How much is physical?

Is our willingness to believe and assist in abuse allegations predicated on whether or not we view the abused as 1) physically appealing and 2) physically vulnerable?

For instance… in Steig Larsson’s Millenium trilogy, Lisbeth is a chaotic neutral force; she is capable of fighting for her own rights via violence and subversion, but will not injure another unless a direct threat is posed. She is perfectly capable of fighting for her own rights and determining her own future but, because of injustices perpetrated by those who had power over her as a child, including legal authority figures, she is psychologically incapable of dealing with the systems in place.

If another character were substituted, say, one with an identical psychological profile but with less doll-like proportions, would those around her still be as willing to rise to the occasion? Would she be viewed as more or less capable by those around her if she was 5’8” and a standard weight? Or worse, built like her half-brother, Neidermann? A solid woman above 6’? How about less than physically appealing? Overweight? With a huge mole on her neck?

Would her psychological vulnerabilities still be enough for those around her to step in on her behalf (inspiring a national scandal) or would such physical proportions fail to stir such a fervor? Or would her psych profile make people even less curious about this intense girl if her physical appearance were not so appealing? Would her intense self-reliance and intellect just freak people out or would it continue to draw people in? How much, exactly, does the physical appearance of an individual dictate how people view the personality?

Playings the thing

Lights up on DUNCAN, facing the audience, staring intently at something. We can only assume it is a television screen and he is preparing to play a video game because he is holding a controller. In the couch next to him is another controller. The coffee table in front of him is littered with gamer detritus; empty beer and Mountain Dew bottles, a pizza box, an empty cheetos bag… There are similar fragments on the floor around the couch. On two end tables sit laptops, open and on. The tables they sit on are immaculate. REID enters stage left, carrying a huge glass measuring cup with about a cup of water swirling around the bottom. He walks toward the couch and pushes some of the junk off the table to make room for the measuring cup.

REID
Seriously, man. No cups? In the whole house?

DUNCAN
You live here too. You could wash some cups.
Impatiently gesturing at the screen
Hurry up- They’ll all waiting on you.

REID
picking up his controller
Your chore, my friend. You wash them, I put them away.

DUNCAN
gesturing to the measuring cup
Yeah, and then you go and use the biggest item in the whole house for a little sip of water. Why should I have to wash that out?

REID
It’s unsanitary to put it away after its had lips on it.

DUNCAN rolls his eyes and tries to focus on the game; REID joins in. Throughout the next several minutes, DUNCAN appears to get more and more frustrated, and REID seems oblivious to his friend’s frustration.

DUNCAN
You can’t go that way.

REID
Why not? It’ll get me there as well as the other path.

DUNCAN
Your whole party is going the other way. I’m going the other way. You’ll screw everything up.

REID
I swear this way’s quicker.

DUNCAN
No, It’s not.

REID shrugs and sips water from the measuring cup, then dives back into the game.

DUNCAN
REID! WATCH WHAT YOU’RE DOING!

REID
Calm down! I can take him out.

DUNCAN
Check out his level, Reid. There’s no way you’re gonna win that. Then you’ll leave us all stranded. Again.

REID
Watch. Learn. And be impressed.

REID focuses intently for a moment, then jumps up and does a little celebratory dance. DUNCAN picks up a beer bottle and stares down its neck as if wishing brew would appear. He looks unimpressed.

REID
Told you I could do it!

DUNCAN puts down his controller and starts picking up the mess on the coffee table as Reid settles back down.

REID
What are you doing, Dunc? We’ve still got trolls to slay and maidens to woo!

DUNCAN
I’m done man. Give my apologies to the party.

REID
They are not gonna be happy!

Starts playing again, continuing through the next bit of dialogue

DUNCAN
picks up a pizza box and sniffs it
This place is rancid, Reid. We have more important things to do than play a stupid game.

REID
Stupid? Game? What? Did I just hear those words from Duncan the Dragon Slayer Wainer? Mightiest of the MMORPG warriors? Sage Mage of Maidenheald? Oh, how the mighty have fallen!
Feigns flicking away a tearq

DUNCAN
Oh, shut it, Reid. Really. It’s just a game. You may not have a real life outside of it, but I do.

REID
Since when?

DUNCAN
getting angrier as he cleans
Since now.

REID
Oh! Like now, now or three minutes ago now?

DUNCAN storms offstage, carrying handfuls of trash. REID stares after him for a second, shakes his head, and returns to the game. A moment later, DUNCAN returns with a garbage bag and stands in front of the coffee table, effectively blocking REID’s view. REID tries for a moment to ignore him, but…

REID
DUNC! Dude! You’re screwing up the quest!

DUNCAN doesn’t move and REID sets down his controller. We hear a *ping* and REID perks up- he sets down his controller and picks up his laptop.

REID
There she is!

DUNCAN storms out of the room. REID shakes his head and continues his chat. There are rumblings offstage.
DUNCAN Offstage
REID! Seriously? The dishwashers full of clean dishes!


A plastic cup flies on stage, followed by a clean plastic plate and a cookie sheet. REID ignores the noise continues his chat and takes a sip of water out of the measuring cup. DUNCAN comes back onstage, carrying an armful of clean dishes. REID sets his computer aside, closing it as it powers down. DUNCAN approaches REID from the rear and begins dropping plastic cups on him one by one.

DUNCAN
How can I WASH the dishes if you don’t PUT AWAY the dishes?

REID
laughing, playing with the cups as they drop
You do know they’re all gonna have to be washed again, don’t you?
He stacks some of the cups he managed to catch on the now-fairly-clean table and picks up the controller.
Your chore, Not mine. Oh! Cassandra’s coming over in a little bit.
Tries to hand DUNCAN a cup.
Better clean up-

DUNCAN storms around the side of the coffee table and picks up the measuring cup. He looks at the contents for a moment, slowly dumps the water over REIDS head, then places it on REIDS head like a hat and taps it as if he’s happy with his handiwork. Sputtering, REID drops his controller and stands, looking reproachfully at DUNCAN.

REID
Well, THAT wasn’t very nice.

DUNCAN
I’ll tell you what’s not very nice, Reid. Shirking your housework is not very nice.

REID
How was I supposed to know they were clean?

DUNCAN
Leaving your Mountain Dew bottles and cheetos bags everywhere for me to pick up is not very nice.

REID
Hey now! You leave your beer bottles and pizza boxes-

DUNCAN
Stripping down to your underwear and sitting in the livingroom mostly naked when I tell you I might be having company is not very nice-

REID
I TOLD you I’d go into the bedroom when they-

DUNCAN
Picking up speed. REID protests throughout the next monologue but it is incoherent- mostly I-‘s and but-‘s
Parking your car in my space is not very nice. Smoking in the house is not very nice. Don’t lie. I can smell it when I come home from work. Borrowing my shampoo is not very nice. Borrowing my toothbrush? That’s REALLY not very nice. Taking my games out of the XBOX and leaving the disks out to get scratched? Not very nice. Using my computer to download porn? Not very nice. Playing Guitar hero as loud as possible at 4 am when I have to work in the morning? Not very nice. Getting drunk and running over my garden gnome?

REID
Gnomes come and go, but I really don’t see how this applies-

DUNCAN
Not VERY NICE! Paying your rent late this month- most months! Not very nice. Hooking up with Cassandra when you know perfectly well how much I care about her- not very-

REID
Wait!

DUNCAN
NOT VERY NICE!

REID
finally removing the measuring cup from his head
Cassandra? Really? Is that what this is about?

DUNCAN
NO! Leaving your dirty underwear in the bathroom sink-

REID
It IS, isn’t it? You’re totally mad about CASSANDRA! Dude-

DUNCAN
No- that’s not what-
stops protesting, swats a cup off the couch and sits down.
Yeah. Okay. Sorta it is.

REID Laughing
Dude- Really.

DUNCAN
Shut up Reid. It’s not fair. You’re a freaking slob and a jerk but you’re so good at everything- games and getting girls and CASSANDRA-

REID sobering
Duncan, Dude- She’s coming to see you.

DUNCAN
WHAT?

REID
You heard me, Dunc. She’s coming to see YOU dude. She pinged me because she wanted to make sure I’d skedaddle in a bit.

DUNCAN
But she- you-

REID
She’s been crushing on YOU for a while. She’s been asking me what I thought. I told her you got all starry eyed whenever she came online.

DUNCAN
You-

REID grinning
NOW who’s the jerk?

DUNCAN
Reid, I’m- wow.

REID
handing DUNCAN’s controller to him
Yeah. I know.
They play for a moment

DUNCAN
Sorry about the water.

REID
It’s okay. My laptop was closed.

LIGHTS DOWN

The cabin prompt 1/13/11

The cabin stood awkwardly in the field, listing to one side as if whoever had built it had neglected to level the ground beneath. Cam could see from a cursory glance that the joints weren’t properly fitted, there were gaps between the boards. The whole place simply seemed askew. Yet Cam could not wait to carry her boxes up the stairs and settle in. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

In order to finish her dissertation, Cam had realized a few months ago that she needed solitude. It would certainly help to get away from the party atmosphere her friends reveled in. The boxes contained reams of research. Behind her, she heard John wrestling the red portable generator out of the truck bed. With it came ten gallon gas cans, five of them, and bags of groceries which didn’t require refrigeration. A neglected nearby orchard would provide fruit for her. The generator was there simply to power her iBook and desk lamp.

The cabin was rented for a month, with the contingency that she may need to extend her stay. September was barely born, and John said she could have the cabin for the whole winter if need be. He would transport supplies for her and come up once a week to make the place more air tight. When she protested that she may only need the month, he raised a placating hand and said the time was an investment. He may want to retire here some day and couldn’t if the place frothed snow at every joint.

While John set up the generator to the side of the cabin, Cam began hauling boxes and bags up the stairs. Inside, the cabin was hardly airtight, but it was clean and comfortably furnished. Dropping her bag on the dark craftsman sofa, she pulled a box to her and got to work.
*
The orchard was less than a hundred yards to the rear of the cabin. With the advent of fall, the heavy fruit was falling but the trees still carried plenty of edible produce. She carried a boxful of the apples back to the cabin and sat them on the front porch to prevent the heat from the woodstove from prematurely spoiling them. A wooden chair faced the road- a trail, really- and the woods beyond. She sat in the chair, wiping an apple clean with a damp towel, a mug of black coffee on the narrow boards at her feet and contemplated her next chapter.

Across the road, a hulking figure moved through the woods. It was massive, brown, its weight precariously balanced on wiry, bony legs which comprised most of its height. When she moved in John told her about the local moose herd. Apparently if she didn’t approach, they wouldn’t either. She’d taken to calling the one now foraging the woods across from her Jinny. Jinny had a narrower nose than the other moose she’d seen over the last week, and a star of white on one ear. Every so often, Jinny would stand at the edge of the road and stare at the cabin, as if acknowledging Cam. Cam would wave and Jinny would wander off.
*
Cam woke to something heavy brushing the side of the cabin. The wooden box shuddered and slumped around her again. Cam’s heart pounded, more from the abrupt awakening than the fear of something out to harm her. She pulled the heavy down blanket tight around her as she sat up in the bed, listening. The cabin was cold, the world outside as silent as nocturnal woods could be. Ten minutes passed as she contemplated the possibilities. None were particularly frightening. Wild animals could be terrifying, but generally left human habitations alone unless provoked or hungry. Whatever had brushed the outside of her cabin had likely been curious, not dangerous, and wandered off when it smelled human. She settled back down onto the bed, plumping the pillow and curling into her preferred sleeping position on her right side. She tucked the blanket tight around her to maintain her heat and drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, Cam woke with a start. There was an odd smell to the cabin, part wet dog, part wild animal. Now her heart pounded in earnest. She heard a shuffling outside her bedroom door, which she closed during the night to keep in the heat from the small woodstove in the corner. Something snorted at the narrow opening at the bottom and Cam heard the small clatter of a hoof lifted and set gently down.
The door crashed open, hitting the wall next to the bed. It bounced back and there was a crack as it hit something solid. Cam threw the blanket over her head, trying to be invisible, to provide as little threat as possible to whatever was in her room. Even deer could be dangerous if threatened. They could kick and bite, or gore a hazard with antlers. Cam wanted to finish her dissertation, she wanted to someday get married. She wanted to write a book. And right now, she wanted to get the hell out of the woods.

Something snuffled at the blanket. Through the weight of down and dense thread count she could smell something rancid. It wasn’t rancid the way meat does rancid. It was rotten in the way decayed vegetation reek s. And it smelled fermented. Like poorly made apple cider. The snuffling continued for a few moments, whatever the beast was exploring the length of the bed. Something else, heavy and freely moving, kept smacking her under the covers. Huge hooves moved unsteadily across the wooden floor. Finally it settled heavily on the floor at the foot of the bed, jouncing Cam around under the covers when one if it’s harder extremities jostled the bed. She heard her suitcase clatter across the floor. She stayed hidden until she heard the breath of the beast even out as it dropped into a heavy sleep.

The blanket was wet on the outside. Rancid drool practically dripped from it. She moved timidly across the length of the bed and stared at the mountainous moose on her floor. It was Jinny. And she was drunk. One of the huge ears twitched and laid back against the heavy skull as Cam couldn’t help but whisper a Hail Mary. She moved gingerly off the bed. Her slippers were covered in moose drool, so she slipped on her tennis shoes without tying them and moved as silently as possible out into the cabin’s main room.

How she had slept through the chaos caused by Jinny in the cabin was beyond comprehension. Boxes of paperwork were scattered by the stumbling hooves. The table lay on its side, the bowl of fruit now trampled and chewed. Cam felt her heart slapping her ribcage and her lungs lock. The paperwork could be saved and reorganized. But where was her laptop?

Cam had placed it back in the bag as she always did in the evening. The bag was waterproof, and the leaky cabin did not inspire her confidence for laptop safety. The bag had been zipped and left on the table. It should have been large enough to spy even in the chaotic pile of papers.

Cam tried to calm herself and think logically. If it wasn’t under the papers, maybe it hadn’t been trampled. Under the couch? Cam dropped to her knees as quietly as possible and scanned the space beneath. Not there. She stayed down and explored the floor for nearly fifteen minutes before giving up on that idea. Rather than stand, she sat in the middle of the mess, pulling her knees up to her chest and trying not to cry. Two years of hard work, meticulous research and a clinical trial. The data was backed up, but the writing wasn’t. There were nearly 150 pages of writing on the laptop which existed nowhere else except her head.

She heard the bed shudder in the next room as Jinny moved in her drunken stupor, likely kicking it. Wait- Jinny. Something had bounced off the blanket while the moose was busy drooling on it. Cam nearly jumped up. If Jinny had toppled the table with her nose, it was just possible-

She moved back to the bedroom, trying to avoid tripping on the mess and waking the moose. Climbing quietly back onto the bed, she peered down at the inebriated mammal. Wrapped around the cow’s neck was the long strap of the laptop. Her head rested on the body of the case. Cam stared at the case and imagined thick, malodorous slobber dripping through holes in the newly damaged case into her laptop, onto the keyboard, down to the precious hard drive. Can they recover data from that?
Cam jumped as Jinny suddenly lifted her head. The drunk female stared at her, blinking slowly, before letting her head sink leisurely back down onto the case.
*
Cam was on the front porch, in her flannel jammies and wrapped in a thin lap blanket two hours later when John showed up for his weekly supply drop and repair spree. Cam hadn’t had coffee. She hadn’t brushed her hair or teeth. She looked and felt like hell.

“Rough night?” John was a man of few words.

Cam said quietly. “Very. The moose has my laptop.”

John blinked. “The who has your what?”

Cam gestured to the thrashed cabin. She front door was off it’s hinges, and the chaos was visible from the porch. “See for yourself. There is a drunk moose named Jinny in my bedroom with my laptop around her neck, drooling into the hard drive.” Cam blinked, feeling a frustrated tear roll down her face.

John waded carefully into the mess and whistled. He looked back at Cam. “Drunk moose. Hand me an apple.”

The box of apples had been turned on its side and trampled but a few still looked somewhat edible. She tossed one through the door and sank silently back down in the chair.

A few minutes later, John emerged with the drool-sodden case hanging from the strap. He held it out to her. She stood and snatched it from his grasp, placing it gingerly on the uneven boards of the porch before tugging at the zipper. The case, aside from being smelly and beyond damp, seemed unharmed. Her heart lifted as she tenderly pulled the laptop free and pushed the case aside. The laptop appeared fine, but she held her breath as she pressed the power button. John wandered the inside of the cabin while she did a quick inspection of the laptop functions. 150 pages, intact, her studies, intact, her laptop, a constant companion of her school career, intact.

“Is it okay?” John stood in the door, a pile of papers in his hand. He had apparently been attempting a little cleaning.

Cam grinned. “Yes. Thank god. All here. Thank you so much. I didn’t know how to get it away from her-“

John grinned back. “You just have to know how to deal with party animals. Snacks should always be served.”

Camelot Invaded

This is a 10-minute play I wrote for Will Act 4 Food last year. Will Act 4 Food is a locally-produced 24-hour play festival and on top of being REALLY FUN, all the proceeds go to the food bank, so you know you're doing something worthwhile by coming to see my show ;) This year, the festival is on Jan 15 at the Danny Petersen Theatre in the Morrison Center on BSU's campus. Come out and watch my words make asses of themselves!

CAMELOT INVADED

by Elizabeth Puckett

Scene 1
Lights up on a well- appointed living room. An attractively dressed middle-aged woman - Gwen- is fussing over knick-knacks, dusting and straightening while a well-dressed middle-aged man - Art- come out of a back room brandishing a plastic hanger and a plate rack. He places the rack on a side table and carefully arranges the hanger on the rack, then sits, admiring his handiwork

ART
Do you think he'll remember it, Gwen?

GWEN
sliding knick knacks around on the other side table, looking for the 'artful arrangement'- paying little, if any attention to her hanger-obsessed husband
Remember what, Art?

ART
Excalibur

GWEN
What's that dear?

ART
now touching the honored relic
Excalibur-
He brandishes it like a sword
The hanger of all hangers, that brought us together and started this amazing life-
He goes over and hugs her, still holding the hanger with reverence
The hanger my lovely Lady of the Lake brought me, the hanger that ended my quest, that-

GWEN
Grabbing for the hanger
That old thing? Why is that out?

ART
Keeping the hanger out of Gwen's reach
It's a reminder, my love, of the quest-

GWEN
It was a scavenger hunt, Art!


ART
-Of the quest that brought us together.
He moves away from her, and using the hanger as a sword begins fighting invisible enemies, conquering foes, slaying dragons, etc... throughout the next several lines
Of the untold dangers-

GWEN
Scavenger hunt!
she busies herself with straightening once again, hiding the plate rack

ART
The mountains I climbed, the foes I fought, the rivers I forged on my trusty steed-

GWEN
It was a Ford Taurus, and it could barely cross a street, let alone a river.

ART
This hanger, Gwen, my love, my queen, forged this unending romance! This hanger
gave me everything I cherish today.

GWEN
approaches him, leaning in to kiss him, she reaches up and steals the hanger from his grasp
Scavenger!
kisses him again

Hunt! It's just a silly old hanger, Art.
She begins walking out of the room, stops at the doorway and tosses the hanger inside
It may mean alot to you and I, but I doubt very much Lance will remember. And tonight is about Lance, right?
There is a knock at the door
Oh my god! Oh, Art! There he is!
She straightens her hair quickly, throws off the apron she'd been wearing over her dress, and pulls out a lipstick for a quick touch-up at the mirror by the door. Art, meanwhile, has been edging toward the room where the hanger disappeared

ART
Why don’t you go get the door dear? I’ll be out (ducking into the room) in just a second…

From offstage, we hear a booming voice. ART has re-entered, carrying the hanger, and begins searching for the plate rack, which he finds tucked away beneath the couch

LANCE (offstage)
GWEN! Oh my god! You look- you haven’t changed at all! Still gorgeous!

GWEN (offstage)
Lance! Always a flatterer!

LANCE and GWEN enter- a little too close together. LANCE is not shabbily dressed, but his suit looks older and ill-fitting. He looks a little down-on-his-luck. ART is just placing the hanger on the rack as the two enter.

ART
Lance! How good to see you! You’re looking- (He looks his friend up and down) well…

LANCE
Embraces ART in a ‘manly hug’- lots of back patting, etc
You too, old friend!
He gestures around to the setting
This is an amazing place you have here.

ART
Why thank you Lance.
pulling GWEN into his side
It’s our own little kingdom. If the homeowners association would let me put it up, we would have a grand stone entranceway with the word CAMELOT carved into it. Instead I just wrote it in the cement when we poured the back patio.
Gestures to the chair next to the table where ‘excalibur’ resides
Please, please have a seat. You must be tired. (LANCE sits.)



GWEN
(moving off toward the ‘kitchen’)
Yes, Lance, Can I get you anything? Some coffee? Wine? Dinner is almost ready…

LANCE
pausing for a moment as he considers his options- looks ready to say something, changes his mind, and instead
Oh, some wine, please. Maybe a glass of water as well? Do you need any help in the kitchen?

ART
gestures LANCE back into his seat
She can get it Lance. You’ve had a long trip.
sitting on the couch- crossing his ankles to display a lovely pair of Gucci loafers. GWEN disappears into the kitchen
So tell me, Lance, how have you been? Really?

LANCE
Amazing, really. (obviously changing the subject) Those are great shoes Art.

ART
Don’t you just love Gucci?

LANCE
I suppose so. I’ve never actually worn a pair…

ART
Trust me. They’re amazing. And hopefully your new position at my firm will lead to a closet full of Gucci and Armani and-
GWEN re-enters, carrying a tray with three wine glasses and three unopened bottles of water
an amazing, beautiful, perfect wife.

GWEN
Oh, stop.
Handing Lance a little of water, then a glass of wine- on the side facing the audience, we can see their fingers touch and linger just a moment too long while ART is busy drinking from his own glass and once again admiring the hanger. GWEN sits on the couch, at some distance from ART

ART
It all started with this-
he puts down his wine glass and picks up the hanger

LANCE
A hanger? What’s that all about?

ART
You don’t remember?

GWEN
Oh, Art. See? I told you!

ART
The quest? In College? (LANCE looks baffled) You were Lancelot to my Arthur.

GWEN
It was a scavenger hunt, Art.

LANCE
Oh my god! Yes! The quest! Sophomore year! That silly scavenger hunt during rush week at Phi Kap!

ART
jumping up, brandishing the hanger once again
When we charged into the fray and showed those upperclassmen what we were made of!

LANCE
And those stupid hints- what was it? “When you dive, you’ll die-

ART
-if you get ‘hung up’ with the green!” And you solved it! You said-

LANCE
‘Um, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the diving club on the corner”


ART
Charging all over campus all day long that day and it was our last hint, our final chance to win, and my most loyal friend let me go into the place and find

LANCE
Gwen! I remember now! Gwen was the lady of the Lake! And this hanger was

ART AND LANCE
EXCALIBUR!
The two laugh, holding the hanger in between them.

LANCE
Oh, those were good times!

ART
Still standing, places the hanger reverently back on the holder
Yes, they were. It seemed they never stopped, at least for Gwen and I.
ART sits and works on finishing his wine. GWEN seems lost in thought)
It seemed we would always be young and ready for a new quest back then, didn’t it, Lance?

LANCE
Indeed Sire, it did.
he touches the hanger
Seems like your quest finished that day though. You won the maiden and then came the castle. I still feel like my quest is never-ending.

Silence fills the space for a moment. Gwen finishes her wine and clears her throat

GWEN
Art, will you go check the BBQ?

ART
Oh! Yes! I almost forgot!
Stands and heads for the kitchen
We’re having a carnivore’s feast tonight, proud Lancelot!


A door opens and closes, and GWEN and LANCE are alone onstage

GWEN AND LANCE (simultaneously)
I-

GWEN
Oh, go ahead

LANCE
Oh, no, please, ladies first

GWEN
scoots closer to LANCE, picks up ART’s glass and
finishes the wine before continuing
Lance- I- I miss you.
she reaches out and touches his hand, but can’t look him in the eye

LANCE
grasping her hand
Gwen! I’ve missed you too! You have no idea. Thinking of you here, living with him-

GWEN
He’s a good man, Lance.

LANCE
I Know he is, Gwen. But he’s not right for you. He’s never been right for you. I should have been the one to go in after this stupid hanger.

GWEN
No, Lance. (pulling away) It’s good he was the once I met first. You weren’t ready.

LANCE
I’m ready now-

GWEN
Are you Lance? Are you really?

A door opens offstage and we hear ART
ART
I’ll be out here for a few more minutes, my queen! Would you mind getting everyone another round of wine?

GWEN
Sure Art.
The door closes. Gwen reaches again tentatively for LANCE, though her touch seems more comfort than affection
I do love Art, Lance. He’s given me everything I could ever want-

LANCE
And with this new job, I’ll be able to do the same-

GWEN
Art is giving you this job, Lance. Do you really think if he knew how I feel- (she chokes up for a moment) do you really think if he knew the things we’d done together, he would be giving you this opportunity?


LANCE
pulling away
I could do fine without him. I don’t need his job.

GWEN
And what would you do, Lance? You never finished college. You’ve been down on your luck for so long I don’t think you know what good luck means anymore. (LANCE looks stricken). You know I love you, Lance. I always will. But without this position, there’s not much left for you.

LANCE
And what if I had been the one to find this precious Excalibur?
he grabs the hanger and flings it
Would it be me that you were with? Would I be king of Camelot? (he stands)

GWEN
You didn’t and you aren’t, Lance. I care for him, and he’s always been there for you-

LANCE
Has he?


GWEN
I can’t hurt him, Lance, no matter what I feel for you-(She stands) Sometimes love isn’t enough, and that’s all you have going for you.

LANCE
He never would have found you if I hadn’t given him the idea about the diving club-

GWEN
I am married to Art, and that’s the way it will be-

LANCE
Will it?

he grabs her and pulls her to him, sweeping her into a kiss which she resists at first, then slowly melts into, they murmur each other’s names, and in the background, we hear a door open and close and whistling. ART enters, whistling, carrying an open bottle of wine. When he sees his wife and his best friend in a clutch, the wine bottle drops to the floor and LANCE and GWEN, startled, pull apart. There is silence for 30 seconds while ART looks between GWEN and LANCE. Without a word, he walks across the room, picks up the hanger from where it landed and walks toward the front door. Darkness falls across the stage as we hear GWEN and LANCE say “ART-“



In the darkness, we hear a newscaster’s voice

NEWSCASTER
In unrelated news today, a man was killed today at a local diving club. Witnesses say he walked into the club in a suit carrying nothing but a hanger and proceeded to throw the hanger into the water, screaming about Excalibur and the Lady of the Lake. Apparently his shoes were not appropriate for the slick surface because he slipped and hit his head on the side of the pool. Sources say he died instantly.

ANCHORWMAN
How sad Bob

NEWSCASTER
How sad indeed Susan. Sad and strange. Next up- Weather…


THE END

Prompt 1/11/11

You and a friend break into your neighborhood swim club late one night to go for an after-hours dip. While splashing around in the pool, you go into shock when a dead body floats to the top. Worse yet—it's someone you know. Write this scene.

The day had been rough, made worse by the tyrannical heat. Several cool showers had done nothing to alleviate the stickiness of my skin for more than a few minutes at a time. No sooner had I toweled dry than the oily heat crept across my skin, drawing the cool off my body and shredding my nerves. I’d stood staring at the pool house in the concrete valley of the apartment courtyard, but screaming kids would have done nothing for my state of mind.

When Aricella popped through my door at nearly ten that evening, I was finally packing away my laptop. I had a cold glass of wine set out in the hopes of drowning out the darkness of the phrases and images I’d been combing over all day long. My dissertation on the neuropsychology of “thrill killers” was proving more oppressive than the heat. At least the heat went away some times. The pictures proved more permanent.

“What up, chick?” Aricella dropped her bag and slid into the chair opposite me. She picked up my wine glass and sniffed it. Her nose wrinkled. “Vinegar.”

“Better than rotten hops.” I snatched the glass out of her hand and took a sip. It was not vinegar. On the contrary, the Riesling’s flavor was light and sweet. I felt my shoulders drop and my neck relax. Between the overwhelming heat, the ice-cold showers, and the horror of my work, I felt like I hadn’t breathed all day.

Aricella grinned. “Speaking of which, got a beer?” I raised a hand in the general direction of the fridge, closing my eyes to better absorb my first moment of calm all day. She hopped up and sauntered to the fridge. Aricella sauntered everywhere. It never ceased to amaze me how relaxed she always looked. She pulled a longneck out of the refrigerator door and came back to sit across from me. “How goes the fight?”

I shrugged and contemplated the pile of books and loose papers on the floor at my feet. “Alright, I suppose. Some of these people-“ I shook my head. “You have to wonder how they became who they are. “

Ari shook her head too. “Not worth wondering about. They’re psychos. Best thing they could do is die so you could study their brains up close and personal and stop wasting breathable air and drinkable water.” Aricella is a botanist, a journalist, and an avid ecologist. She is not very fond of most of the human race. I’m a lucky exception.She took a pull off her bottle and stared hard at me for a moment. “You look like sheize chicka.”

“Gee, thanks Ari.”

She held up her hands. “No offense. You just need some fun.” The sudden twinkle in her eye said she had a plan. Reaching into her breast pocket, she produced a key.

“What’s that?”

“The key to the pool.” She grinned and set it on the table between us. It gleamed in the warm light from the kitchen. For liability reasons, the pool was locked down at ten P.M. No one was allowed to use the pool. Period.

“How’d you-“

She shook her head at me. “Don’t even ask. I can’t reveal my sources.” She winked and picked up the key again. “Care to join me?”

*

The water was delicious against my skin. To keep down the risk of exposure (and a large fine imposed by the landlord), we kept the lights off. I’d finished the glass of wine before we left the apartment, and poured an additional serving into a red plastic party cup. It sat on the edge of the pool near the steps.

I felt the day finally sloughing off my mind and body. Ari was floating some distance away, and I let the water hold me up while I stared at the vague reflections of moonlight bouncing off the water onto the high metal ceiling.
“This was a good idea.” My voice was alien in the huge, ringing space.

I heard Ari off somewhere to my right. The water moved as she swam over to me. “I thought you might think so.”

She grinned and stood over me, looking down at my face framed by lapping water. She bent and kissed me lightly on the lips, then in one swift, smooth motion pushed me under the water. I’m not sure whether it was the kiss or the dunking that took my breath away. Either way, I wanted to reciprocate. I sprang up and grabbed her. Her eyes were wide as I approached and wrapped my arms around her, preventing her escape. I kissed her before she could try to get away or dunk me again. She did not respond.

I pulled back and looked at her face, but she wasn’t even looking at me. I turned to look behind me, heavy hair standing on end. Had we been caught?

There was someone there with us, but we hadn’t been caught. Floating the water about twenty feet away was an exceptionally pale someone, face up in the water, unmoving. There was something unnatural in the utter stillness of the figure. She was naked, dark hair a floating corona around her head.

It took me a moment to break my paralysis and move toward her. I heard Ari finally pull in a breath and swear loudly. The curse echoed, then there was silence aside from the splash of two bodies moving in separate directions; her for the edge of the pool, me toward the girl in the water.

The girl’s skin was cold, not merely cool as one expects skin to be in cold water. Her eyes were wide, glazed, and she floated just as I had before my dunking. I felt a shudder pass over my skin.

“What the fuck are you doing? Pull her out! You know CPR!” Ari’s voice was high and tight. She was pulling at the pile of clothes on the edge of the pool, trying to find her minuscule red cell phone.

I shook my head, then realized Ari couldn’t see the gesture. I put two fingers to the dead girl’s carotid artery to be certain, and felt nothing. The texture of her neck reminded me of a thick skin on a Jell-O mold; firm and slick and cold. There were bruises under my fingers. “She’s dead Ari.” I backed slowly away. “Call 911. Tell them it’s a murder.”

Opening the box

On the broad wooden table st a box. It was wrapped loosely but prettily in gauzy paper and a heap of ribbons. Attached to the top ribbon, echoing the teal tone of the majority of ribbons, a small card was attached. In florid script in red magic marker, it said “don't open me.”

Whoever had laid this box here obviously knew her nature. Don't open me, indeed! It was like asking her not to think about the tiny pink elephant under her chair. It wasn't going to happen unless she left the building entirely and even then, she would likely make one circuit around the block in her rusty old car and find herself sneaking back into this room to investigate the box.

The wrap, though loose, was complicated. It tangled around her fingers, wrapping itself around her palms, it seemed to be sticking like the tentacles of a baby octopus. The box itself didn't seem to want to be unwrapped. She tore a little harder at the ribbons, puncturing a few in her quest to get to the box itself. The gauzy paper was an illusion as well. It was tough, like cellophane but a small tear did not start a larger one. She sat in the chair at the head of the table, pulling the box and its tangle of wrappings into her lap to get better purchase on the damnable thing. Finally, with a snarling rip, the paper came loose from whatever bound it to the box. She couldn't see any tape, no staples, nothing that should have confounded her as much as it had. When she flung the paper and ribbons away, the floated to the ground as any such material should do.

The box itself was ornate, a complex arrangement of metal and wood. The surface was smooth, it reminded her of a topographical map, of the complex surface of a brain mapped on the inside of a skull, and of the night sky all in one. She knew she could stare at the outside of that box for years and never figure out exactly what it was meant to represent. Maybe that's what its maker's intentions had been.

On the side of the box, a small leather strap was held in place by two plates of metal. She ran her hands over the plates, feeling the cool, rough texture of the hand hammered iron. The mechanism, if there was one, was hidden. Both plates looked identical, the leather strap giving no indication of the direction it should be pulled. It was a box built to hold secrets and keep them well.

At this moment, she really didn't know whether she really intended to open the box or not. Oh, when she'd sat here, pulling exuberantly at the wrapping, she'd had every intention. Now, however, the box seemed more like a legend than a present. She honestly didn't know if she wanted to find whatever would be inside. Pandora's box, wrapped in teal ribbon and tagged with magic marker.

She set the box back on the table, turning it gingerly this way with one finger, then that, watching the play of light on the shining wood and gleaming metal. In the direct light, the metal seemed to be layered- hammered so transparently thin that she could see down into the overlay. It had the effect of a nearly perfect mirror. She could see her eyes peering back at her from the box. They held a confused fear.

Sitting back, she pulled the box one more time into her lap. It fit perfectly, the four edges following the bare outline of her legs. The surface left cold and smooth on her legs, like a pane of glass. She wished it was glass, so she could see what was inside before making the decision to open it.

She spent a few minutes running her palms over the wood and metal, feeling the slight variations in temperature and texture as her fingers moved from metal to glass and back to metal. Everything on the box was so smooth except those catch plates. Their texture brought her fingers back to them again and again.

Finally, she decided to set her apprehensions aside. She was still fearful. Anything in such a beautiful box had to be either very dangerous to her or very meaningful to whomever had left it. Either way, she didn't really need the drama, but she found she intended to open it anyway. Her fingers returned to the hammered iron, and as if the intention itself were enough to open the box where her skills were not, one of the plates slid aside, falling with a solid thunk against the wooden side of the box. At the sound, she pulled her hand back, fully expecting something to spring from the box and take it off. The lid stayed closed, however, and she let her hand creep forward again, find the tiny edge where the box and the top met, and give the nudge that finally opened the box.

Inside was nothing dangerous, and really, nothing that could mean anything to the giver. It was a ring, one she hadn't seen in ages. It was bronze, copper and sterling silver, the colors woven and hammered till each became part of the other. She'd found the ring in a junk sale at a nearby church in college her freshman year. She'd worn it until the day a cat in her clinic scratched her hand too deeply and the scratch got infected. Her hand had swollen, nearly double its size and she'd been forced to remove her jewelry. She thought the ring, one of her favorites despite its simple origin, was still buried somewhere in her jewelry box. Obviously not, as here it was, rattling inside this huge, ornate present. There was nothing else in the box, just that simple ring, no note, nothing to fear, and nothing to tell her where the damn thing had come from.

Reaching to pick it up, she realized her hands were trembling. They shook as they pulled the little tricolored band out and shoved the beautiful box back up on the table. She stood, pulling back from the table and the box, the ring tucked securely in her palm. It felt warm, as warm or warmer than her palm. It also felt so natural, despite the strange origins, that she unconsciously slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand as she turned away from the box.

And woke up, The ring hanging heavy on her hand.