Truth is Beauty

Express your opinions. But be prepared for your opinions to be wrong. A number of them WILL be wrong, no matter how fervently you believe them to be true. If someone opens your eyes to the truth, don't get offended and defensive, learn from it. Ignorance is bliss, but truth is beauty.
Ommm...  

Swimmin'

SCENE 1.

MISCELLANEOUS PRISON NOISES: THE SOUND OF SOLID METAL DOORS SLAMMING. A MAN CALLS OUT FOR A DOOR TO BE UNLOCKED AND A BUZZ. A DOOR OPENS AND IS SLAMMED SHUT. FURTHER CALLS AND BUZZES IN THE DISTANCE AS THE DIALOGUE BEGINS. CASEY SPEAKS WITH A STRONG LOUISIANA ACCENT. JIMMY'S ACCENT IS LESS PRONOUNCED. THE SOUND OF A LIGHTER BEING LIT AND CASEY INHALES A LIGHTLY CRACKLING CIGARETTE. CASEY TAKES DRAGS ON THE CIGARETTE THROUGH THE SCENE.

CASEY: They say the governor's on his way to the Commissioner's Ball.

JIMMY: Good for the campaign.

CASEY: Is he wearing black, still?

JIMMY: He wears a pin these days. A black rose.

CASEY: Marie'd want a red rose. (PAUSE) He acts like he knew her. (BEAT) He didn't know her. Their side of the family was too good for hers. Marie was pond scum (BEAT) till he wants re- election. Now he can use her...

SHE EXHALES AND SNIFFS A LAUGH. AN EXTENDED PAUSE WITH PRISON NOISES.

JIMMY: Okay?

CASEY: Okay.

JIMMY: Good to continue?

CASEY: Sure.

THE SOUND OF A CASSETTE RECORDER BEING ACTIVATED.

JIMMY: We're good...

CASEY: So, Pa left to go to his bowling night. Ma was over at Kenny's house with the kids while Kenny and Audrey went- went somewhere, I don't know where. Nobody ever said that. Ain't that something? No one ever said where Kenny and Audrey went. A meal? Dancing? (BEAT) Sword fighting on a cliff somewhere? Yeah... I have no idea. They had a night off and that's good enough for me. The little one has that autism. He's a handful at times. The biggun, well he thinks he owns the town and all its horses. (BEAT) Yeah. He's gonna get in lot's of trouble. I can see that. Just keep him out of this place is what I teld Kenny last time he wuz here...

JIMMY: Okay...

CASEY: Okay... so, we had corn on the cob that night. (SHE IMITATES HER EXCITED CHILDREN) “Swimmin' in butter, momma.” Too much butter for me. Makes me yack. (PAUSE) But, you know, I'd eat all the butter in the world, just to see... (PAUSE) Corn Sticks is what they call them. Cody does. Little Kate follows suit. Always follows suit. She loves her big brother. It's gonna stay that way. I'll make sure of it. Jenna came over about seven and I went out.

JIMMY: Who's Jenna?

CASEY: Jenna. (PAUSE) Your niece.

JIMMY: I mean for the record, Casey.

HE LAUGHS BRIEFLY WITHOUT HUMOUR.

CASEY: Oh, yeah, right... she's the babysitter. Cute little thing. Pigtails... the works! Keep an eye on her too, cos she's gonna keep you up nights when those boys gets the eyes for her.

JIMMY: We'll do that, Casey. She's a pretty thing.

CASEY: Cody likes her. Says he wants to marry her-

SILENCE. DISTANT BANGING AND A YELL.

CASEY (CONT'D): Four hours later Marie and me is on our way back. Humid. We's sweating. All sortsa bugs flying round. Getting in your face. Your ears. Your eyes. (PAUSE) Damn Stink Bug. You ever had a Stink Bug go up your nose, Jimmy?

JIMMY: Can't say I have.

CASEY: God. damn! It got right down the back there and I'm blowing hard but it won't budge, but do you know what those stink bugs do?

JIMMY: Stink?

CASEY: Damn straight. This bug, he got real angry back there and he's squeezin' one out for all he's worth and shoot (BEAT) that stuff is going right down my throat and I can taste it. The kinda taste that won't ever leave- it goes so far back.

SHE SMACKS HER LIPS AT THE BAD TASTE.

CASEY (CONT'D): I can taste it now.

JIMMY: I can believe that, Casey. Old Nero got it in his head to chew on one one time when he was still young enough to be chasing after such things – hardly moves now – old bones. But when he chewed that thing-

HE WHOOPS AS THOUGH IT WAS SOMETHING NASTY

JIMMY (CONT'D): He never did it again. Barks when he sees anything flying round the house. He's like a- (PAUSE) You know (BEAT) I'm recording this. Sorry, Case. Keep going.

SHE SNIFFS A LAUGH.

CASEY: You know, Jimmy, for a moment there, I was outta this cell and back in the real world. Why'd you have to bring me back?

THEY BOTH LAUGH WITHOUT CONVICTION.

CASEY (CONT'D): So I'm screaming, 'KILL IT! KILL IT!' and she's swiping at it – I'm swerving 'cross the road. S'a good thing there weren't no traffic coming the other way- one of those big-rigs, or we'd both be- (BEAT) we'll we'd both be together now. Not just her gone on her own.

SILENCE FOR A MOMENT. SHE MAKES A SOUND OF DISTASTE: 'YAH'.

JIMMY: What happened next, Casey?

CASEY: The clumsy fool slapped me straight in the face as she swung for the thing... scraped me round down here. See that?

JIMMY: I see it. There's a pink line going from under your left eye... it's about (BEAT) an inch... and a half long.

CASEY: Fourteen months and eight days.

THERE IS MORE QUIET, BROKEN ONLY BY PRISON NOISES.

CASEY (CONT'D): They found her two days later. One of those clitches- that how you say it?

JIMMY: Clitches? You mean ditches?

CASEY: No. Foreign sounding word. Clishes. Like when a stupid thing happens a lot, like over and over again.

JIMMY: 'Clishes'... you mean 'clichés'?

CASEY: 'Clee-shays', yeah, that's right. (BEAT) Sounds like a Creole word. (PAUSE) That where it comes from?

JIMMY: Could be, Casey. Has that sound to it.

CASEY: Yeah- clee-shay. Man with a dog – that's how (BEAT) bodies are found. Looked like she was crawling out the water with empty lungs. One of those marathon swims. (PAUSE) Wan't able to swim though, was she? She got no eyes. No tongue. Hair pulled out in big clumps. That's why they say a woman did it. Cat fight.

THE SOUND OF HER SUCKING HER TEETH.

CASEY (CONT'D): Animals went for the soft parts of her first. (PAUSE) Yep.

SHE TAKES A LONG DRAG OF THE CIGARETTE. THERE'S A SILENCE. JIMMY SUPPRESSES A COUGH.

JIMMY: Sorry. Go on.

CASEY: Known each other since we were pups. Best buds in high school. Fell out – as teenage girls do at sixteen. She stole my boyfriend. I stole him back. He got her pregnant. She miscarried. I was the only one'd help her pick up the pieces. (PAUSE) How old am I now- thirty-one?

JIMMY: Born April 8, 1945. That makes you thirty-one.

CASEY (SMILING): Look at you. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were sweet on me. Pro-bono n'all.

JIMMY (LAUGHING): All in your file, Casey. I know you better than you know yourself by now.

CASEY (GIGGLY): Bet you do. I bet you used to watch me in between classes too, right? An older girl...

JIMMY: Young boys, Casey. You know what we're like.

SHE LAUGHS AND MAKES A FAST, REPETITIVE SLAPPING SOUND ON HER THIGHS

CASEY: Ooh-ee! (SHE SINGS) Ca-sey and Jim-my sittin' in a tree...

JIMMY LAUGHS. CASEY'S LAUGH DROWNS HIS OUT. SHE FINALLY CALMS DOWN AND BECOMES VERY SERIOUS AGAIN.

CASEY (CONT'D): They used that against me (BEAT) her miscarriage. The boyfriend snatching. Few other things about lending n' borrowing. Said I never forgive her, is what they said. Said me and her had been fighting too and she'd struck me across the face. I'd got her down on the ground and pulled at her hair. Said I'd used it to strangle her. You ever see the size of Marie?

SHE COUGHS A GUTTERAL COUGH AND GOES QUIET.

CASEY (CONT'D): And now this weasel, piece of (BEAT) 'you-know-what', is 'running' on me. (BEAT) Ree-election. (BEAT) Yep. (SHE IMITATES A POMPOUS MALE VOICE) 'This woman will fry for what she done', ain't that what he said? 'We're sending a signal that the great state 'Louisiana does not tolerate this kind of inhuman cruelty to'rds...' (BACK TO HER OWN VOICE) Yeah... yep, I'll tell you what...

JIMMY: He's-

CASEY: Brought my date forward. (SHE LAUGHS WRYLY AS SHE SPEAKS) S'unheard of. Unconstitutional. 'Right to appeal'. (SHE IMITATES HIM AGAIN) 'That woman in there forewent her raats the day she...'

SILENCE. PRISON NOISES.

CASEY (CONT'D): I deserve it. Was me that killed her. I let her out of my 'Gee Dee' car, didn't I? (SHE SCOFFS A LAUGH) Decided she wanted some fresh air before she got back home. Wanted to 'walk off the booze'. Can you believe that? Walk off the booze. And by golly, I let her out. Din't think nothin' of it. Thought it was a good idea, I'll tell you what.

JIMMY: Were you there when the life left her body, Casey?

CASEY (BITTERLY): Was I there...? Boy, that's a good question. I wish I was. Could've helped h-

SHE GOES SILENT. A BUZZER SOUNDS AND A DOOR IS OPENED. IT CLOSES AGAIN

HANK: (OFF) B door closed.

WE HEAR RUBBER-SOLED FOOTSTEPS GETTING CLOSER.

CASEY: That's Hank, Jimmy. Tell Kenny to allow the kids to stay up late tonight and have corn sticks. They love corn sticks. Swimmin' in butter. Swimmin'. You got that? They start eating at five-to. Five-to.

JIMMY: Yeah, I got-

THE SQUEAK OF RUBBER-SOLED SHOES TURNING ON A WELL-SHINED FLOOR AND THE SOUND OF KEYS JINGLING AND TURNING IN A LOCK AS CASEY SPEAKS. THE DOOR OPENS.

CASEY (INSISTENTLY): You promise me. They start eating at five-to nine. I want them to be eating their corn when...

JIMMY: I promise. Five-to nine. (PAUSE) Swimmin' in butter. Gravy?

HANK: Time-

THE SOUND OF THE TAPE RECORDER BEING STOPPED AND PICKED UP.

CASEY: No! No gravy! You make sure you tell Kenny. They don't like gravy with their corn, okay? They won't eat 'em if they think they've been near gravy. They'll screw up their faces-

JIMMY: Okay. No gravy.

CASEY: Okay. That's good. It'll be good. They'll enjoy that. Make them happy.

HANK: Okay, Mr Prince, time's up.

JIMMY: Okay, thanks.

THE SOUND OF JIMMY STANDING AND STRETCHING

JIMMY (CONT'D): The Governor?

HANK: I believe he's onto his fourth Jack and Coke right now.

CASEY LAUGHS

CASEY: While I'm flyin', he'll be swimmin'.

HANK: Like a fish, they say. Doing backstrokes.

CASEY (DRYLY): Bet they do. (PAUSE) Right, you be off now, Jimmy. We ain't huggin'. You ain't takin' none of this out with ya. I'm good now.

JIMMY: Okay. Okay. You're gonna be okay, Casey.

CASEY: That's a silly thing to say, Jimmy. They're gonna kill me in something over three hours time. I'm gonna be anything but- (BEAT) hey it don't matter. You go now, Jimmy and tell my babies momma loves 'em.

JIMMY: I will, Casey. It's... yep...

HANK: I'll be back in thirty minutes, Casey, with your food.

FOOTSTEPS LEAVING THE CELL. THE HEAVY DOOR CLOSES FIRMLY AND WE HEAR FOOTSTEPS WALK AWAY. SHE TAKES A DRAG OF THE CIGARETTE AND COUGHS.

CASEY: Damn things. Be the death of me. (PAUSE) Hey, if I can get you in the sink from here, I'm gonna get a pardon.

THE SOUND OF HER FLICKING IT AND IT LANDS IN THE SINK WITH A SINGE.

CASEY (CONT'D): Three points! I'm saved!!! Oh, Lord, thank you. (PAUSE) Yeah... Nope, you can keep it. Just let me see them smiling, Lord. That's all I want. (LOW) That's all I want...

SOMBRE MOUTH-ORGAN TUNE.

FADE.

SCENE 2.

CASEY IS HUMMING A SOULFUL TUNE. RUBBER-SOLED FOOTSTEPS GET CLOSER. A RUBBER-SOLED SQUEAK. KEYS JINGLE AND THE HEAVY METAL DOOR OPENS.

HANK: Casey.

CASEY: A reprieve. At last...

HE LAUGHS BRIEFLY.

HANK: Sorry, Casey. Here it is- your- your meal.

CASEY: Thanks. I'll have it later. Don't feel like eating right now.

HANK (AFFECTIONATELY): Caseyyy...

CASEY: Aww. you always laugh at my jokes, Hank.

HANK: I do. But not today, I don't think.

CASEY: Shoot. Today of all days. I need some cheering. Are they hot?

HANK: Yeah... they're hot. The way you like them... extra butter.

CASEY: That's right. The way I like 'em.

RUBBER-SOLED FOOTSTEPS TO THE DOOR AND THE DOOR IS CLOSED.

FADE.

SCENE 3.

A BUZZER. A DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES AS HURRIED FOOTSTEPS GET CLOSER. RUNNING FOOTSTEPS SQUEAK TO A HALT AND A BREATHLESS YOUNG MAN ENTERS.

HANK: - I'll secure her wrists while-

YOUNG HOWIE: Here, Hank. The Governor's on the news.

THE RADIO HISSES SLIGHTLY AS THE REPORT COMES IN.

ANNOUNCER: (D) -victed murderer, Casey DuPont is just fifty-nine minutes from execution. He said, in an interview exclusive to LSR, how he felt, less than an hour ago.

GOVERNOR: (D) This is a day when Louisiana should be proud of its justice system. A cold-blooded killer – who has never admitted to her heinous crimes – is about to feel the full weight of southern justice. You demanded it when she took that girl's life. My cousin's only child. There will be no stay of execution. None. She's gonna find due process, courtesy of Louisiana Electrics and Mains. Now, if you don't mind, this is an evening that should not be sullied by talk of such indecencies. I'm here at the Commissioner's mansion, the President of Vitco Oils and Pharmaceut-

ANNOUNCER: (D) That was Governor Malmort speaking not-

THE RADIO CLICKS OFF.

HANK (ANGRILY): God! damn it! You pompous, ignorant, son-of-a...

HE STRAINS. WE HEAR A CUP SMASHING AGAINST A WALL.

FADE.

SCENE 4.

THERE IS A HUMMING SOUND OF STRIP LIGHTS. THE WARDEN'S VOICE FADES IN.

WARDEN: ... the Lord have mercy on your soul. Amen.

CASEY: 'Kay, let's get on with this cliché.

HANK: Gonna put the hood on in a moment, Casey.

CASEY: Thank you, Hank. Don't want none of you good boys to see what's going on under here. None of your concern. (PAUSE) You been good to me, Hank. All of you.

WARDEN: Do you have any final words before you depart 'the ever-lasting, Mrs. DuPont?

CASEY: Yeah, you can pucker your lips and kiss my butt. Tell that fat, bloated hog that Marie never liked him. Do your business, Hank.

THE WARDEN CLEARS HIS THROAT. HARD-SOLED SHOES STEP AWAY. THERE IS THE SOUND OF A CLOTH BAG BEING POSITIONED AND FASTENED OVER CASEY'S HEAD. CASEY HUMS A SOULFUL TUNE WHILE HANK DOES THIS.

HANK: Gonna miss you, Casey. You take care.

CASEY: (LOW) Hank?

HANK: Yes, Casey.

CASEY: What's the time? Exactly?

HANK: (BEAT) It's thirty seconds before nine, Casey.

CASEY: You gotta be quick, Hank. Don't waste time, now.

HANK: I will, Casey.

CASEY: They'll be smilin', Hank.

HANK (CONFUSED): Who, Casey?

CASEY: Cody and Little Kate.

HANK (REASSURINGLY): They'll be fine. (PAUSE) Gonna make this quick.

RUBBER-SOLED FOOTSTEPS MOVE AWAY.

CASEY: (CLOSE) I'm gonna see their faces again, real soon. They're gonna be smilin' (BEAT) cos they're eating corn sticks (BEAT) swimmin' in butter.

HANK: Everyone in their positions. CLEAR.

CASEY: (CLOSE) Swimmin'...

HANK: ALL- CLEAR.

CASEY: (CLOSE) Swimmin...

HANK: (CLOSE) Contact.

CASEY: (CLOSE, PAUSE) Swimmin-

THE CLUNK OF A HARD, INDUSTRIAL BUTTON BEING PRESSED.

CUT.

PLAY OUT WITH A SOMBRE MOUTH-ORGAN TUNE.

END.

Lost in Translation

SCENE 1.

SOUND OF AN INTENSE RATTLE OF AN AIR-CONDITIONING UNIT. IT RATTLES CONTINUOUSLY. ALL VOICES ARE RAISED TO BEGIN WITH.

CHUBS: Right, I'll see you-

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR.

I'll see you next Sunday... no... no, next Sunday.

SPEAKS MORE LOUDLY

(BEAT) No, not next Monday. Next-

RETURNS TO NORMAL VOLUME

(BEAT) Sunday.

ANOTHER KNOCK AT THE DOOR, MORE INTENSE THIS TIME.

(LOUDLY) Coming...

SOUND OF HANDLE TURNING AND DOOR OPENS

TREVOR: Hi, I'm Trevor. Millie's- blimey. What's that noise?

CHUBS: Oh, hello, Tony. Come in.

CLOSES DOOR

It's the aircon. I hate it.

TREVOR: Trevor – Why is it-

CHUBS: Been like that since we moved in. Only have it on for fifteen minutes at a time. At least it drowns out the twenty-four seven karaoke from down the street (A FEW BEATS) and the sound of next-door's cock.

THE AIRCON IS SUDDENLY SILENCED AS TREVOR SPEAKS

TREVOR: It must drive you--- insane.

CHUBS: Next-door's cock?

TREVOR: The aircon.

CHUBS: Yeah. Roy says it makes him want to kill me.

SHE LAUGHS.

He loves me really.

TREVOR: Roy is your husband, is he?

CHUBS: Yeah. Just gonna put this back on. Sweats running into my crack.

THE SOUND OF THE AIRCON BECOMES MORE PROMINENT AND THEY SPEAK MORE LOUDLY.

TREVOR: Millie told me his name was – that's so loud – was Ray.

CHUBS: Milk Tray?

TREVOR: No, she thought- hold on a second. Do you mind if I---

THE SOUND OF A CUTLERY DRAWER OPENING AND A KNIFE BEING REMOVED.

CHUBS: Aww, that's lovely and cool. I stand on a chair to cool my backside. Strong chairs these. Got through loads of 'em. (PAUSE) What you doing?

TREVOR: Well, I'd ask if you have a screwdriver (LOW) but from what Millie tells me, probably quicker to use a knife.

CHUBS: What you gonna do with the knife?

TREVOR: Fix your aircon.

SOUND OF A THIN PLASTIC PANEL OPENING

CHUBS: With a knife?

TREVOR: Yes, with a kni- well, do you have a screwdriver?

BEAT.

CHUBS: A screwdriver... erm?

TREVOR: Thought so.

CHUBS: You won't-

THE INTENSE NOISE SUDDENLY QUIETENS TO THAT OF A BLISSFUL HUM. SOUND OF THE PANEL BEING PUT BACK IN PLACE. CRICKETS CHIRP IN THE BACKGROUND. THE BLISSFUL HUM CONTINUES THROUGHOUT, BEING ACCOMPANIED EVERY NOW AND THEN BY SOMETHING THAT SOUNDS LIKE A BUDDHIST CHIME FROM THE ETHEREAL AIRCON

CHUBS (CONT'D): Erm...

TREVOR: Erm?

CHUBS: How did you do that?

TREVOR: I just rotated the-

CHUBS: We have a little man – a local who fixes whatever's broken. Had him out about a dozen times for the aircon. Fixes it every time. Gets worse about a week later, but... charges us five-hundred dollars each time. Cheeky bugger. (SHE LAUGHS) But he has to charge that cos we've no fusebox.

TREVOR: No fusebox? That's really dangerous.

CHUBS: Not in Hong Kong, they say. Cos of the humidity.

TREVOR: Humidity? But we've got a fuse-

CHUBS: He electrocuted himself once. Blew the lights, but everything else just kept on running.

TREVOR: Do you always have the lights on during the day?

CHUBS: (IGNORING HIS QUESTION) He fixes everything. He fixed the taps not long since.

SOUND OF DRIPPING TAPS. TWO DRIPS A SECOND

Hong Kong water torture, is that.

SHE LAUGHS, BUT TRAILS OFF.

Have to call him out again... dripping. But Roy swears by him! He's got no hair left.

TREVOR: Roy?

CHUBS: No. The little man. Frazzled it right off.

SHE MAKES A ZAPPING SOUND AND LAUGHS.

SOUND OF THE KNIFE BEING DROPPED INTO THE METAL SINK

TREVOR: I see. Whoa! That's a big fridge (LOW) next to your TV.

CHUBS: Big appetite. (SHE GIGGLES) It's broke.

A COCK CROWS

TREVOR: (A REALISATION HITS HIM) Hold on...

CHUBS: What?

TREVOR: It's been like this ever since you got here? But you've been here longer than me and I've been here almost a year. How long you been here?

CHUBS: Four years. Bit longer. Five I think. Came here in ninety. What year is it now? Ninety-five?

TREVOR: Ninety-seven.

CHUBS: We've been here that long? Wow! Then that's five years.

TREVOR: (DRYLY) That's seven years.

CHUBS: (INDIFFERENTLY) S'pose so.

TREVOR: And your aircon has been like this- sorry, Millie said your name is- what's your name?

CHUBS: Chubs.

TREVOR: Oh. I heard right. What's that short for?

CHUBS: (PAUSE) What do you mean?

TREVOR: Err...

A SHORT SILENCE

Seven years?!

CHUBS: (LAUGHING) Yeah. Lost hell of a lot of weight through sweating. (PAUSE, CLOSE) Put more on with eating... and drinking.

TREVOR: That's-

CHUBS: But I lost loads when I got dysentery. I was able to fit in to all my old jeans again. Woo-hoo! (BEAT) For a week.

THE COCK CROWS

Blummin' cock.

TREVOR: That's- We're having a party and Millie was wondering if you fancied coming over next weekend. I would've called, but your phone was-

CHUBS: (CAREFREE) Cut-off.

TREVOR: Oh... (LOW) that's a surprise. (NORMAL VOICE) Just bring a bottle, yeah?

CHUBS: Bottle? Err, oh, hey, me dad's sending some Vimto over for us.

Should be here end of next week. I'll bring it if you like?

TREVOR: Vimto? To a party?

CHUBS: (DEJECTEDLY) Just a thought. Everyone likes Vimto.

TREVOR: Yeah, no, sure, bring some, if you like. (PAUSE) Right then I'll be off. Millie's ordered pizza and it'll be-

CHUBS: Ooh, what kind of pizza? Haven't eaten since dinner. What time is it now- five o'clock?

TREVOR: (DRYLY) It's half-two.

CHUBS: I love pizza, me.

TREVOR: Yeah, sorry, it's not pizza. It's something else. She was a bit vague.

PAUSE. SOUND OF ONE CLAP AND RUBBING HANDS

Right I gotta go. See you next week. Nice flat, by the way. Massive fridge in living room... and the cracks give it personality.

DOOR OPENS

CHUBS: Do they? Yeah...

DOOR CLOSES.

CHUBS (CONT'D): You should come more often.

THERE IS AN EXTENDED SILENCE WHILE ALL WE HEAR ARE THE CRICKETS AND A CAR ENGINE BACKFIRING WAY IN THE DISTANCE. CHINESE MUSIC WITH CHINESE FEMALE VOCALS CAN BE HEARD SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE.

(CLOSE) Aircon nice and quiet.

THE SOUND OF THE AIRCON GETS LOUDER AS SHE APPROACHES IT CONCEALING OTHER SOUNDS OUTSIDE. A BUDDHIST CHIME IS HEARD SUBTLY

Aw, man... that. is. gorgeous!

THE SOUND OF PLASTIC EAR-RINGS CLINKING AS THE AIR RUSHES OVER THEM. BUDDHIST CHIME

Oh, so cool.

HER VOICE CHANGES AS THOUGH SHE'S SMILING

Oh, yes. Teeth.

SHE SMILES INTO THE AIRCON AND MAKES A 'NEE' SOUND

Ooh, cold. Teeth. Yeeeeah... ouch! That's too cold.

SUCKING HER TEETH

That was stupid, Chubs.

THE SOUND OF EAR-RINGS CLINKING. BUDDHIST CHIME. IN THE DISTANCE, THE SOUND OF AUTHENTIC CHINESE MUSIC STOPS AND IS REPLACED BY BADLY SUNG MALE KAROAKE.

Ugh. Karaoke. (SHE MUMBLES INCOHERENT SONG LYRICS TO AN INDINCERNABLE TUNE FOR A FEW SECONDS) I like that song. (PAUSE) Hmm, how did he do that with a knife?

FOOTSTEPS WALKING ACROSS THE FLOOR. KARAOKE CONTINUES IN THE DISTANCE. CRICKETS. A BUDDHIST CHIME. CUTLERY DRAWER OPENS. TAKES OUT A KNIFE. WALKS OVER TO THE AIRCON. AIRCON BECOMES LOUDER AS SHE APPROACHES, BUT STILL JUST A LOVELY, BLISSFUL HUM. (A FEW BEATS) BUDDHIST CHIME.

CHUBS (CONT'D): Let's get you open... is it this screw here...?

SHE STRAINS

Come on you-

THE PANEL IS FORCED OPEN AND SLAMS AGAINST THE WALL WITH A THIN THERMOPLASTIC SOUND

Oops! (PAUSE) Now... what was it he touched...?

A COCK CROWS

Let's have a look at you. (A FEW BEATS) Was it this one...? (A FEW BEATS) Just need to-

THE SOUND OF AN ELECTRIC CURRENT – ZAP!

FADE.

FADE IN.

THE SOUND OF AN AMBULANCE'S SIREN.

FADE.

SCENE 2.

FADE IN.

THE SOUNDS OUTSIDE OF THE CHATTER OF CHINESE LOCALS. CRICKETS. SOUND OF AN AMBULANCE TROLLEY. NOISE OF AIRCON RATTLING IN THE BACKGROUND, NOW MAKING CREAKING SOUNDS. CAR DOOR SLAMS. FOOTSTEPS RUNNING ON PATH

ROY: Chubs! What the hell, Chubs?

CHUBS: (WEAKLY) Roy... it was the aircon.

ROY: Aircon?

CHUBS: Yeah. It's making loads of noise, Roy. I think we should call out that CHUBS (CONT'D): little man.

ROY: The little man again...

PARAMEDIC: (CHINESE ACCENT) We must get your wife to hospital. Electric shock.

CHUBS: (NO LONGER WEAK) Yes, yes, thank you, doctor. It was an accident. We can clear it up later.

ROY: Electric shock?! Have you blown the lights again?

CHUBS: Oh it doesn't matter, Roy. My heart stopped for a while, they said.

PARAMEDIC: Not you. Cock have heart attack.

CHUBS: Something good came from it then.

SHE TRIES TO LAUGH, BUT BEGINS COUGHING WEAKLY.

They were on their break singing karaoke at the stall just down the road when all their lights went out. They heard me scream for miles.

SHE CHUCKLES

PARAMEDIC: Very loud.

CHUBS: They're such very good singers, Roy. (SHE SPEAKS MORE LOUDLY) We like it, don't we, Roy? I say to my husband, 'You... very good singer. Good. Good'.

PARAMEDIC: (INDIFFERENT) Very good. Yes. Much appreciated. Thank you.

CHUBS: They're very effluent, you know? I was hanging off the top of the

fridge, but they still spotted me straight away. (BEAT) We'll need all new bulbs, Roy.

ROY: Bulbs? It's three o'clock in the afternoon. I keep telling you. Why do you always have to have the lights on?

CHUBS: Just in case. (REMEMBERING) Oh, Roy! Trevor and Millie invited us over for a barbecue next weekend. We won't take the Vimto. They might not like it.

ROY: Wha-

CHUBS: But while I'm in hospital, pay the phone bill and buy a screwdriver, CHUBS (CONT'D): just for if we ever need one.

PARAMEDIC: Shouldn't be in hospital too long if feel-

CHUBS: Do they have air-conditioning in the hospital?

PARAMEDIC: Yes.

CHUBS: (WEAKLY) Oh, I feel ever so weak, doctor.

PARAMEDIC: Medic only.

CHUBS: (WEAKLY) Oh, I feel so weak, Doctor Mediconly. I think I can see a light.

PARAMEDIC: That ambulance (TO THE AMBULANCE DRIVER. LOW) Crazy Gweilo.

DRIVER: A-ya...

CHUBS: Thank you, doctor. Oh, and Roy... no need to tell Trevor about this...

DOORS CLOSE AND AMBULANCE SPEEDS OFF.

ROY: Who's Trevor? (PAUSE. SHOUTING) You didn't say which hospital! (NORMAL VOICE) Shut up, Roy! (BEAT) We've got some drinking to do.

ONE CLAP AND SOUND OF HANDS RUBBING TOGETHER EXCITEDLY. KAROAKE CAN BE HEARD.

Now then... where's that Karaoke bar? (HE CHUCKLES)

FADE OUT TO HIS LAUGHTER.

END

Cassandra

Cassandra, in Greek mythology, had the gift of prognostication. Foresight. Unfortunately, she had the curse of never being believed when pronouncing these prognostications.

A few weeks ago, a week after becoming re-acquainted with a woman with whom I had once been going out, engaged to be married, and with whom I was madly in love, I witnessed a thread on her Facebook page that made me feel uneasy. She was flirting with someone.

Well, we had already made arrangements to meet and I had hoped from this meeting a new relationship would emerge. It turns out I waited too long to meet her.

Two days before we were to meet, I texted her and it was playful... until she mentioned she had started seeing someone a week or so earlier... it was the man I had witnessed her flirting with.

I... I was heartbroken. And from this moment, 2:07pm on Tuesday 2nd December 2014, I then proceeded to have one of the worst days I could have in the circumstances. I'm not going to go into why, sufficing to say it involved intense cold, a bus that took ages, then kicked us off because he was already 40 minutes late and wanted to go home. It took three hours to get home.

So... Cassandra. Why have I mentioned Cassandra?

I knew she was going to meet someone, but my friends told me I was being silly. I waited eight years to meet her again, and a couple of weeks before we are to meet again, she starts with another guy.

My gift and my curse. I feel so sad and lonely right now...

Contributions

There's a thing about Twilight and viral disease;

About football and soccer and feeling the freeze;

There's a comment about cinema or having a chill;

There's some about meals and eating your fill;

A link to a video and a picture that's funny

And a 'Fuck My Life' for having no money.

I commented on Star Trek but no one agreed.

I'm starting to think you've blocked my news feed.


I wrote it on 2nd February 2012. Just found it. It's okay. It's about Facebook.

The History of Me & You

A profile with no picture

I send out a 'like' (or whatever it is on match.com)

She replies

We meet the next Sunday

I wake too late and shower quick

I can't park. I call her

She's waiting outside the Tavern. She's nice. But sad

We talk. And we talk and we watch a film. The Lady in the Water

I walk her to her car and we kiss on the cheek

We meet on the Wednesday and have a Mexican meal

“Would you like to come in,” she asks

“No, that's okay, don't want to disturb.”

“The house is empty.”

We enter. We hug. I leave feeling good

The next night on the phone. Come over. The girls are in bed

We hug. We kiss. A little bit more. I please her

We meet on Saturday. We have sex. I find out her name from the mail. Sarah.

We talk. And we talk. We have sex. And we talk

And we have sex. I love to hear her voice. To please her

A call at 2am. Friends are arguing.

At 3am. They are arguing still. "Can you get me?" I don't like this

I take her home. She takes off her shoes in the car. Walks in the house. Gets in bed with dirty feet

Why did I love this about her... but I want to break up. I want someone new

And then it happens – I talk to myself. "Give her a chance!" Give myself a chance

We go on. I please her. And I please her more. She changes. She's happy

Candles everywhere. "I didn't know this happened to people." she said

It makes me happy to see this. The oil. The skin. And more

And more

You're Bree, she said. I like this. A spilled drink and sex as playful punishment

We lie together on the sofa and I can't keep it in. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

This is heaven. It's no longer sex, this is what 'making love' means

2½ hours and her voice 25 times. I'm in heaven

So much heaven...

And then it isn't. Then it's over. And then I have her back!

Champagne and a dance just for me

A letter through the post - she's a free woman. 11:23 my grandfather's ring

Then an awkward night

And a text the next day from the airport and my life falls apart

"I'll never forget you." she said

The anger comes, but nowhere to vent but my phone

I accept it. It's over. That's okay. Then the pain

I beg

Finally I'm numb on Year's Eve. By myself. In the centre of town. Alone. I want it to end.

A few scattered calls and an insinuation of manipulation

"There was always one thing I didn't like about you." But she never told me. Goodbye

Four years later, my life is over. I reach out to her. I hope. But she doesn't want me

Now, an unseen message from 7 months ago. I'm in shock. I'm upset. I'm encouraged, I think

I tell her I love her and she's beautiful

We type. We chat. We text.

The whirlpool grabs me. I want to swim a while... but I tire quickly

The Cold Box

Double wrapped onion half
Loose-topped milk in door
My fridge, Her fridge

Eight Years On

A veiling smile and hazel eyes.

A nose I pecked a hundred times.

The curve of her back, explored

By my lips. An ache returns.

A solitary piece to complete the mosaic.

Burred edges reveal a glimpse inside

The tint of a hidden treasure,

Beckoning attention and warmth.

The fog clears and snatching hands reach out,

Clawing relentlessly, pulling at her, wanting a piece of something...

The fire within illuminates.
Holding it back. Driving forward

Rising like the Winter sun

A promise of Summer on the horizon

My Ode to the Girl in the Creative Practice Seminar

Turning her pen, eyes stare distantly.

She runs a finger through her hair, her ear exposed.

I glance, it's hard not to stare when it brings me such joy

To see her face and she smiles in that moment

Causing a drum roll within my chest.

She raises her gaze, a furrowed brow in concentration,

Lips pursed. I look away and replay the moment.

She scribbles in her book and I wonder...

I mean, it's not about me, but I want to know

What's inside her. To know her. To understand her.

It's beautiful what makes people tick

And to know what makes them insecure,

If you'll allow me, so I can offer a shoulder,

Or more?

Like warm ocean waters, her voice washes over me.

The echo of her words beats down on me,

Her radiance, I worship (just a little for now).

I want to speak, to say I agree, or tell her she's wrong

Maybe. Affectionately.

But such things are easily broken. When you're clumsy.

Like a boy who wants to pull at her tenderly,

But only pushes her away with fledgling fervour.

We smile. Me at her. Her at another.

Her eyes have never held my reflection.

I wonder how my name sounds

If she sighed it.

Is there a day when I'll have her to myself?

I'm patient. I can wait for her.

But my reticence tortures me fiercely.

I want to make her laugh.

I want her to look at me and see something good.

I want to turn to her. Say hello, but my voice stays.

I want to reach out a hand.

That's a choice that'll never be made.

I know you'll be looking. Now.

Too late for redaction.

I hear a tremble in my voice and pray it's just in my head

As you listen. And watch me. Not knowing

If my song is for you, till I say your name.

And I remember right then in a moment of clarity

It isn't Creative Practice at all it's Drama you fool

The girl she's in my Drama Seminar.

Ode to Hong Kong

There's no equivocation here, Hong Kong belongs to me,

I was there before the tradesmen of the king procured their tea.

The polluted sky is mine alone, So worship it each day,

The junks that sail on murky seas are never washed away,

For typhoons that fiercely pound the shores for ninety days a year

Pass on through by my command then kindly disappear.

I have no claim to my Hong Kong, it's just a foolish itch.

The Chinese own the fucker now. Every seam and stitch

Of tailors who sell 'copy-suit' and mimicked finery,

Of hawkers who sell 'copy-watch' with utmost slimery.

The smell of putrid grease that layers every market street

I'd sell my soul right now if I could feel it under feet.

The fear I felt was crippling that I'd one day leave the place,

That I'd have to return to England to some graceless, faceless base.

I loved Hong Kong more than I'd loved any other place,

The people had no manners, would happily spit in your face.

A friend of mine passed out in town, his wife was sure he'd died.

She screamed and begged for help, the locals walked on by.

So why did I love Hong Kong, why do I love it still?

Why love a place that makes you want to permanently kill?

Why eulogise, why write an ode to vile, corrupted masses?

It's liberating living down amongst the underclasses

To shuffle off the shackles of constricting English bearing

And live amongst a populous with no concept of caring.

Taken Apart

So you start over again and find someone new.

When you start a new life, new house, new town,

How easy it is for your guard to come down.

Locked in her house, you enact deja vu.

On the sofa, exhaled breath, aimlessly staring ahead.

Virtue riven, monogamy taken, the taker grinning.

Why did you do this. Again? Realisation spinning

My thoughts. My new beau will hold me later in bed.

"This is rubbish.” She screamed. “You're just talking shit.”

This lady before me who'd hurt as a child.

Her formative years continually defiled.

Silent. I know this feeling. I invite the first hit.

The theme played out, repeated, destroyed, I took all the rage,

I'd earned it all, all the applause. The last player on stage.

Bereft of Heart

You talk about your weary heart, when all mine does is bleed.

The tears I've cried have emptied me till nothing hides inside.

A chasm gapes, I gasp for air, I find I cannot breathe.

Your voice says there's no other way, I say you never tried.

While desolation isolates a light that strives to shine,

Fighting through exhaustion and an umpteenth final plea:

"Stop crying now." I hear you say, you said I'll be just fine,

“You'll find another, better girl, thank God I set you free.”

I close my eyes and, over me, a change within myself.

A violent fury in your face, your hand becomes the knife.

You said you'd kill us all, you said and then you'd kill yourself.

So how, I ask, I ask myself, how were we man and wife?

My last appeal, I begged you please. Through yielding words you lied.

There's nothing now, you took my gifts, the best of me has died.

Portmanteau

Tummy rumbling

and fifty minutes waiting for three buses that didn't come to choose the slow bus

that takes an age and that driver who doesn't want the

joy to end

or is the most courteous human being but the smell

from this lady is wet dog

and lack of soap

but more than that the smell of stale shit

compromising the sensibilities blurring time with jagged

praise be!

the malodorous beauty has

stood and fuck me

if she isn't staring at me as though it was me

that smelt like shit and stale piss and was in

fact I that was sitting in my own

faecal mess

but I digress cos if

I'd waited

just a few more minutes

the

express

that didn't come would be almost home

and she's going to slimming world

at an earlier time and I need to eat

I'm so...     hungry

Character From Book

Kneeling, seeing in his mind, the first steps of a child, smiling.

A lover's first kiss. Sun beating down on hot sands. Mountain

Splendour. Empty eyes staring, to die on golden dunes, bowed.

Knife sharpened, vertigo swimming the senses, camera whirs.

Character from Book is great, speaking words each man hears

Differently from the next, commanding the hands

Of each man differently from his brother, or mother,

Manipulated by man's treachery to occupy another man's soul.

The end a decollation, sacred blood sinks down. Forever down

Until the life is nothing more than the possessions

Of those whose tears have been falling far away

And will fall still, until the only tears left are dry. Like sand.

And through all the horror, in the wings, forced to look,

The next life is offered up to Character from Book.

The Equation of Tragedy and Time

Mindless, floating, blackened wings caress corrupted air

Cindered, ashen, powdered sprites numberless abound

Forbidding lunar landscapes coating memories of despair

All of nothing everywhere and all around no sound

Molten waves drown silent screams in cruel discorporation

Chronic fractals paralysed in contorted final throws

Sad abandoned hollow dreams in moulded termination

Beneath a surging onslaught that casts a timeless pose

Hiding away in the dark, out of sight, impervious, passing by,

Indifferent to the agony and the emptiness inside.

The weekly hugs and adopted rituals, over polite cups of tea,

The same old tableaus and anecdotal yarns reach stale new perspective,

While distantly, detached and unfettered by the monotony of undying grief,

Embalmed in taboo, the final punch, lines a destructive, arousing inflective.

Cracked Eggs

The gravelly paths throw dusty air,

Ratchet clicks top hushing grass,
Sweat breaks-out beneath my hair,
Miniature bombers dive by fast.

A cratered road like minefield lies,
We weave around with skill.
Zips and hoots, defiant cries,
And hard we force uphill.

Feet off peddles coasting back
Like varnished oars on metal rowlocks,
A sudden jolted heavy thwack
Full weight on throbbing bollocks

My balls, my balls, my balls, my balls. I feel like such a dummy.
MY BALLS! THE PAIN! MY BALLS! THE PAIN! A fizzing in my tummy.

Confide

So hard to get by in life without someone on your side. No one to confide in or empathise with you. How much easier would life be with someone close to talk to...

Ode to a Brain Inside My Head

Gigantic meaty walnut twin.

Spongy; transparent membrane skin.

Colossal, hefty hemispheres,

Live somewhere between my ears,

The intracranial heart of me;

Heirloom of my family tree.

I worship your banal inventions;

Oh, know-er of taboo intentions;

There, where dreams forgot, expire;

Where Machiavellian schemes transpire.

Powerful, pulsing, pink gray-matter.

Round't back- Medulla Oblongata.

With lightning fast efficiency,

Two eyes to serve it visually;

Memories for regurgitation;

Whacked and warped imagination;

Stores language for communication;

And images, but not for masturbation. I don't know what you mean...

But why, brain? Why this duality?

Why... insecure me?

Perceptions cascade violently

Like cliffs fall into fractured sea.

Ground crashing down away from me.

My descent a spectacle - a sight - a 'thing' for all to see.

Poor bedraggled frazzled brain,

Part Crimea: a little less Ukraine.

Feeling never ending strain.

Pushing back-against in vain

With arty, anal alliteration,

Rude relentless rumination;

Continuous cock-eyed cogitation;

Perpetual prattling preoccupation;

Persistent peristaltic postulation.

Tithe with herbal medication,

Washed down with sharp intoxication.

Blurred by senses enemy,

Eradicates all memory

Away! Away with intellectual floggin'...

And rest thee... my most precious noggin.