You May Say I Can't Write, But You Can't Say I Don't Write

I write something new every day and post it here- it might be a play, a short story or a scene or chapter from something longer.

[rorywritesstuff]

Paper Lantern

I see you, paper lantern, I validate your worth You may not be as flashy But you're better for the earth

You float along so silent It's kinder to the pets We'd dedicate the night to you If we cared for army vets

You're boring, paper lantern, You lack a certain fizz I don't wish to insult you But that's just the way it is

But I feel you, little lantern, Keep going, ignore the jerks I, too, am a paper lantern In a sea of fireworks

[rorywritesstuff]

Halloween Eve

Twas the night before Hallows And all through the house An argument raged: Who'd be Sexy Mouse?

Other costumes existed None were as good Not Dr Psychotic Nor Cutter of Wood

They lacked the respect Had no gravitas And none of them let you Show off your ass

A compromise came: They'd all just wear sheets But as we all know People are cheats

One fit his sheet To show off his pecs Another cut a hole To allow anal sex

And one just said 'fuck it' Tore his sheet to a scrap And tucked it most neatly In his jockstrap

They eyed up each other And tried not to stare But all were quite taken By what they saw there

The sheets all grew tighter Around the site of the crotch And then one of them said "You guys fuck and I'll watch"

No skeletons present But bones were sur seen They didn't go out But had a happy halloween

[rorywritesstuff]

Angel Time

There I lay, gently stirring Brain at rest, imagination purring Visions dancing on my lids: Showgirls, bluebirds, elves and squids The hour I admit was early I’d gone to bed, for I was surly It must have ‘round half-past one When to my bedroom I had gone Work was calling, but I demurred The song of sleep was all I heard I put my head down on the pillow And let the players dance and billow Suddenly, a burst of light Scattered all from out my sight And in their place, tall and proud An angel in a blood red shroud Winged, yes, with claws for hands And on her wrist, club armbands She floated just above the floor Her hair was three feet long or more She emanated poise and grace Despite the hot sauce on her face She looked the part, but I wasn’t certain Til with her mind she drew the curtain And therein flooded such a ray As my eyelashes were burned away And through the room rushed a mighty wind I tried to run but my legs my were pinned My arms, it seemed, were petrified Two lumps of stone on either side The angel moved her mighty claw The bed I lay on was no more We floated both, above the ground And then the angel made a sound The sound that we all fear the most More than banshee’s scream or wail of ghost The sound that does more ill and harm I talk, of course, of my alarm It wailed out with such a peal I felt my blood would soon congeal The angel, though, could bear the noise Her face showed neither rage nor joys The sound was growing more intense Til it invaded every sense My head was filled fit to burst With this alarm, this sound so cursed It rammed my ears and stuffed my nose Blocked my lungs, tickled my toes As the sound was running through my veins The Angel shut her mouth and stopped my pains She looked at me, contempt writ large Then offered me this single charge Pointed her finger, spoke in all caps This deathly warning: “NO MORE NAPS.”

[rorywritesstuff]

The Boy Who Cried Deconstruction

(A hilltop. There stands the Boy and, a little way off, but not behind the fourth wall, stands the Narratrix.)

NARRATRIX:

…And on the third day, the bored little boy once again sat atop the hillside.

BOY:

Oh, I am so very bored.

NARRATRIX:

He considered repeating his trick from the past two days.

BOY:

Maybe I should…

NARRATRIX:

But then, a real wolf appeared.

(The Wolf enters, melodramatically.)

A wolf that was perhaps too into this.

(The Wolf points at the Boy.)

WOLF:

Now, you die.

BOY:

What?

WOLF:

You deserve this. For lying.

BOY:

I do not!

NARRATRIX:

Yes, and the wolf approached the boy, licking his lips.

(The Wolf does a dance move to represent licking his lips.)

Okay. And all the boy’s cries for help went unheeded.

BOY:

Help! Help! Oh, help!

NARRATRIX:

For you see, the people in the village knew that he was a liar.

BOY:

Help! Please, help!

WOLF:

No one’s coming, you delinquent.

NARRATRIX:

And so they did nothing-

BOY: (Directly to the Narratrix)

Help me, you monster!

NARRATRIX:

What?

BOY:

Do something! Distract it!

WOLF:

She won’t help, she knows you’re a liar.

(Does some interpretative dance move.)

NARRATRIX:

I’m sorry, you have to die. It’s part of the narrative.

BOY:

I’m nine.

NARRATRIX:

You die so that other children learn not to tell lies.

WOLF:

And I represent-

NARRATRIX:

No one cares about you. Your costume was left over from Into the Woods.

BOY:

I’ll tell other children not to lie. I’ll go home right now and start spreading the word.

NARRATRIX:

We need an example. It’s kind of a thing.

WOLF:

And, besides, you deserve it.

NARRATRIX:

You’re not helping.

BOY:

Aren’t you guiltier than I am? You’re going to eat me.

WOLF:

No one blames a wolf for following its instinct.

BOY:

But you’re clearly intelligent.

WOLF:

Thank you.

BOY:

Well, isn’t she guilty?

(He points at the Narratrix.)

She’s letting a little boy die. She could stop you. That’s at least gross negligence.

WOLF:

That’s not my department.

(More interpretative dance.)

BOY:

Well, when does she get her come-uppance?

NARRATRIX:

I’m not the one on trial here.

BOY:

Why are you here then?

NARRATRIX:

I’m a rhetorical device. I’m just relaying the story years from now-

BOY: (Slightly flattered)

Years? People hear about me for years?

WOLF:

Yes, your stupidity becomes legendary.

BOY:

Stupidity? I thought it was a good prank.

NARRATRIX:

Yes, but you’re nine.

BOY:

It was funny. It was original and it was satire. I am holding up a mirror to the world. Y’all just can’t handle my realness.

NARRATRIX:

Okay, don’t get carried away, Jonathan Swift.

WOLF:

Besides, it wasted people’s valuable time. Shame on you.

BOY:

What if I promise never to do it again?

WOLF:

I’ll help you keep that promise, by eating you.

NARRATRIX:

I’m sorry, but you need to die. It’s how people learn not to do what you did.

WOLF:

You save millions of lives around the world.

BOY:

But that’s not fair because I never got to hear my story. If I’d heard this story when I was young then I wouldn’t have done this.

NARRATRIX:

This story didn’t exist before you. You’re the first one to do this.

BOY:

I told you I was original.

WOLF:

Can we get on with this? I have an audition at six. I’m up for the part of Metaphorical Sexual Predator.

NARRATRIX:

Yeah, eat him.

(The Wolf advances.)

BOY:

Wait, what do they think?

(The Boy points at the audience. He turns to address them.)

Do you think I deserve to die?

WOLF:

Who cares what the public thinks?

BOY:

Well then, why allow applause?

WOLF:

Ooh, good retort.

BOY: (To the audience)

Do I deserve to die? Do I?

IF THE AUDIENCE SAYS ‘YES’:

WOLF:

I agree.

(He pounces on the boy.)

NARRATRIX:

And a lesson was learnt. Eventually.

(The Wolf looks up from mauling the Boy.)

WOLF:

Shit, I’m late!

(The Wolf leaves behind the Boy’s corpse as he exits.)

NARRATRIX:

He’s not even gonna finish him? That’s just wasteful.

(She glances around furtively and then pulls out a fork and goes towards the Boy…)

IF THE AUDIENCE SAYS ‘NO’:

NARRATRIX:

Oh well.

WOLF:

No one cares what you think.

(The Wolf pounces on the boy.)

NARRATRIX: (Pointing at the audience)

You will watch this. Ma’am, don’t you dare leave.

END

[rorywritesstuff]

Mr. Bananas

(A dressing room. Andy is warming up. Sam, his agent, enters.)

ANDY:

Mi ma mo mu me mi ma mo mu me. How are we doing out there? Full house?

SAM:

You know it.

ANDY:

Excellent. Told you the posters would work.

SAM:

For a given definition of ‘work.’

ANDY:

The point of a poster is to generate interest. That image made it onto front pages all over the country.

SAM:

Did you read the articles?

ANDY:

I never read my own press.

SAM:

I’ve got one here.

(Pulls out a clipping.)

“Tasteless depiction of deceased-”

ANDY:

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want it to affect my performance.

SAM:

They don’t mention my performance.

ANDY:

If they reproduced the poster, that’s all that matters.

SAM:

Hmm.

(He tries a different approach.)

Lot of protestors out there. Lots.

ANDY:

Good.

SAM:

Andy-

ANDY:

Mr. Bananas, when we’re in the theatre.

SAM:

I’m not calling you that.

ANDY:

Then you’re not getting your commission.

SAM:

I’ve already taken it.

ANDY:

Fair enough.

SAM:

Andy, please don’t go out there. Just don’t.

ANDY:

Haven’t I sold tickets?

SAM:

That’s not everything in this business.

ANDY:

Some agent you are.

SAM:

There’s also reputation to consider: you won’t be able to come back from this.

ANDY:

I’ll have established myself.

SAM:

Not in a good way. No one’s going to want to hire you after this.

ANDY:

That’s your concern. Make people want to hire me.

SAM:

You know, I can dump you as a client. If you’re bad news.

ANDY:

Then, dump me. The man who sold out a two hundred seat theatre tonight.

SAM:

I don’t want to dump you, I want to elevate you. You’re good, Andy. You’re really good. And you’re chucking that away. Don’t you want to play Hamlet?

ANDY:

Hamlet kills people.

SAM:

Not the same thing.

ANDY:

Yeah, it’s worse.

SAM:

Not in the eyes of an audience.

ANDY:

That’s stupid. That’s the point I’m making.

SAM:

That’s the point you’re making? You’re not just hoping to drum up controversy? Not just wanting to put something shocking on a poster and let the outrage factory run?

ANDY:

Protestors’ money spends just like everyone else’s.

SAM:

Fan’s money lasts a whole lot longer.

ANDY:

No one ever went broke on controversy. Look at Charlie Hebdo.

SAM:

Can you hear yourself? Do you want to get shot?

ANDY:

No one’s going to shoot me. That would be animal cruelty.

SAM:

Just cancel the performance. Tell them you saw the light. They’ll like that, everyone loves a sinner repentant, someone who apologises. Look at Mel Gibson.

ANDY:

Did Mel Gibson apologise?

SAM:

He must have. He got an Oscar nomination.

ANDY:

Ooh, that reminds me. Are the people from the Oliviers here?

SAM:

They’re not coming.

ANDY:

The papers?

SAM:

The Sun.

ANDY:

So none?

SAM:

Yeah.

ANDY:

That’s fine. I’m not doing this for recognition.

SAM:

You just said you wanted the controversy money.

ANDY:

I’m an actor, I say things that aren’t true.

(Pause.)

SAM:

Why are you doing this?

ANDY:

Because a man deserves to have his story told even if he did…regrettable things.

SAM:

He suffocated two monkeys.

ANDY:

He didn’t personally suffocate them.

SAM:

He locked them in a trunk.

ANDY:

So really the trunk suffocated them.

SAM:

It’s barbaric!

ANDY:

It was entertaining.

(Pause.)

I saw him, Sam. Mr. Bananas. He came to my birthday party when I was eight. It was…during the divorce. It was the last thing my parents really shared, they laughed together. Dad even kissed mum on the cheek afterwards. It was this gorgeous, golden sunny afternoon and there were live monkeys in my garden and they were doing tricks and for a second, I was happy. The only time in fifteen months that I didn’t have a stomach ache. It was wonderful. He was a brilliant entertainer, he was so charismatic on stage and he didn’t deserve what happened to him.

SAM:

He killed himself. He chose that.

ANDY:

Because of what everyone was saying about him. Yeah, okay, he wasn’t perfect, he should probably have learnt about airholes and if I saw the act now, I’d more than likely think it was cruel. But I can’t be mad at that man. Not after what he did for me.

(Pause.)

SAM:

Say that. Just go up on stage and say that. People won’t like it, but they’ll respect you.

ANDY:

No. I’m doing the show as is. I’m being Mr. Bananas. I’m going to honour him.

SAM:

You’re gonna get booed off stage.

ANDY:

That will mean people felt something.

SAM:

I never said they wouldn’t feel something. Maybe…maybe make the puppet less convincing. Yeah. Just…use a sock or something. People can’t empathise with a sock.

ANDY:

Empathy is the point of what I’m going for. I want people to empathise with Mr. Bananas. I want people to see the trick as it was, to recreate it as closely as possible so that they know what he was. How much he helped people. That he wasn’t just a monster.

SAM:

Yes, but the puppet is killing that. People are going to empathise with the puppet more than you. They’re gonna take the puppet’s side. When you lock it in the trunk, they’ll storm the stage to get it out. I mean, look at that thing

(He gestures to the monkey puppet.)

It’s so…life-like. I mean, I want to cuddle it right now.

ANDY:

That’s what I felt, as a kid.

SAM:

But then the monkey died, Andy. And everyone knows that. Everyone knows that he’s an animal murderer. There’s no getting around that. It’s like the rape in Streetcar. After that, no one sides with Stanley. Some things can’t be forgiven.

ANDY:

I don’t think so. I think I can turn it around. I can make them see. Like you said, I’m good.

SAM:

Nobody’s that good.

ANDY:

Meryl Streep.

SAM:

Nobody who does regional theatre is that good.

ANDY:

You don’t give people enough credit, Sam. That’s your problem, you underestimate the general public.

SAM:

Work in this industry twenty years and see how you feel about the public.

ANDY:

I plan to.

(Sam glances at his watch and decides that it’s not worth it.)

SAM:

Fine. Okay. I already got my money. Go out there. Do you need anything?

ANDY:

No. I’m ready.

SAM:

Alright, curtain in two. And, just try and talk over the booing.

ANDY:

That’s the first thing they taught me in RADA.

SAM:

You went to RADA?

ANDY:

No, I got booed at my audition.

(Sam laughs.)

SAM:

See, this is what you’re good at. You’re funny. You’re charming. You could…

(He decides not to speak any more.)

Break a leg.

ANDY:

Thanks.

(Sam leaves. Andy continues doing his warm up. He then goes over to the monkey puppet. He picks it up and begins to do his routine.)

“Hi everyone, I’m Mr. Bananas and this is Bobo, today Bobo’s going to do a little…magic trick…”

(He looks into the eyes of the puppet and really begins to empathise.)

Oh God.

(He looks around.)

SAM: (Offstage)

One minute to curtain.

(Andy looks about, puts down the monkey puppet and runs out of the room.)

[rorywritesstuff]

National Poetry Day: Change

Things are CHANGING all the time

Poems and poets and schemes of rhyme

Re: Verse:

Free verse,

3 verse

Reverse

But everything’s CHANGING: ions and atoms

Constant streams of datums

(AKA Data)

More on that later

Actually, no, there won’t be I’ve CHANGED my mind

See, I’m kind

Of drunk…on poetry! Like, oooh

Sonnets and haiku

And there once was a man from Limerick

(Good luck rhyming that, could you be dimmer, dick?)

Time for a CHANGE: what’s new?

Roses are still red, violets blue

I have a request

On poets’ behest

We need more rhymes for life

I’m never gonna have a wife

I don’t go to Fife

Daily I use a knife

To cut my steak

But that doesn’t make

For great odes

There is, of course, loads

Of strife

*Sigh* life

CHANGE seats, CHANGE partners, CHANGE your tune

CHANGE with the moon

A tide

Inside

Poetry is like the ocean

It makes me sick with its motion

But there are tablets I can take

That make

Each quake

The peak twixt line and break

Bearable

Like the ocean, poetry’s shareable

And, also, there only seven poems:

Adriatic, Mediterranean, Rhymers, Slow-Ums

Good ones, Bad ones, Ted Hughes

CHANGE your muse

Thus CHANGE your art

CHANGE your life and CHANGE your heart

And, for God’s sake, CHANGE your shirt

It’s starting to hurt

The WINDS of change are blowing up my nose

It’s not pretty, but that’s how it goes

  This poem didn’t make much sense

It CHANGED its subject, its tone, its tense

But to write it CHANGED the world no sweat

CHANGE is easy; meaningful change is hard to get.

[rorywritesstuff]

Gatsby Light

(A municipal garden. Daisy and Jordan sit, enjoying the sunshine. Daisy yawns.)

JORDAN:

Am I actually boring you?

DAISY:

No, Darling, it’s the damn Gatsby light. It keeps me awake at night.

JORDAN:

The what?

DAISY:

There’s a mysterious green light in my flat. It never goes out. Always shining, always unmissable, calling to me, its source unclear but its presence definite, deliberate, inescapable. A silent siren song, an odourless scent reaching into my head and pulling me by the nostril. It’s soooooooo annoying.

JORDAN:

You actually poor thing.

DAISY:

Not actually poor. I wouldn’t want to be actually poor.

JORDAN:

No, of course. I misspoke.

DAISY:

I forgive you.

JORDAN:

What do you think this light does?

DAISY:

It’s probably metaphorical. Or, worse, pataphorical.

JORDAN:

It’s not gone that far, has it?

DAISY:

It’s invaded my dreams.

JORDAN:

That’s actually horrible.

DAISY:

It’s made them all strange and…American.

JORDAN:

American dreams?

DAISY:

Just the one.

JORDAN:

An American dream?

DAISY:

The American Dream, I call it. It mostly involves me ripping people off.

JORDAN:

Oh, this is too serious. Can’t we actually have this conversation in a hotel bath tub?

DAISY:

How would that help?

JORDAN:

It couldn’t hurt.

DAISY:

No, no. It’s too much. I’m hurting inside. The American Dream is eating away at me. I feel like I need to…like I need to…throw a massive party. That’s how to solve deep-seated angst about your place in society, right?

JORDAN:

That or golf.

DAISY:

I’ll try the party. Do you think I should invite my cousin?

JORDAN:

Do adults normally invite their cousins to parties?

DAISY:

He’s just so sad and boring, I can’t not invite him. And, besides, he invited me for awkward tea that one time.

JORDAN:

Did you actually end up going to that?

DAISY:

No, I saw he’d put up a bunch of flowers and bailed. I mean, who does that for their cousin?

(She lies back and sighs.)

This will be such a good party.

JORDAN:

But, Darling, where will you have it?

DAISY:

My place, of course.

JORDAN:

But what about the damn Gatsby light?

DAISY:

What about it?

JORDAN:

Won’t it actually ruin the party? A mysterious green light shining everywhere, reminding people of what they want the most but can’t have?

DAISY:

Don’t most parties have those?

(Jordan takes Daisy’s hands.)

JORDAN:

No.

DAISY:

Oh. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a rager. What’s the current vogue?

JORDAN:

Abandoned spaces. The last party I went to was held in an old factory that actually used to make anatomical models for doctors’ offices and the like.

DAISY:

Actually?

JORDAN:

Actually. Anyway, the factory hadn’t been quite entirely cleaned out; there was this massive pair of eyes that had been mounted on the wall above us. They were huge, and they had this weird judgey air. Maybe it was because they were blue. I can’t stand blue eyed people. Anyway, they watched over all of us, in our elegiac elastic elations and our righteous rhythmic writhing and our orgiastic ordained orgies and I felt like the eyes represented-

DAISY:

Yes, we all get what the eyes represent. There’s no need to say it out loud.

JORDAN:

Do you know any abandoned spaces?

DAISY:

Blockbuster’s?

JORDAN:

Too depressing. Think more…intimate.

DAISY:

How about a swimming pool?

JORDAN:

I actually like it.

DAISY:

Perfect! My neighbour’s house across the lake has a swimming pool that hasn’t been used in a long time.

JORDAN:

Why?

DAISY:

I don’t know, I was asleep by that part of the movie.

JORDAN:

You didn’t read the book?

DAISY:

Did you read the book?

JORDAN:

Yes.

DAISY:

Did you understand the book?

JORDAN:

Let’s go take a look at this swimming pool. We can take my actually butt-ugly yellow car.

DAISY:

No, we’ll take my car. Less conspicuous if we hit someone.

JORDAN:

Are we planning to hit someone?

DAISY:

Jordan, darling, I’ve had the American Dream running around my head for the last three weeks, if I don’t kill someone soon I shall scream.

(They exit.)

[rorywritesstuff]

Who Put the Sword in the Stone?

(A park, somewhere which would now be called England. Renwick and Jarbid stand frozen. Renwick stands with his arms in the air. Jarbid stands nearby, looking amazed. In between them, clearly viewable by the audience, is a sword stuck in a stone. Suddenly, Renwick and Jarbid burst into motion.) JARBID: Odds my bodkins. RENWICK: I did it. I told you I could do it. Didn't I tell you? JARBID: You stuck it right through. Didn't shatter or nothing. You got it all in there. And I thought that crack was too tight. RENWICK: That's what she said. JARBID: Who? RENWICK: Sally, who works in the pub. I told her I was gonna do it. She says a lot of things, gets quoted a lot out of context. JARBID: So, pull it out again. RENWICK: Hey, Sally also said that. JARBID: I'm serious, I need Sir John's sword back. RENWICK: Right. (He pulls at the sword. It won't budge.) Uh oh. JARBID: 'Uh oh?' What's 'uh oh?' RENWICK: It won't come out. JARBID: Don't be daft. RENWICK: It won't, it's caught on something. JARBID: Oh, give over. (Jarbid tries to pull the sword. It will not move. He tries again.) Grab my arms. RENWICK: What? JARBID: Pull with me, jackass. (They both pull on the sword. Nothing happens.) JARBID: Shit! Shit! RENWICK: Get him another one? JARBID: Do you know how much swords cost? RENWICK: How much? JARBID: I don't know, I've never been able to buy one BECAUSE I'M POOR! Fuck! RENWICK: Maybe he won't mind? JARBID: You're right, next time he's out slaying dragons I'll just hand him a sharp stick. Just as good. RENWICK: Alright, alright. We need to think. JARBID: Oh now, he wants to think. RENWICK: Hey, you're the one who let me have the sword. JARBID: You said you knew what you were doing. You said your hole could handle it. RENWICK: My hole could handle it! It got in there alright. It got in there real good. JARBID: It's the getting it out at the right time bit that's important, otherwise you end up in trouble! (Sally wanders by.) SALLY: Hey, all of that is what I said. RENWICK: Please, Sally, we're having a discussion. SALLY: Alright. Penetration. (She leaves.) RENWICK: How long til this knight of yours wakes up? JARBID: I don't know, a few hours? RENWICK: Does he know you're here? JARBID: No. RENWICK: So, you could, in theory, quit your job? JARBID: Quit my job? What is that? That's not a widely introduced concept yet, jobs are hereditary. My dad was a servants ergo I'm a servant. RENWICK: Servants know the word 'ergo?' JARBID: Servants don't steal their master's property and keep their heads! RENWICK: So, you're not a servant anymore. Problem solved. He doesn't know you're here, and I'll doubt he'll ever figure it out. JARBID: How am I gonna get money? RENWICK: Who's the king at the moment? JARBID: What? RENWICK: Is it still what's-his-face? The Tory? JARBID: Uther. RENWICK: Yeah. JARBID: No, he died. RENWICK: So, who's- JARBID: There is no king! There's a huge political crisis on! Read a damn book! RENWICK: I'm illiterate! And some of us find politics depressing. I don't want to be thinking about that all day. JARBID: Why does it matter who's king? (A stranger walks by.) RENWICK: Hey! You! STRANGER: Me? RENWICK: Sure. You'll do. This the Tory's sword. (Jarbid elbows him.) The king's sword. STRANGER: Oh yeah? RENWICK: Yeah.  And he died a virgin, or childless, whatever. Point is, whoever pulls his sword from this rock becomes king. STRANGER: Says who? (Pause.) JARBID: A prophecy. STRANGER: Whose prophecy? JARBID: Sally's. STRANGER: She is good at predicting what people will say. The other week my wife had this huge piece of wood and also a skinned beaver and I said- RENWICK: Yeah, yeah, yeah. You wanna be king? Five pnnies a go. STRANGER: Five pennies?! JARBID: Or three goes for twelve. STRANGER: Now that's a bargain! (He pays them and starts trying to pull the sword ut.) RENWICK: Whoa! JARBID: This is brilliant. We just made five pennies for nothing! RENWICK: We could run this scam for the rest of our lives and be rich! JARBID: But what if someone unsuited pulls the sword out and becomes ruler of the land? RENWICK: Ah, they'll get beheaded. We wouldn't let unqualified buffoons run the country, not for more than five years anyway. Just letting them continue to make decisions as they tear the land apart and make bad decision after bad decision, plunging us all further and further into despair and bankrauptcy. Ha! That would mean the political system was totally fucked. And that can't be. JARBID: I thought you weren't political. RENWICK: And I thought the majority of British people weren't idiots. Oh well.

[rorywritesstuff]

Schrodinger’s Penis

(Student accommodation. Teddy is walking the corridors, in a bathrobe. it's not clear if he has any clothes on underneath the robe. He runs into Billy.) TEDDY: Morning. BILLY: It's two AM. TEDDY: And thus the morning. BILLY: Are you going somewhere? TEDDY: Is anyone? BILLY: Please answer the question. (Teddy thinks.) TEDDY: Jennifer Lawrence. She's going somewhere. We haven't heard the last of her. BILLY: Are you actually going anywhere? TEDDY: I'm taking my morning constitutional. BILLY: By walking around the halls like...like... it's too early for an analogy. TEDDY: Bertha Rochester? BILLY: Fucking lit students. Why are you awake? TEDDY: I don't sleep, Billy, you know that. BILLY: Well, other people do. TEDDY: I'm not making any noise. BILLY: Floorboards. TEDDY: What about them? BILLY: They creak. TEDDY: Well, I've complained about that to you multiple times and you did nothing. Maybe if you actually tried to maintain the halls over which you have dominion... BILLY: Look, it's not just the noise. Walking around this early...it's just weird. TEDDY: You're doing it. BILLY: I'm trying to stop you. TEDDY: You can't stop me. I haven't breached any of the rules to which we all agreed. You can't lock us in our bedrooms, and the only noise being made is because of your dereliction of duty. So, I'll go back to roaming, thank you very much. BILLY: Teddy, just go to bed. TEDDY: I will not, sir. See you at the floor meeting tomorrow. I will be bringing up the floorboards again. Unless you wish to join me in a turn about the corridors, I bid you goodnight. (Teddy goes to leave.) BILLY: Wait, what do you have on beneath that robe? TEDDY: Hmm? BILLY: Let me see underneath your robe. TEDDY: Billy, we can't do that anymore. You're an RA. BILLY: If you're naked under there, that contravenes the rules. TEDDY: Everyone's naked under their clothes. BILLY: But we all agreed that a robe doesn't count as clothes on its own. That was in the rules we all signed for. TEDDY: I have got clothes on under here. BILLY: Then let me see them. TEDDY: You can't force a student to strip. BILLY: It's not stripping if you have clothes on underneath. TEDDY: That's a big if. BILLY: Well, are you naked under there or not? (Pause.) TEDDY: Both. BILLY: Jesus Christ, Teddy, answer the question. TEDDY: Aaaron, it's Schroedinger's Penis. BILLY: Excuse me? TEDDY: I propose that, since you don't know whether or not I have clothes on underneath my robe I both do and don't, existing in a state of quantum nudity, under I undo the robe and collapse the wave function, causing God to flip a coin as to whether or not I'm naked. BILLY: Oh? TEDDY: Yeah. BILLY: So maybe you're breaking the rules or maybe you're not. TEDDY: But you can't find out without breaking the rules by seeing one of your residents - and your ex - naked. So, I guess, we'll never know. BILLY: Please just go to bed, Teddy. (Pause.) TEDDY: Come with me? BILLY: I can't. And, yes, I really would like to. TEDDY: Then how about a Schroedinger's hook-up? BILLY: Eh? TEDDY: Maybe we did, maybe we didn't? BILLY: Come again? TEDDY: Well, that's for God to decide. (Billy cottons on.) BILLY: Oh. What they can't prove can't hurt me. TEDDY: Exactly. Maybe you put a dead cat in a box, maybe you didn't. BILLY: I've never done- TEDDY: Shhhh. Leave some mystery. (Pause.) BILLY: Fine. If no one knows, maybe it didn't happen. (He takes Teddy's hand and starts to lead him towards his room. He steps on a floorboard that creaks loudly. Lights turn on in some of the dorms.) VOICE #1: (Offstage) What was that? VOICE #2: (Offstage) I'm going to guess that it's Teddy and Billy on their way to have an illicit hook-up. VOICE #3: (Offstage) I also guess that. VOICE #4: (Offstage) Let's collapse the wave function and find out! TEDDY: I told you to fix them. By the way, I was naked under here. (He flashes Billy and then exits.)

[rorywritesstuff]

The Pigeon with the Broken Wing

A pigeon was teasing a cat in the road, swooping down to just above its claws, and then retreating to the safety of the sky. Her friends all laughed at her antics, though some secretly worried that the cat would catch her. One time, just as the pigeon was swooping down again, a car came around the corner. The cat bolted and the pigeon swerved, but the car still grazed her wing. She tumbled out of the air and onto the roof a nearby shed. The shed had not been used in many years. The car disappeared and the cat saw its opportunity. It jumped onto a wall, and then set a paw on the roof of the shed. The roof shook violently, hurting the pigeon's wing even more. The cat retracted its paw, but smiled. "Oh dear, oh dear, your poor wing is broken," said the cat, "You can't fly off this roof. But I'll be waiting just below for when you fall. See you soon." And the cat slinked down to the ground. The pigeon tried to move her wing, but she couldn't. She glimpsed over the side of the shed, it wasn't too high, she would probably survive the fall. But the cat was waiting there. Not knowing what to do, she settled down and fell asleep. The next day she woke up to find some nuts on the roof. She looked about and noticed a nearby hazel tree, from which they must have fallen. She ate them happily. Once she was done, she tried to decide what to do. For the moment, of course, she would have to stay on the roof. She looked around. The view from the shed wasn't bad. There was a park in the distance, from where she could see children playing. On her second day on the roof, one of her friends came to see her. "We were worried you were gone," said her friend, "you were so brave to be playing with the cat like that." "Too brave," the pigeon replied, gesturing to her broken wing. "It will heal." "But until then, that nasty cat will be licking his lips," said the pigeon. "I think he's gone," her friend replied. "No, he's still there somewhere. I just know it. I'll have to stay here to be sure." "Well, okay, but come back to the tree soon." And with that, the friend flew away. The pigeon felt jealous, but not as jealous as she thought she would. After all, the shed was safe. A month passed and the pigeon's wing was finally healed. She glimpsed at the ground and couldn't see the cat. Still she felt his presence, lurking everywhere. If he was waiting on the wall, he might even be able to jump up and catch her as she flew! She decided to stay where she was. Friends would visit her on the roof and she would pretend that her wing still wasn't healed, or that she hadn't slept enough to fly, or that she had seen the cat, practicing how to climb trees. Her friends told her not to be so silly, but still she wouldn't leave the shed. Eventually, her friends stopped visiting altogether. Winter came, and the hazel tree stopped shedding nuts. Her friends called to her from the tree that they would share their rationed food with her, if she'd only fly up and join them. But she wouldn't. She'd saved some food herself, one hazel nut a day for the last three months, just for such an occasion. More time passed. Some of her friends left the tree to live in other cities (a lot of them moved to London.) Others hatched eggs in the tree and started families, pointing her out to their children, sadness in their voices, refusing to let them visit her. Others still were run over by cars. The pigeon prided herself that this would never happen to her. Years and years later, and the pigeon knew that she was going to die. She wanted to make one last trip to the tree, and lifted both her wings, but now neither of them would work, for disuse had killed them. She looked up at the tree, where the child of a child of one of her friends was sat and cried, "Oh, you dear thing, would you help me? I want to visit, but I cannot fly. I might, though, survive the jump from the roof. Tell me, is that horrid cat still about?" The child, more of an adolescent, replied "What cat?" "The cat who skulks around my shed." "I've never heard of a cat around these parts. I think there was one in my grandmother's time, but it drowned before my mother was even born." The teenager, tired of talking to someone older than herself, flew away. The pigeon was sad. She had assumed that the cat had been waiting for her all these years, but it wasn't so. She had spent her life on the shed roof for nothing. And with that, she laid her head down, and died. AND THE MORAL OF THE STORY IS don't let imaginary dangers prevent you from living, but also it sucks to be a pigeon.

[rorywritesstuff]

The Last Person Not to Live in London

Imagine my shock When I undid the lock And encountered three men from the Queen They said "Goodness me! "Is it true? Are you he?" I said "That depends who you mean."

Thus came their reply: "We've been sent from on high, And we must do whatever they ask. Whatever their whim, No prospect's too grim, And this time they set quite the task."

"We've had to search wide North, south, side to side, Lucky, we receive lots of fundin'. We've been sent to find if -And we thought it a myth- There is someone who's not lived in London."

"Our interviews say That, as of this day, You've never lived in the first city You're somehow immune To the Pied Piper's tune The call of a flat small and shitty."

"Literally everyone else, The chaps and gels, Even the babiest babes Have lived by the Thames But you're haws and hems When given a chance, you say 'maybez.'"

"Your old friends from school Who you thought were cool And even the ones you thought boobs Have braved the cruel streets The high price, the elites, And now know their way on the tubes."

"You remember that shy, Retiring guy Who'd never say boo to a goose? He went in the Summer Moved in with a drummer Now he lives large, lithe and loose."

"And even that ghoulish Bully so foolish Who couldn't even spell his own name He's been their for ages He's now earning wages That put your poor pittance to shame."

"Your sister, your brother, Your father, your mother, Every single person you've met Has finally gone down To live in that town So how come you haven't yet?"

I picked at my gums And twiddled my thumbs And picked at a flake on the door The question hung there Polluting the air Til I could bear to be silent no more

"I wanted to move So wanted to prove I could live in the South like my pals Never destined to cloyster I want cards of the oyster Community chest, chance and pall malls!"

"I've gone to the capital But afraid that pure habit'll Stop me being able to stay I could acquire a house, A job and a spouse And still get the last train of the day."

"For some reason my brain Has seen to ingrain Above water and breathing and snack The cardinal gnome 'When straying from home You cannot miss the last train back!'"

They looked a bit red And I wish I had said Something that sounded much cooler But it was the truth And call me uncouth But I don't think one should lie to the ruler

The one of the men Said with a yen, "You are the last of your kind The Queen wishes to meet At the Palace, to eat, And have the first pick of your mind."

I put on my tux And grabbed a few bucks In case I was expected to tip Then I hopped on an ass And was taken, first class, To the face that had launched that one ship

We chatted, we ate We got along great It was truly a friendship in bloom I spoke of my flat Where I can't swing a cat And Liz said "One's got plenty of room."

"Come stay, won't you, friend? Take the wing at the end." And I said, "But I must get the train!" Liz called up and rambled 'Til the last train was cancelled And said "Now that's how to reign."

So I moved in with Liz And the best part of it is That the room is way beyond my fundin' Just one flatmate, Phil, Is a bit of a pill But still, I finally got to move to London.

[rorywritesstuff]

Facebook: Robot Cheerleaders

(Rory sits in his room, on his laptop. He suddenly looks shocked.) RORY: Facebook! Facebook, are you here? (Facebook enters.) FACEBOOK: You know I'm everywhere, boo. RORY: What is this? (He points at his laptop.) FACEBOOK: It's a tool, babe. A portal through which you can reach out to your friends or explore your most treasured memories. I care about your memories, Friend. RORY: No, I'm talking about this notification. FACEBOOK: What notification? (Join messenger.) RORY: "Amy De Brie marked herself safe." What is that? FACEBOOK: Well, there's been an earthquake- RORY: I know about the earthquake. I'm super woke. FACEBOOK: Are you? Advertisers will want to know that. RORY: But why am I being told what Amy did? FACEBOOK: So you know she's safe. RORY: I don't care about that! FACEBOOK: Whoa. RORY: I mean, obviously I'm happy that, um... FACEBOOK: Amy. RORY: Amy is safe from the...thing. FACEBOOK: Earthquake. RORY: I know! I'm woke! But I don't want to see this stuff in my notifications. FACEBOOK: What do you want to see? RORY: How much people adore me. Every time someone talks about me or likes what I say, or just reacts to my existence in any way, I want you to ring that little bell. FACEBOOK: And how about when someone invites you to Messenger? RORY: No. FACEBOOK: That's about you. RORY: It's not the right thing about me! And the disaster stuff isn't about me at all! FACEBOOK: Wow, you're really self-centred. Advertisers will want to know about that. (Facebook takes out his phone, sends a message. Amazon pops up from underneath Rory's desk.) AMAZON: Wanna buy a selfie-stick? Or how about a poison apple? Good for those who are prettier than you. RORY: No. Go away. (Amazon slinks away.) FACEBOOK: Why didn't you want to talk to him? Was he offensive? Not relevant? Boring and/or- RORY: Enough! Stop the stupid notifications malarky. FACEBOOK: Look, I'm not gonna stop with the Messenger stuff, okay? That's just an annoying part of life now, like racism or James Corden. But the disaster stuff...I really think you should see that. RORY: It's immoral. In a disaster, people shouldn't be reaching for Facebook. FACEBOOK: That's not really why you don't like it, is it? You genuinely don't care about anyone but yourself. Not when you're online, anyway. RORY: I have over three hundred friends. FACEBOOK: No, you don't have friends, you have Friends. RORY: Yeah, that distinction's going to play to a theatre audience. FACEBOOK: They're just Facebook Friends, meaningless faces who give you a thumbs up or leave a nice comment. You don't think of them as people unless they're standing right in front of you. When you're on the internet, they're just robot cheerleaders, completely interchangeable. RORY: I don't need a lesson from you in how to treat other people. You're an evil multinational corporation. FACEBOOK: I have more of a stake than anyone in people not becoming completely closed off. I worry about you, sitting in your digital palace of mirrors, just preening yourself and waiting for praise. Also, you should join Messenger. RORY: I think you get something from people marking themselves as safe during disasters. FACEBOOK: Of course I do. I get something from almost every social interaction, but that doesn't mean you can't benefit as well. RORY: I'm choosing not to benefit. I don't mind only caring about myself. Find me a reflective pond, I'll happily turn into a flower. FACEBOOK: That's clever, you should write that as a status. RORY: I might put it on Twitter. FACEBOOK: Don't you dare. Look, it's just one click, a quick glance to see it's something unrelated to you, and then it's over. Plus, you get to learn that your Friends are safe. And you want to know that, don't you? (He gestures, and all of Rory's Friends start flooding the stage.) Don't you? (All the Friends watch Rory very closely.) RORY: Of course! FACEBOOK: Great. Congratulations! (Living balloons cover the stage for a second before floating away.) What the fuck was that?

[rorywritesstuff]

On Learning that Gravitational Waves Might Meet and Form a Black Hole, Destroying Us Before Brexit Can

At the poetry event I went to, I was asked to compose a poem, of no more than eight lines, about something current. Here was my entry:

"On Learning that Gravitational Waves Might Meet and Form a Black Hole, Destroying Us Before Brexit Can"

Ripples that travel at a pace From a dark and desperate place Could rip us in twain Or alter our plane ...Sorry, what were you saying about space?

[rorywritesstuff]

Swimming

I learnt to swim in you Your waters were warm though none too wide At first I thought I couldn't learn That I'd have to get out Damp, and ashamed, And content myself with standing on the shore Watching others swim But you let me float Make tentative movements Learn in my own time I wasn't adventurous I didn't go in too deep Or swim too long I couldn't hold my breath for long anyway But I swam I dipped into the water and I emerged   different A baptism, if you will In you As I lay on the beach, afterwards, Watching the sun set I realised I'd lost my swimming trunks (And my virginity. That's what I'm talking about)

[rorywritesstuff]

The Spoon

(The kitchen. There is a huge pile of plates, pans, glasses, mugs, etc. BILLY stands at the sink, doing the last fork. TEDDY walks in.) TEDDY: Holy pots and pans, Batman! BILLY: I know. TEDDY: How many things are there? BILLY: I didn't count, I just washed. TEDDY: How long did these take? BILLY: Seven hours and forty three minutes. TEDDY: Well done. BILLY: Yes. Yes, it was. I am a hero. TEDDY: You are. BILLY: You should thank me. TEDDY: Thank you. BILLY: You should praise me. TEDDY: You are wonderful. BILLY: You should dance for me. (TEDDY does an awkward jig.) Insincere. Three out of ten. But I accept it. TEDDY: I didn't realise there were that many things that needed washing. BILLY: We used lots of stuff last night and there was some stuff from the day before and there are a couple of plates that I realised the dishwasher wasn't doing properly and then I decided to just wash all the kitchenware we own, so we know that everything is clean. And then I did that. TEDDY: Well, it's very impressive. I am in awe. BILLY: Look at my hands. (BILLY presents his hands for inspection.) They're fifty years older than the rest of me. TEDDY: That's gross. But admirable. BILLY: And it's not my turn again for, like, twenty washing up sessions. TEDDY: Fair. Fair. Make you a cup of tea? BILLY: Suck my cock? TEDDY: Okay. (They turn away from the sink. TEDDY steps on a spoon.) Oh, you missed something. (BILLY's eyes twitches.) It's okay, we can just wait until the next washing-up session. BILLY: No. No. No. No. I wanted everything done. I wanted to know that the kitchenware was clean. TEDDY: Okay, so do this one quickly. BILLY: I shouldn't have to do it. It's not my turn. TEDDY: But then you've done all the washing up. All of it. BILLY: I can't. I can't! TEDDY: Don't you want that sense of completion? BILLY: No. I want you to do it. TEDDY: I will. BILLY: Wait, you're not counting that as one of your turns, are you? TEDDY: Of course. BILLY: It's one spoon! TEDDY: It's still a session. BILLY: I did everything! TEDDY: You didn't have to. Half of those things didn't need washing. BILLY: You didn't see them. TEDDY: Yes, I did. We used them every day. BILLY: So they needed washing properly. TEDDY: No, you just got paranoid. BILLY: I'm not counting one spoon as a washing up session. TEDDY: Then I'm not washing it. BILLY: Fine. TEDDY: Oh no, you can't stand that. You can't have a kitchen where everything's clean except one spoon. You can't leave it. BILLY: No, I can't. You should wash it. TEDDY: Fine. BILLY: But not count it. TEDDY: No. BILLY: Look at my hands! TEDDY: Exactly! I don't want that to happen to me. You're already tainted. You could do the spoon. BILLY: I slaved for hours. TEDDY: You made yourself do it. It was your choice. BILLY: There were dishes in the sink. TEDDY: You did more than what was in the sink. You took on extra work. Don't blame that on me. BILLY: I made the house nice. TEDDY: The house was nice enough. BILLY: Enough? Enough? Enough is not a word! (Pause.) TEDDY: What? BILLY: Do the spoon! TEDDY: No! BILLY: Fine! You're gonna count doing one spoon as a washing up session, then I'll just give you some extra dishes to make sure I'm getting my money's worth. (BILLY goes to the cupboard and pulls out chocolate sauce and holds it over the plates. TEDDY folds his arms.) TEDDY: Do it. BILLY: I will. TEDDY: You won't. BILLY: I will. TEDDY: You don't have the guts. BILLY: Watch me. TEDDY: You'd undo all your hard work. BILLY: I'd rather it be undone than give it over to a lazy jerk. TEDDY: Whatever. (BILLY squirts chocolate sauce all over the clean plates and then freezes.) BILLY: What have I done? TEDDY: Seven hours and forty three minutes for nothing. BILLY: No! No! No! (BILLY drops to his knees, TEDDY shakes his head and leaves in disgust.) Wait, it's still your turn!

[rorywritesstuff]

'Even the toilet is engaged,' Rory thought as he stumbled through the train vestibule and his mid-twenties.

[rorywritesstuff]

The First Break-Up

(Seth and Azura sit at a stone table, only a few years after the creation of the world. They sit in silence together for a long time.) SETH: This isn't working. AZURA: What? The table? SETH: Of course not the table, the table works fine, I built the table myself. AZURA: You put a rock on some stumps. You're not exactly a...there's not yet a word for what you're not, but you're not that. (More silence.) What isn't working? SETH: This. Us. I think...I think I don't love you at the moment. AZURA: What? SETH: Do you love me? AZURA: I don't know. (She searches her feelings.) You're right; I feel an emptiness inside. Is love something that can stop? Can it run out? SETH: That's not what I'm suggesting. I'm saying you should try harder. AZURA: Excuse me? SETH: My parents- AZURA: Our parents. SETH: They were mine first. My parents stayed together their whole lives. Their love never faltered. AZURA: They were literally made for each other. SETH: Yes, we should be more like that. AZURA: We can't. We weren't made, we were born. SETH: Well, I don't know who else we can model ourselves on. They're literally the only other people we know. So, I think you should strive to be more like mum. AZURA: Oh, shut up. (She examines him for the first time in years.) I hadn't thought about this emptiness until you said it. But it's incredible. I don't...feel anything when I look at you. You're like a stone or a tree or a... SETH: Bird? AZURA: No, I like birds. SETH: Wow. AZURA: At least I don't hate you. You're not like a bear or a horsefly or a unicorn. SETH: You hate unicorns? AZURA: They're smug, okay? SETH: This would never have happened in the old country. People there knew proper family values. AZURA: We were nvever in the old country. Mum and dad got kicked out before either of us were born. SETH: And there I could have been nude all the time. AZURA: Oh goodness, I didn't need that image. SETH: See? Even my own sister doesn't want to have sex with me anymore. What's become of us? AZURA: I don't know. Maybe we should...what's the word for it? SETH: For what? AZURA: For not being married anymore. SETH: You can't say that. (Seth looks up fearfully.) AZURA: What's He gonna do? Kick us out of not-paradise? SETH: He's still listening. AZURA: He didn't even do anything when our brother murdered our other brother. Face it, he's not watching anymore. SETH: He's always watching. AZURA: Then he should have sympathy for two people who aren't happy with one another anymore and he should let us...not be. Together. SETH: I think you should just try harder. AZURA: Seth, who are you trying to impress by saying stuff like that? I've known you my whole life. I know you're not that selfish. I know you're not unreasonable. Why be like that? SETH: I don't know. I just...part of me wants to hurt you? I'm sorry, I know that sounds horrible. AZURA: No, I get it. The emptiness is growling at you. It wants to be filled, I want to feel something, and the easiest way to do that would be to get angry. To just start shouting. But that wouldn't help. SETH: Will anything? (More silence.) Let's spend the night apart. AZURA: Where will you go? SETH: Why do I have to go somewhere? AZURA: One of us has to. And you're better with cold than I am. SETH: I'll...sleep on the table? AZURA: Maybe you could build something for men to sleep on after a fight? SETH: What would I even call that? (He bangs his elbow on the table.) K-ouch! AZURA: It'll do for now. SETH: And tomorrow, if we don't love each other? AZURA: We spend another night apart. SETH: And if it doesn't get better? AZURA: Then we'll take half of each other's stuff and build separate houses. SETH: Why would we take half of each other's stuff? AZURA: You think I'm gonna build my own table? I saw how long that took you. SETH: I guess I'll see you in the morning. AZURA: And I you. SETH: I hope I love you then. AZURA: Look, this has never happened before. To anyone. Maybe love just...isn't there for a day, and then it comes flooding back. SETH: Yeah, maybe. AZURA: Goodnight. SETH: Goodnight. AZURA: I... (She exits.)