Random Scenes From Stories I Have Written Theatre
1;
He sat down on the chair and looked at her. Her body was sterile, too clean, and she had never looked good in white. Her hair was still in a ponytail. There were huge purple welts all over her body and open sterile wounds with closed sterile bandages on them. She was barely breathing.
"Bella," he said softly, "You look like you've been hit by a truck."
They had told him she could not hear him.
"That's a joke." He said, smiling wanly at her from up closer, very close. "Because you were hit by a truck." She remained as she was, breathing slowly and harshly, machines making mysterious noises from all surrounding.
"You never did have a sense of humour." He muttered.
2;
He knocked on the door in quite a fervor, waking the whole household, and he shouted;
"Achmed Achmed! You have died of a colonic infection, and it is I, Death, come to collect you!"
At this the servants of the house were quite a frightened, and it took quite a while for one of them to peek through a crack in the door and see who it was. This servant, who was quite a bit brighter than might have been thought, examined Doctor Hassan thoroughly, from his previously-worn hat to the rags covering his body to his shoeless feet shod in only socks with holes in them.
"Sir Death," He assayed, "If thou shalt not be offended, I must note that you look just like that beggar who ever sits between the Mosque and the bank, and in fact smell much like him as well."
At this Dr. Hassan neared to the crack in the door, peered through it, and whispered to the servant in a conspiratorial fashion; "Ah, but that is merely a disguise."
"Excuse this humble servant of the recently deceased lord, Achmed Achmed, Sir Death," replied the servant through the crack in the door, "But for what reason would such as you need a disguise?"
"Why!" said Doctor Hassan, offended. "For if I were not disguised, do you think I could have come to this door unmolested? I would be assayed at every corner by a dozen widows, a hundred stillborn mothers, and a thousand owners of deceased cats!"
The servant considered this a while, and at last replied, "But, oh lord of the dry lands, as you have come to gather this vile one's colonic master, why does one of your puissant might require a door be opened to him?"
"Hrmph!" Replied Doctor Hassan. "It's only polite!"
3;
Wisps of cloud were strung like strangelets from every horizon to every horizon, to those who could know at last validating the obtuse mathematics of String Theory. And in a house on a mountain somewhere, in a hundred houses alone with wind blowing knocking on the doors, children were born to the end of the world. And the wind whispered to them;
Welcome to the world, little child.
And everything in the world was dying, though no one could point to the yellowing grass which would signify it, to the sickening animal which could give a reason to the dead, dead certainty.
Welcome home, kid, the wind whispered.
And the children born on the long end of the world were filled. Filled with else. Filled with the long end. Filled, also, because they had already been open, with the Big Thing.
And the sun set, and the sun rose, and nations countries lands and peoples carried on. And the sun set, and the sun rose. And the sun set. And the sun rose.
4;
The food arrived, steaming and bubbling or steaming cold, as per the dish. They were all extravagant and delicious, and they all turned to ash in Gina's mouth when she moved her eyes to the direction of her father. She drank more wine. While fragments of increasingly uncomfortable conversation flipped through the air around her, she idly fell into a fantasy of how this conversation should have gone.
"Oh, Jerry, you seem to have had sex re-assignment surgery, just like you said you would when you ran away from home at 15! I guess we were wrong to think you were just troubled." They would say.
"Yes", she would answer.
"We're very sorry for doubting you all of those years!" her mother would say. Her father would have tears in his eyes. "I go," he would say ponderously, "To commit ritual suicide."
"Bye." Gina would say. Then her mother would write her a check for a million euro.
He sat down on the chair and looked at her. Her body was sterile, too clean, and she had never looked good in white. Her hair was still in a ponytail. There were huge purple welts all over her body and open sterile wounds with closed sterile bandages on them. She was barely breathing.
"Bella," he said softly, "You look like you've been hit by a truck."
They had told him she could not hear him.
"That's a joke." He said, smiling wanly at her from up closer, very close. "Because you were hit by a truck." She remained as she was, breathing slowly and harshly, machines making mysterious noises from all surrounding.
"You never did have a sense of humour." He muttered.
2;
He knocked on the door in quite a fervor, waking the whole household, and he shouted;
"Achmed Achmed! You have died of a colonic infection, and it is I, Death, come to collect you!"
At this the servants of the house were quite a frightened, and it took quite a while for one of them to peek through a crack in the door and see who it was. This servant, who was quite a bit brighter than might have been thought, examined Doctor Hassan thoroughly, from his previously-worn hat to the rags covering his body to his shoeless feet shod in only socks with holes in them.
"Sir Death," He assayed, "If thou shalt not be offended, I must note that you look just like that beggar who ever sits between the Mosque and the bank, and in fact smell much like him as well."
At this Dr. Hassan neared to the crack in the door, peered through it, and whispered to the servant in a conspiratorial fashion; "Ah, but that is merely a disguise."
"Excuse this humble servant of the recently deceased lord, Achmed Achmed, Sir Death," replied the servant through the crack in the door, "But for what reason would such as you need a disguise?"
"Why!" said Doctor Hassan, offended. "For if I were not disguised, do you think I could have come to this door unmolested? I would be assayed at every corner by a dozen widows, a hundred stillborn mothers, and a thousand owners of deceased cats!"
The servant considered this a while, and at last replied, "But, oh lord of the dry lands, as you have come to gather this vile one's colonic master, why does one of your puissant might require a door be opened to him?"
"Hrmph!" Replied Doctor Hassan. "It's only polite!"
3;
Wisps of cloud were strung like strangelets from every horizon to every horizon, to those who could know at last validating the obtuse mathematics of String Theory. And in a house on a mountain somewhere, in a hundred houses alone with wind blowing knocking on the doors, children were born to the end of the world. And the wind whispered to them;
Welcome to the world, little child.
And everything in the world was dying, though no one could point to the yellowing grass which would signify it, to the sickening animal which could give a reason to the dead, dead certainty.
Welcome home, kid, the wind whispered.
And the children born on the long end of the world were filled. Filled with else. Filled with the long end. Filled, also, because they had already been open, with the Big Thing.
And the sun set, and the sun rose, and nations countries lands and peoples carried on. And the sun set, and the sun rose. And the sun set. And the sun rose.
4;
The food arrived, steaming and bubbling or steaming cold, as per the dish. They were all extravagant and delicious, and they all turned to ash in Gina's mouth when she moved her eyes to the direction of her father. She drank more wine. While fragments of increasingly uncomfortable conversation flipped through the air around her, she idly fell into a fantasy of how this conversation should have gone.
"Oh, Jerry, you seem to have had sex re-assignment surgery, just like you said you would when you ran away from home at 15! I guess we were wrong to think you were just troubled." They would say.
"Yes", she would answer.
"We're very sorry for doubting you all of those years!" her mother would say. Her father would have tears in his eyes. "I go," he would say ponderously, "To commit ritual suicide."
"Bye." Gina would say. Then her mother would write her a check for a million euro.