Untitled Play
Aug. 14th, 2019 07:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
randomfatechidnaGoogle Docs says the last update on this was November 2016. Whew. I remember seeing someone else had written a short play on back when I was reading exclusively Supernatural LiveJournal fic in 2016 and wanted to have a go myself. I must have been going through it because I managed to spit this out in one morning, with only tiny edits made in the four days following. Wild. Also, I kind of wanna hug seventeen year old me.
Enter GIRL in bed.
Enter CHORUS, surrounding her.
An alarm sounds. GIRL starts suddenly and rises, slowly, getting her bearings, then turning off the alarm. She is weary, but swings her legs out of bed anyway.
GIRL: Boy, am I ready for the day! Are we good to go?
CHORUS checks off items casually on their fingers, as if for a shopping list for a picnic. GIRL rummages through a bag.
CHORUS: Is the self-doubt in there?
GIRL: Check.
CHORUS: Fear of being excluded?
GIRL struggles to find it, arm up to the elbow in the bag. Her face lights up when she locates it: Gotcha!
CHORUS: Fear of never being good enough?
GIRL: Check.
CHORUS: Other people pick up new concepts quicker than you?
GIRL: Check!
CHORUS: Needing to validate your passions by excelling at them?
GIRL stops, frowns: I couldn't get my own, is store bought fine?
CHORUS: Yeah, store-bought is fine.
GIRL: Is that all?
GIRL swings the bag over her shoulder. She stumbles, but manages to take a step. She laughs nervously.
GIRL, under her breath, she is determined, focused: I can do this.
CHORUS, scattered, repeated, like a thought bouncing around her head, like an echo, from one side of the stage to the other: Can you? Can you do this?
GIRL, stronger, louder, pretending: Is that all?
The weight makes her fall onto the bed. She shrieks with laughter. She is shaking. But not because she is laughing.
CHORUS, echoing, echoing: There's more, always more, always. No matter. You can always carry the rest tomorrow.
CURTAIN.
Enter GIRL in bed.
Enter CHORUS, surrounding her.
An alarm sounds. GIRL starts suddenly and rises, slowly, getting her bearings, then turning off the alarm. She is weary, but swings her legs out of bed anyway.
GIRL: Boy, am I ready for the day! Are we good to go?
CHORUS checks off items casually on their fingers, as if for a shopping list for a picnic. GIRL rummages through a bag.
CHORUS: Is the self-doubt in there?
GIRL: Check.
CHORUS: Fear of being excluded?
GIRL struggles to find it, arm up to the elbow in the bag. Her face lights up when she locates it: Gotcha!
CHORUS: Fear of never being good enough?
GIRL: Check.
CHORUS: Other people pick up new concepts quicker than you?
GIRL: Check!
CHORUS: Needing to validate your passions by excelling at them?
GIRL stops, frowns: I couldn't get my own, is store bought fine?
CHORUS: Yeah, store-bought is fine.
GIRL: Is that all?
GIRL swings the bag over her shoulder. She stumbles, but manages to take a step. She laughs nervously.
GIRL, under her breath, she is determined, focused: I can do this.
CHORUS, scattered, repeated, like a thought bouncing around her head, like an echo, from one side of the stage to the other: Can you? Can you do this?
GIRL, stronger, louder, pretending: Is that all?
The weight makes her fall onto the bed. She shrieks with laughter. She is shaking. But not because she is laughing.
CHORUS, echoing, echoing: There's more, always more, always. No matter. You can always carry the rest tomorrow.
CURTAIN.
