No one’s ever read my writing before.
In the dramatic scene from Little Flying Soldiers, two strangers become friends by way of nature, books, and writing.
RONA: That’s… I’ve never heard such a description about books before.
PETE: More than a book, you understand.
RONA: Of course, no, right, absolutely.
PETE: You should write. First thing you mentioned when I asked ya.
RONA: Maybe, I don’t know…
PETE: Why not?
RONA: Two things, I don’t know if I’m any good, and plus, the chances of me making a living at being a writer are pretty slim.
PETE: Ya think?
RONA: Yeah.
PETE: And where, may I ask, have you been given this knowledge?
RONA: Everybody knows being a writer is a long shot.
PETE: Have you written anything?
RONA: Ummm, essays, biographical-type stuff…nothing major.
PETE: And how did it feel to write?
RONA: Uh, it felt good. I mean, I don’t know.
PETE: You do know. How did it feel?
RONA: I was alive.
PETE: Good answer.
RONA: Yeah?
PETE: There’s no right or wrong answer. It’s a good answer cause you were honest with yourself, right?
RONA: I guess.
PETE: I’m Pete.
RONA: I’m Rona.
PETE: Rona…
They both look out at the pigeons.
That one there cracks me up! Fascinating how a bird can be so determined.
RONA: Which one?
PETE: (pointing) I call him King Frederick. He’s the nerd of ’em all but carries himself like a king. See him there with the white hairs on his chest puffed out?
RONA laughs.
RONA: I see what you mean. He’s definitely the boss of the pack.
PETE: Frederick and I go way back…years. I come out here almost everyday and feed ’em.
RONA: That’s sweet.
PETE: I do what I can. I live nearby, just a few blocks down.
RONA: Have books always been your focus?
PETE: Ah, yes and no. Not in the traditional sense. My father died when I was a kid; he ran a publishing house on the Lower East Side. When he passed, my mother stepped in and took over, eventually buying out the original partner, and for forty-five years that woman built up quite a business. I saw things differently than her, plus I was a complacent no-good son and never really managed to take the responsibility off her shoulders. Sin of my life, but…eh, long story.
RONA: Is your mother still—
PETE: No, she’s gone, long gone actually.
RONA: Sorry.
PETE: Nah, don’t be; she lived to the ripe old age of a hundred and one.
RONA: Did she?
PETE: Some genetics. Built like a workhorse. You know she worked until she was a hundred years young. Believe it or not, I still think it was the retirement that killed her. Who knows?
RONA: I’ve heard that.
PETE: What’s that?
RONA: That when you get older, you need something to sort of keep you going.
PETE: That’s true.
RONA: I think about that often, even though I’m young and—
PETE: No, that’s true. Makes sense. (PETE begins to pack the books away.) That’s why it’s a blessing to find something worth living for. Well, that’s it for me… I have to get back home to write.
RONA: Sure, sure… you’re a writer?
PETE: Something like that. If you’re ever around, bring some of those essays you’ve written. I’d like to read them.
RONA: They’re not any good.
PETE: (chuckles)
RONA: You would really read them?
PETE: Sure.
RONA: With feedback?
PETE: Why not?
RONA: No one’s ever read my writing before.
PETE: No one?
RONA: (nodding her head no)
PETE: Well, in that case, I won’t be a harsh critic.
RONA: How will I find you?
PETE: Right here. I’m a fixture in this spot, ’bout as permanent as those statues.
RONA: What’s the best time?
PETE: Usually noonish.
RONA: Thanks.
PETE: We’ll see if ya writing is any good. Nothing to fear.
- To read the full one-act ePlay, find purchase link below:
In the one act eplay Little Flying Soldiers, Rona and Pete are strangers in a park who become fast friends which serves as a profound turning point for both of their lives. 1 Woman, 1 Man. Drama.
