Week 33, Day 231 - “A Civil War"

“A Civil War”

Written by Joe Janes

9/6/09

231 of 365

Cast

Tunis, 50s

Bo, 50s

Paratrooper, 20s

(In the dark we hear a cold wind blowing. In the distance, we hear an eagle screeching as lights fade up on Tunis and Bo playing chess. Tunis wears a confederate officer’s uniform. Bo wears union garb. Bo makes a move. He then sends his other hand out over the board, it hovers and then zeroes in on the fallen piece and snatches it. Tunis makes a move and, without any flash, simply flicks the fallen piece off the board, upsetting other pieces in its wake. They make a few more moves, quickening the pace. They stop.)

BO

Perhaps you would prefer blood to spurt from my men as you assault them.

TUNIS

Perhaps you would prefer to delegate a gruntling to capture my men for you.

(They go through another exchange on the board.)

BO

You make it very difficult to adhere to the rules, Tunis.

TUNIS

The rules, Bo?

BO

Whenever you take one of my men, you upset the fellows surrounding it. Including some of your own. Knocking them clean off the board. It’s getting to a point where it may not seem to matter what piece I move where or when.

TUNIS

If you can move them, move them. Don’t need me to tell you that.

(They go through another sloppy exchange.)

BO

You have placed me in a very difficult position, Tunis.

(Bo lights a cigar and holds the lit match in the air.)

TUNIS

You preparing to surrender then, Bo?

BO

Hardly.

(Bo reaches into his coat and takes out a small, round black bomb. He lights it and hands it to Tunis.)

TUNIS

Dog gone it.

(Lights flash and we hear an explosion. When everything clears, Bo is sitting unaffected in his chair. Tunis’s body parts are scattered. His head remains on the back of the chair.)

TUNIS (continuing)

You egg sucking bastard.

(A WWII paratrooper lands among Tunis’ scattered remains.)

PARATROOPER

Greetings, Sir. Congratulations on a play well executed.

BO

Please do me the favor of tidying up.

PARATROOPER

Right away, Sir.

(The paratrooper quickly fills up his backpack with Tunis parts, except for the head.)

TUNIS

You are a cheating, lying sack of horsey plops.

BO

I am not the one who began with the rough housing.

TUNIS

I was flicking. Flicking! Not bombing.

BO

Flicking? You have no idea what it means to be flicked. Flick him.

PARATROOPER

Sir?

BO

Flick him! Oh, hell, I’ll do it my self.

(Bo reaches across the table and flicks Tunis’ nose.)

TUNIS

Ow!

BO

I hope you have learned your lesson, Tunis. Set up the board.

PARATROOPER

Right away, Sir.

(The paratrooper arranges whatever pieces are left on the board.)

BO

I loathe brutality. Until men finally learnt o behave, I will always have to fight for peace. Play me, soldier!

PARATROOPER

Half of my men and half of the board were lost in the explosion.

BO

Then it shouldn’t take very long.

PARATROOPER

I guess not.

(Bo makes a move, then the paratrooper. They go back and forth picking up speed.)

BO

Victory shall soon be mine!

(We hear a gunshot. The paratrooper has shot Bo under the table.)

BO

Oh, zounds.

(He falls.)

TUNIS

Woo-hoo! That was one fine sneaky shot, boy! I just have one question.

PARATROOPER

What’s that?

TUNIS

What are you fighting for?

PARATROOPER

What have you got?

(Tunis laughs as the paratrooper shoots at the remaining pieces on the board. Lights fade.)

Week 15, Day 100 - "Death To Tyrants!"

“Death To Tyrants!”
Written by Joe Janes
4/28/09
100 of 365

CAST:
Bilford Pettigrew
Spangler
John Wilkes Booth
Vernon
Various soldiers, policemen
and historical figures

(Lights up on a dressing room, April 14, 1865. Bilford sits in formal attire of the time. He looks over a manuscript, mumbling to himself, delivering inaudible snippets into the mirror. Spangler, an experienced stagehand, sits near the door.)

SPANGLER

So dedicated to your profession, Bilford. He has never needed an understudy, and yet you persist on committing to memory that which you will never deliver to an audience.

BILFORD

Well, you just never know. Anything could happen, Spangler.

SPANGLER

The play’s nearly over. If I were you, I’d be studying the bottom of a stein at the tavern across the street.

BILFORD

You are not I, Spangler. You are just a stagehand. When and if I am ever needed, I am at the ready. Even if it’s in the middle of a performance. Even if it’s the last few moments before the curtain falls.

SPANGLER

Nothing will happen. What a shame for you. You won’t get to perform for the president.

BILFORD

Does not matter to me if it’s the president or the queen of England or Christ our savior. As long as there is one audience member to receive my craft, I will deliver undaunted. Dedicated as I am to the play.

(Offstage we hear a gunshot and John Wilkes Booth yelling, “Sic semper tyrannis!” he quickly hobbles into the dressing room. We hear the audience in an uproar.)

BILFORD

John! What happened?

JOHN

Oh, you know. Just trying something new.

BILFORD

Wow! Listen to that crowd.

SPANGLER

You really got them riled up.

JOHN

Yeah. I killed. Listen, Bilford, I hurt my leg.

BILFORD

Fear not, John. I am ready to step in and carry on, as best I can, in your boot steps. The audience will not leave lacking for entertainment. President Lincoln will see the best show of his life.

JOHN

Um, yeah. You go do that. Jump right in to Act Three. I’m going to borrow your horse and head over to a doctor’s.

BILFORD

You do what you need to do. I am going to put on one heck of a show!

(Bilford makes a grand exit. John tries to hobble off.)

JOHN

A little help?

SPANGLER

Oh, certainly.

(Spangler helps John off. Cut to the stage. Bilford enters and he dives right in to his monologue.)

BILFORD

Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal--you sockdologizing old man-trap. (Three men run across the stage shouting, “Stop that man! He went out the back!”) Wal, now, when I think what I've thrown away in hard cash to-day I'm apt to call myself some awful hard names…(More men cross carefully carrying the body of Lincoln followed by a sobbing Mary Todd) But I dare no more ask that gal to be my wife, than I dare ask Queen Victoria to dance a Cape Cod reel….Now, listen here. I know I am just an understudy, but I have never encountered a more rude audience. Seriously, brandishing firearms? Crossing the stage to carry out some sozzled drunk in the midst of a performance. This is not some saloon out west. We are civilized folk. I beseech you, take your seats. Quiet yourselves. Open your ears. I may not be as renown as John Wilkes Booth, but I am a fine actor who will do justice to this role.

(Vernon in audience starts booing.)

BILFORD

Booing? You are booing me, sir? Well, I boo you. Boo, I say! Boo!

VERNON

I paid my twenty-five cents. I want to see a show!

BILFORD

And indeed you will. …You see, as nigh as we could reckon it up, she had gone and got married again his will, and that made him mad, and well, he was a queer kind of a rusty fusty old coon, and it appeared that he got older, and rustier, and fustier and coonier every fall, it was too much for him. He got took down with the ague, he was so bad the doctors gave him up, and mother she went for a minister. The old Squire was sitting up in his bed, his face as pale as the sheet that covered him, his silken hair flowing in silvery locks from under his red cap, and the tears rolling from his large blue eyes down his furrowed cheek, like two mill streams. Wal, says he to me, and his voice was not as loud as it was afore-- it was like the whisper of the wind in a pine forest, low and awful. `Asa, boy,' said he, 'I feel that I've sinned in hardening my heart against my own flesh and blood,” and then he smiled, sank back upon his pillow, drew a long sigh as if he felt relieved, and that was the last of poor old Mark Trenchard.

(Bilford takes several deep bows. Vernon stands and applauds.)

VERNON

Bravo! Bravo! President shouldn’t have ditched out before the ending. That was sweeter than sweet cider right out of the bunghole. Bravo!

(Blackout)