone next to her ear)
DESIRE. (Still on phone) I’m right here in your house.
CRUSH. (Also still on phone) Good! Now what did you want to tell me?
(Both DESIRE and CRUSH look at each other awkwardly after realizing they were both still on the phone. They both hang up their phones simultaneously to avoid looking retard, which ironically makes them look even more retarded.)
DESIRE. (Sympathetic and apologetic) Look, Crush. I didn’t mean to kill your cat.
CRUSH. (Apathetic) It’s alright. (Sudden burst of energy) It made me remember my poem!
DESIRE. (In shock) Really?
CRUSH. (Bouncing up and down) Yes, Desire, the smell of death is wonderfully awful! And this wasn’t just the smell of death—this was the smell of SOILED death!
End of SCENE THREE