“The Monologue Sonata” – #1

Photo Courtesy ERIC MAGNUSON

{stage right…BUCK, a middle-aged man seated in a beige recliner.  He leans back with one leg resting carelessly and the other planted firmly to the floor.  He wears a light blue and white checkered shirt, with long sleeves that are rolled up at each arm—tattoos…he sweats, he sips his beer…he has a withering tan.  Buck watches television stage left.  This is a living room; decorate it the way you want but it must come off as being “old” in it’s set appearance.}

{phone rings.}

{beat}

{phone rings.}

{beat}

(phone rings.}

{Buck answers…}

BUCK:  …Yello.  {long pause.} Why Friday, not Monday?  {beat} Uh-Huh.  {he sniffs}  Alright Alright—already don’t like this guy but—{pause.} Alright, I know, I know, you’re right Merv—I DO appreciate this; your help…{softly} I do.  {sighs} I’ll be there, pal.  What time you say? {beat} Jesus Christ. {Chuckles}  I’ll be there. I’ll be there—and you said…{he fumbles around for a pen and paper…he finds pen but can’t seem to find paper in time—he uses his hand} theeeee uh, the Wuckleberry Barn??  {beat} Where the fuck is that??—Oh!  Right down Van Buten, over by; wait, that’s that brownish black Castle looking joint we see from the—awwww hell Merv, THAT’S the Wuckleberry Barn?? Jes—alright, alright.  {sighs} I’ll be there—YEAH YEAH, no drinking, alright, let me go. {hangs up phone abruptly}

{to himself} …Pay for my gas, too…shit. {sips beer}

“RRRR!!!!” (drama) 1-2 Minutes

Photo Courtesy BRIAN J MATIS

(room is lit as COLD BLUE)

(sound of a Harley Davidson motorcycle roars by.  A distant drip from a faucet 1 second apart per drip.)

(16 seconds of dripping water sound)

(four footsteps, increasing in volume and closeness—before the fifth step, a quick shuffle of the body slowing down to turn handle of door—door bursts open, followed by RUTH’S entrance, followed by her slamming the door)

(room changes color on door slam to bright yellow – HARD)

RUTH: RRRRRRRR!!!!  (she throws her hand bag) RRRR!!! (she picks her hand bag up from the floor—takes out cellphone—makes call)  …KAY!  Kay, it’s me.  Can you, can you talk?? (beat) They won’t let me date him! (half beat) Yeah! They won’t let me go out—because they’re selfish assholes, that’s—they found out from my sister…Yeah, her big fat mouth as usual, always—I’m gonna punch her in the face when—RRRRR!!!!! I can’t! (sighs) What am I going to tell him? (beat) How am I going to explain this to him Kay?? (imitating a dumb version of herself) “I can’t date you cause your black.”  (mockingly) Is that what I should say?  (half beat) I can’t tell him that, I can’t tell him the truth; can’t tell him that my father will kill him and beat my ass cause he’s an uneducated racist—my mother goes along with it cause, I mean, God forbid she ever sticks up for me for once—(sighs) (beat) (moans) I can’t Kay…I hate them all—so alone…they can’t just let me be me, support my choices; IT’S MY LIFE!—Always criticizing me and talking shit—MYSISTERTHERAT—it’s why she gets everything because she brown noses them so bad—spoiled little twerp! (clenching fists) RRRR!!! (pause.) I don’t know what to do.

“Eighty-Nine Ants” (drama) 1-2 Minutes

Photo Courtesy Binux

(A GIANT EYELID is captured  center stage hanging in mid-air.  This man speaks from within it.)

THIS MAN:  A young girl came out of my pupil and told me when I was going to die.  I didn’t believe her.  How would she know?  She made me look down at the ground at a mountain of ants.  They formed a number.  The number was eighty-nine.  I was to live until I was eighty-nine.  I stomped on all the ants.  The blood stained concrete kept my number and I ran off as my heart pounded out of my chest…I caught my heart before it hit the ground and in my hand was a pack of….

This young girl, not sure how old she was, not sure where she went.  Not sure.  When I turned eighty-nine, I died.  I died alone…and was carried off by eighty-nine ants.  Eighty-nine ants…eighty-nine ants.

My whole life I waited to see if this young girl was right.  If this young girl knew when I would die.  My whole life.  I waited.  She knew.  The age of my death, she knew.  But why?  Why did I kill those eighty-nine ants?

But why?

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