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Literature Text
(Lights up on a young girl child, sitting on a pink patchwork quilt on the floor of a nursery.)
GIRL
Pieces taste good. Ripped-up, tasty bits. Candy-tasty. Won't you let me taste a taste? Sweet and juicy, please.
(GIRL sticks her fingers in her mouth and closes her eyes.)
Just a taste. The last taste, the best ever. I want it. Want it.
(GIRL removes her fingers, but keeps her eyes closed.)
Dee-lish. So yummy, goody. The pieces. Just want a tasty taste.
(GIRL opens her eyes, and gets up on her knees.)
Please, it, I need so bad! I want them so, so much. So much. I hurt, please, give. They good for me, just please.
(GIRL stands up, approaches audience, ready to throw a tantrum.)
Give me! Now! Or I rip it myself, give! You're being mean, stop it! I want the pieces! Pieces, pieces, pieces! You pig-snot, potty-face! Give me!
(From offstage, a bloody side of meat is tossed on the quilt. GIRL turns and sees. GIRL looks back at audience and blows a sugar-sweet kiss. Lights down. END OF PLAY)
Literature
the living is easy
a tin man, white sheep rolled in dust
wears a grin, swisher sweets clinging
to his lip. he swirls seagrams 7 in a cracked
lowball, painting the side of my grandmother's
house with one eye closed & the other
laughing. he cannot speak the language
so i stare at him instead, his penny
loafers, his peeling skin, his snowy hair.
so i stare at his photograph on
the fireplace, wondering how anyone
who loved my great grandmother so well
could have died before i was born.
Literature
Hidden Potential
Every woman is nervous on the day of her wedding. This had sounded like a cliché when my mother had told me this, but now on the threshold of the same event my body was displaying all the signs of a blushing bride. Perversely, my mind was utterly calm. It had better things to worry about. Like the discovery I had been working on for the last five years.
The scheduled unveiling should have taken place a while ago. But my parents dropped this bomb on me. Marry His Highness, Alexander Petraeus Marcus Maxmillian the VIIIth, Prince and heir of the Andromeda Galaxy, and the last family to retain ties to Earth. In my opinion their claim to be
Literature
To Dream of Falling
I dream of falling.
It's not a dream common to angels. After all, we have a pair of wings--or two or three--and we can use them. We float upon the air, dance among the stars, shape the clouds with our breath, and so on. All that lovely wordplay to describe an indescribable. A joy, a graceless power. Flight.
Humans dream of it often, I am told. It makes sense. They have no wings save for what they create with their hands. Airplanes, hang gliders, helicopters. Kites. They are obsessed with the sky, more so than the angels themselves, many of whom will fly three thousand miles rather than walk across the street.
And yet I dream of f
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Perhaps, this shouldn't be labeled as a comedic piece, but I think it reads more funny than serious.
Written for the #House-of-Playwrights Weekly-ish Prompt: Savagery
Written for the #House-of-Playwrights Weekly-ish Prompt: Savagery
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Clever twist ending. Dark and ghoulish, but a great piece.