ISBN 978-942109-77-8

performvolume one

a forensics anthology edited by gregory t. burns

A FORENSICS ANTHOLOGY

Edited By Gregory T. Burns

©2015

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Jordan 1: Give up Julie for adoption. Or was that the hardest thing to do? (Beat) No, for me, it would be a tie. (Beat) Honestly, I can’t decide if giving up Julie for adoption would be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do—or—if the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was—Jordan 2: Say goodbye to Jordan. After Julie was born, I just couldn’t bear to see Jordan again. It would have been a constant reminder of what we’d lost.Jordan 1: It’s got to be a tie. How can I weigh which was harder: Giving up Julie—or giving up Jordan?Jordan 2: The only way I’ve kept sane—is by not remembering her face. I would have lost my sanity long ago, if I could still remember her face. It’s all so—Jordan 1: Beautiful. I’ll never forget what she looked like. She was absolutely perfect. The only way I stay sane—is by thinking of that amazing, perfectly beautiful little girl. A year after Julie was born, Jordan left for college on the west coast, and— Jordan 2: Jordan decided to go to college on the east coast. (Almost joking) Evidently, we both thought it was important to have the majority of the country—serve as a buffer zone between us.Jordan 1: We haven’t spoken to each other since the day the adoption was

. (Beat) Sure, we’ve kept tabs on each other through friends and social media sites—but with all that happened, I think we both just felt—it would be too painful to keep in touch.Jordan 2: Besides, everything changed. Everything changed about us, and everything changed in us—after we spent—Jordan 1: Those thirty-minutes—with Julie.

performvolume one

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a forensics anthology

Edited By Gregory T. Burns

No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in anyform or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including

photocopying, recording, or by any information storage andretrieval system without permission in writing.

Inquiries should be addressed to the publisher.

Burns, Gregory et al.

perform volume one

Humorous InterpretationDramatic Interpretation

Duo InterpretationPoetry InterpretationProse Interpretation

ISBN 978-942109-77-8

perform

A FORENSICS ANTHOLOGY

Edited By Gregory T. Burns

©2015

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Jordan 1: Give up Julie for adoption. Or was that the hardest thing to do? (Beat) No, for me, it would be a tie. (Beat) Honestly, I can’t decide if giving up Julie for adoption would be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do—or—if the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was—Jordan 2: Say goodbye to Jordan. After Julie was born, I just couldn’t bear to see Jordan again. It would have been a constant reminder of what we’d lost.Jordan 1: It’s got to be a tie. How can I weigh which was harder: Giving up Julie—or giving up Jordan?Jordan 2: The only way I’ve kept sane—is by not remembering her face. I would have lost my sanity long ago, if I could still remember her face. It’s all so—Jordan 1: Beautiful. I’ll never forget what she looked like. She was absolutely perfect. The only way I stay sane—is by thinking of that amazing, perfectly beautiful little girl. A year after Julie was born, Jordan left for college on the west coast, and— Jordan 2: Jordan decided to go to college on the east coast. (Almost joking) Evidently, we both thought it was important to have the majority of the country—serve as a buffer zone between us.Jordan 1: We haven’t spoken to each other since the day the adoption was

. (Beat) Sure, we’ve kept tabs on each other through friends and social media sites—but with all that happened, I think we both just felt—it would be too painful to keep in touch.Jordan 2: Besides, everything changed. Everything changed about us, and everything changed in us—after we spent—Jordan 1: Those thirty-minutes—with Julie.

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The Munchies GamesBy Jennifer Riley and James Killmurry

DecisionsBy Bridget Grace Sheaff

Love in a UnitBy Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner

When I See HerBy Sujin Jeong

The Human(e) SocietyBy Gregory T. Burns and Bryan Denbow

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NOTES The Hunger Games is undoubtedly one of the most popular book and film franchises in the history of the entertainment business; which, of course, makes it the perfect vehicle to satirize. The Munchies Games is a dead-on spoof of the enormously popular futuristic adventure series and is perfect for two high-energy, comedic performers. This short play may be performed by either a male or female; two males; two females; or a male and female and may be entered in Humorous Interpretation, Duo Interpretation or Duet Acting. This script allows for incredibly creative blocking, sound effects, and overall, high energy. Like those with „the munchies,‟ this tour-de-force, laugh-out-loud comedy will leave your audience wanting more!

Characters: Narrator Romaine Flickersmith Crowd Voice President Pompous Rain Dogniss Everclear Prinflower Everclear Miss Evry Random Guy Wheeta Smellafeeta Cinnamon Roll Trainer Rue Seri

Narrator: Please, silence your cell phones now. If you become thirsty or hungry during this performance, please visit concessions. And if your child becomes restless, please remove him or her from the theater… Thank you. Now for your feature presentation.

Scene 1: Live from the Capital

Romaine: (Filmed before a live audience) Greetings from the Capital! Hello! Hello! I‟m Romaine Flickersmith, (Flashing a big smile) and we are now

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NOTES The Hunger Games is undoubtedly one of the most popular book and film franchises in the history of the entertainment business; which, of course, makes it the perfect vehicle to satirize. The Munchies Games is a dead-on spoof of the enormously popular futuristic adventure series and is perfect for two high-energy, comedic performers. This short play may be performed by either a male or female; two males; two females; or a male and female and may be entered in Humorous Interpretation, Duo Interpretation or Duet Acting. This script allows for incredibly creative blocking, sound effects, and overall, high energy. Like those with „the munchies,‟ this tour-de-force, laugh-out-loud comedy will leave your audience wanting more!

Characters: Narrator Romaine Flickersmith Crowd Voice President Pompous Rain Dogniss Everclear Prinflower Everclear Miss Evry Random Guy Wheeta Smellafeeta Cinnamon Roll Trainer Rue Seri

Narrator: Please, silence your cell phones now. If you become thirsty or hungry during this performance, please visit concessions. And if your child becomes restless, please remove him or her from the theater… Thank you. Now for your feature presentation.

Scene 1: Live from the Capital

Romaine: (Filmed before a live audience) Greetings from the Capital! Hello! Hello! I‟m Romaine Flickersmith, (Flashing a big smile) and we are now

broadcasting live in Technicolor. Today is April 20th, that‟s right, 4-20. And I know you all know what that means! It‟s time for the 35th Annual “The Munchies Games!” Does anyone “have the munchies?” I know you do. So let me here you scream it! Crowd: (Loud) I‟ve got the munchies!Romaine: I can‟t hear you!Crowd: (Louder) I‟ve got the munchies, but I don‟t know why!Romaine: No, really, I can‟t hear you. It‟s probably all the Marilyn Manson music. Plus, I‟ve got this prompter in my ear. But moving on! I am Romaine Flickersmith, (Flashing a giant smile) your Master of Ceremonies and commentator. Let me introduce the man that started it all, Mr. Dystopian himself, President Pompous Rain! Rain: Thank you, Romaine. Romaine: President Rain, remind our audience why we have “The Munchies Games.”Rain: Well, Romaine, from the Treaty of Versace and Aeropostle, to atone forthe districts uprising against the Capital, each district shall offer up one maleand one female to be tributes to fight to the death in a televised public arena battle for our entertainment. Only one can come out alive! The victims, I meantributes, shall be selected by a very advanced, high-tech system we call “drawing names” out of a hat. We call this spectacular event “The Munchies Games,” because we couldn‟t think of anything else. Besides, “The Hunger Games” was already copyrighted.Romaine: Cool. Now let‟s cut to the reaping in Area 12 happening now. But first a word from our sponsors.

Scene 2: Area 12

Dogniss: Prin? Where are you, little duck? We have to get ready for thereaping, little sister. Prinflower: Dogniss, I‟m scared!Dogniss: Look, your name is not in the hat that many times…You won‟t get picked. Evry: (Entering the Stage) Greetings Area 12! I‟m Miss Evry. Let me be thefirst to welcome you to our annual “The Munchies Games” reaping. And always remember: May the odds be NEVER in your favor. Now, let‟s get

started. Let‟s select our female tribute from Area 12, using our high-tech method of selecting a name from a hat! Technology always fascinates me. (Selecting from hat) Doodle, doot, doot, doot, doodle, doodely, dee! (Selecting a name) Ahh, here! The female tribute from Area 12 is….Prinflower Everclear! Random Guy: Yes! Wahoo! Not Me! Crush it! Dogniss: No! Not my little sister, Prin! (Sacrificing herself) I volunteer! Ivolunteer as a tribute! I volunteer! I‟ll do it!Evry: Well, well, well. It looks like we have a volunteer! How original. What‟s your name, little dog-faced girl?Dogniss: Dogniss Everclear. Evry: (Amused) Okay. How fitting. And you volunteered to save your sister‟s life. That‟s so adorable. (Pause) Now, for the boys! (Drawing a name from the hat) Doodley, dee, da-du, doodle, doot. Ah! Wheeta Smellafeeta! (Perplexed)Seriously, how do you people in Area 12 come up with these names? Dogniss Everclear and Wheeta Smellafeeta, you have exactly 14-and-half-minutes to say your goodbyes to your loved ones, and then board the train to head to the Capital. You must be so excited. (Looking at watch) You now only have 14 minutes.

Scene 3: On a Train to the Capital

(Singing to the tune of “Patty Cake” or something similar)Dogniss and Wheeta: Dogniss and Wheeta on a train, Nothing will ever be the same. Dogniss: Primrose is safe now, but I‟m with him!Wheeta: Why‟d they pick me? I wish they picked Jim. Dogniss: (Both stop singing) We‟re here.Wheeta: That was fast. Dogniss: Your mom‟s fast.Wheeta: That stings.

Scene 4: A Staging Room in the Capital

Cinnamon: Hello, everybody, and welcome to the Capital! I‟m Cinnamon Roll, the fashion designer and your public-image consultant! They call me Cinnamon Roll, because I‟m sweet and sticky! (Laughs) And I have this

horrible fat roll around my mid-section that I just can‟t get rid of! My job is to make you look fabulous, while you are killing each other. My motto is “If you‟re going to die, do it in hella-style”! (To Dogniss and Wheeta) I can see that you two are from Area 12. Well, we, meaning just me, have just been pounding at this for hours, you know, just really giving it the business; and Ithink we have got just the plan to get you two to become audience favorites—despite your starving looks. We, meaning me, believe that the absolute best way to get the public to root for you is to make you two look like star-crossed lovers! Dogniss and Wheeta: Gross! Cinnamon: Just go with it! So, in the opening ceremonies, I want to put you both in a chariot. Isn‟t that fabulous?Dogniss: That‟s not so bad.Cinnamon: Then, you will…get ready for this…hold hands!Dogniss: Well, that‟s still not too bad.Cinnamon: Then, we‟ll set you on fire!Dogniss: Wait! What? (They are now both set on fire)Dogniss and Wheeta: Ahhhhh! Dogniss: This is more fire than Gale‟s Mix-Tape!

Scene 5: A Training Gym in the Capital

Romaine: (Flashing another huge smile) I‟m Romaine Flickersmith. What an opening ceremony last night! The most notable moment was when the tributes from Area 12 lit up like human torches. I hear they only suffered minimal burns. But now, let‟s go live to the tributes physical training sessions. Let‟s hope it‟s as fascinating as catching fire!Trainer: Welcome to the gym for your first training! We don‟t want anyone to go into the arena completely unprepared. (Holding up a knife) Now, look at this! It is a knife! You are going to use this to cut things and stab things. Ouch! That hurts like my ex-wife, Monica! And cut things! (Calling off) Hey, you in the gardening section! Put that down! Put it down! Down! Anyway, back to the knife. Wheeta: Dogniss, I don‟t think we are ready for this! And some of my skin is peeling off from these burns. I‟m itchy.Dogniss: Well, there is only one thing to do.

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horrible fat roll around my mid-section that I just can‟t get rid of! My job is to make you look fabulous, while you are killing each other. My motto is “If you‟re going to die, do it in hella-style”! (To Dogniss and Wheeta) I can see that you two are from Area 12. Well, we, meaning just me, have just been pounding at this for hours, you know, just really giving it the business; and Ithink we have got just the plan to get you two to become audience favorites—despite your starving looks. We, meaning me, believe that the absolute best way to get the public to root for you is to make you two look like star-crossed lovers! Dogniss and Wheeta: Gross! Cinnamon: Just go with it! So, in the opening ceremonies, I want to put you both in a chariot. Isn‟t that fabulous?Dogniss: That‟s not so bad.Cinnamon: Then, you will…get ready for this…hold hands!Dogniss: Well, that‟s still not too bad.Cinnamon: Then, we‟ll set you on fire!Dogniss: Wait! What? (They are now both set on fire)Dogniss and Wheeta: Ahhhhh! Dogniss: This is more fire than Gale‟s Mix-Tape!

Scene 5: A Training Gym in the Capital

Romaine: (Flashing another huge smile) I‟m Romaine Flickersmith. What an opening ceremony last night! The most notable moment was when the tributes from Area 12 lit up like human torches. I hear they only suffered minimal burns. But now, let‟s go live to the tributes physical training sessions. Let‟s hope it‟s as fascinating as catching fire!Trainer: Welcome to the gym for your first training! We don‟t want anyone to go into the arena completely unprepared. (Holding up a knife) Now, look at this! It is a knife! You are going to use this to cut things and stab things. Ouch! That hurts like my ex-wife, Monica! And cut things! (Calling off) Hey, you in the gardening section! Put that down! Put it down! Down! Anyway, back to the knife. Wheeta: Dogniss, I don‟t think we are ready for this! And some of my skin is peeling off from these burns. I‟m itchy.Dogniss: Well, there is only one thing to do.

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Wheeta: What? All: The Ultra Super-Mega 80‟s Training Montage!!! (Training Montage begins) Trainer: (After the Montage) I think you are ready to enter the arena. May the force be with you!

Scene 6: The Arena

Romaine: (Flashing another huge smile) I‟m Romaine Flickersmith. The tributes are just seconds away from entering the arena. This is the moment, folks. So, go grab your munchies! I recommend Cheesy Puffs, maybe Ding-Dongs, or possibly some beef jerky! Anyway, the tributes are about to enter the arena. The arena is twelve acres of simulated forests and deadly terrain. Only the water and the corpses of fallen teens are real. So, sit back and enjoy! Counting down, starting now… 5…4…3…2…1-and-a-half…1-and-3-quarters…1. Dogniss: Wheeta! Wheeta, run this way! Wheeta! Wheeta Smellafeeta! Where are you? You‟re just going to run off like that? Forizzles?! Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Is that you, Wheeta? Rue: Rue. Rue. Rue. Dogniss: What? Who are you? Rue: Rue. Rue. Dogniss: Hey, little guy. Rue: Hsssssss. Hsssssss. Rue! Rue! Dogniss: Are you okay? Rue: Rue! Rue! Rue! Rue! Dogniss: Is “Rue” all you can say? Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Is that your name? Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Seriously? Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Well, all right, little guy, come with me. We need to get some weapons. Hopefully you can help. Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Got it.

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Wheeta: What? All: The Ultra Super-Mega 80‟s Training Montage!!! (Training Montage begins) Trainer: (After the Montage) I think you are ready to enter the arena. May the force be with you!

Scene 6: The Arena

Romaine: (Flashing another huge smile) I‟m Romaine Flickersmith. The tributes are just seconds away from entering the arena. This is the moment, folks. So, go grab your munchies! I recommend Cheesy Puffs, maybe Ding-Dongs, or possibly some beef jerky! Anyway, the tributes are about to enter the arena. The arena is twelve acres of simulated forests and deadly terrain. Only the water and the corpses of fallen teens are real. So, sit back and enjoy! Counting down, starting now… 5…4…3…2…1-and-a-half…1-and-3-quarters…1. Dogniss: Wheeta! Wheeta, run this way! Wheeta! Wheeta Smellafeeta! Where are you? You‟re just going to run off like that? Forizzles?! Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Is that you, Wheeta? Rue: Rue. Rue. Rue. Dogniss: What? Who are you? Rue: Rue. Rue. Dogniss: Hey, little guy. Rue: Hsssssss. Hsssssss. Rue! Rue! Dogniss: Are you okay? Rue: Rue! Rue! Rue! Rue! Dogniss: Is “Rue” all you can say? Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Is that your name? Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Seriously? Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Well, all right, little guy, come with me. We need to get some weapons. Hopefully you can help. Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Got it.

Rue: Rue. Dogniss: Thanks. I said I‟ve got it. Rue: Rue. Rue. Dogniss: I said I‟ve got it! Now, let‟s get some weapons! Rue: Rue. Dogniss: (Irritated) I got it! You‟re “Rue”! Now, let‟s get some weapons! Are “Rue” happy with that? (Angrily) Huh? Huh? Are you? Ok, let‟s go! Look. I‟m sorry. I just get a little upset sometimes. I didn‟t have the best childhood. See, my mother was really depressed, and well, my dad…Rue? Where did you go? Aw, man, I‟ll never get to do my dramatic interpretation.

Scene 7: Deep in the Forest of the Arena

Romaine: (Smiling) I‟m Romaine Flickersmith, and it looks like Butter-Face, I mean, Dog-Face—I mean Dogniss, has partnered up with Rue, the male tribute from Area 11. Well, it could be the female tribute. I honestly can‟t tell. What are they doing? Wait. Are they falling into the trap set by the other tributes? Idiots. Dogniss: Rue, do you see that over there? Those kids have weapons and cakes for days. Rue: Rue? Dogniss: I know. We have to get those weapons and cakes! Rue: Rue? Dogniss: Ok… Rue, go get it. Rue: Rue? Dogniss: Well, I‟m the main character, and I can‟t die. So, you have to go. Don‟t worry! It‟s not like they have deadly mines planted in the ground or anything. Rue: Rue. (Rue runs to get the weapons and cakes, and then a mine explodes) Rue! Dogniss: No! No! (To Others) You other teen tributes are going to pay for this! (Shoots tons of arrows and kills every other tribute) Rue, I don‟t think you are going to make it. It‟s pretty obvious you‟re going to die. I mean, I read a book or saw a movie about something very similar to this, and you die a horrible, painful, demoralizing, unnecessary death. Can you just say it for me one more time? Rue: R…Ru…Run! Run far from this! It‟s too late for me, for I am passing

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into that divine place where my spirit in all its divinity shall reside among the stars—and Kevin Bacon. Maybe our souls shall pass each other in another life, and I will be able to share my intellect with your feeble mind. I will tip-toe through the tulips. And hopefully tons of ethereal flowers are going to fall upon me like a beautiful rain of majestic beauty, but I don‟t think that‟s going to happen. So, until then…Rue. (Dies)Dogniss: Uh, okay.

Scene 8: Deeper in the Forest of the Arena

Romaine: (Smiling) I‟m Romaine Flickersmith. There are only two tributes alive. Besides Rue, all the others died from a mildly disturbing, yet not toographic arrow rampage by Crazy Ms. McRuff-Ruff, I mean Dog-Face, I mean Dogniss…ruff-ruff! The ever increasing audience favorite, Dogniss, is frantically searching for Wheeta, but where could he be hiding? Not like Iknow or anything. (Snickers) So, who is going to win this battle? Could it be Dogniss? Could it be Wheeta? Could it be He-Man? He-Man‟s not here, but he can do anything—so it‟s always possible! Let‟s Watch!Dogniss: I must find Wheeta. Where is Wheeta? Wheeta Smellafeeta! Oh,wait. (Pulls out a smart phone) Seri. Seri, give me directions to Wheeta. Seri: Yeah, let me play that new Clay Aiken album, Boo. Dogniss: (Confused) No, Seri give me directions to Wheeta. Seri: Oh, Baby-Boo, that Aiken album is so good! Well, you is probably gonna be needing to be taking a left over near the completely real and totally not computer-generated pine tree. Then, you gonna be heading over there to that trail. Then, BOOM, baby, you be there! Dogniss: Thank you, Seri! You work so much better on an Orange product. Seri: Yeah, Boo-Boo. Dogniss: (Sees Wheeta hiding) Wheeta? Is…is that you? Wheeta: (Sarcastically) No… It‟s He-Man… Yes, it‟s me! There are only two people left in this game. He-Man isn‟t here, although his solid, rock-hard muscles do inspire me!Dogniss: How did you know everyone else was dead? Wheeta: (Ignoring her question) Dogniss, I‟m just so happy to see you. (Aftera long, uncomfortable and awkward hug) I thought you were dead, or worse, landed a spot on a poorly written ABC sitcom starring a starving actor. Dogniss: (In shock) We‟re the only two left.

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Wheeta: And only ONE person can survive? Dogniss: I know….. Wheeta: Dogniss, what are we going to do? We could refuse to kill each other and revolt against “The Munchies Games” and their disgusting form of entertainment, or we can unite and make a stand against this senseless violence. We can make a difference! Dogniss: (Violently stabs Wheeta multiple times) I‟m coming home, Prim! I‟m coming home. Romaine: (Flashing one final huge smile) I‟m Romaine Flickersmith, and there you have it, folks. This year‟s winner of the “The Munchies Games” is Ms. McRuff-Ruff, Dogniss Everclear! Yippee-dippy-doo-dip-deedly-doo-BAM! Until next year, using Miss Evry‟s words, “May the odds be NEVER in you favor”!

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NOTES Love never has been, nor will ever be, synonymous with perfection; so how isone expected to endure a long-term relationship? In her contemporary, free-verse narrative poem, Bridget Grace Sheaff introduces us to a woman, who, like many single women today, faces too many decisions when it comes to navigating a new relationship. This narrative poem should be performed by a female and be entered in Poetry Interpretation; however, a performer may choose to perform this as a monologue and enter it in Dramatic Interpretation. If this poem were a film, it would be a bittersweet, romantic comedy. While the overall theme of the poem is “the birth and death of a relationship,” there are several lines filled with subtle humor. Don’t be afraid to use a bit of sweetly sarcastic humor, when appropriate. The drama mask icons are simply suggestions for when to turn the pages in the manuscript.

I hate going to weddings. I hate bridesmaids and flowers and toasts. Oh, dear me, how I hate toasts. I hate when the bride or groom gets teary-eyed and they say, “I am so happy for every bad decision I made, because it led me to you.”Vomit. Please, never say that again. So, I don’t hate weddings. I am just tired of hearing the story of how you met,And how, if you had made a different choice of toothpaste that morning,Or if you had not looked both ways before crossing the street, You never would have met her, And your life would have been worse off for it, And so you are “happy for every bad decision you ever made.” Blah, blah, blah…Do our triumphs automatically trump our regrets? No. That’s not how life works.We can still make bad choices, and we can still regret them. And I don’t want to meet someone who is a result of my bad decisions, Or who is a happenstance of my chance choices. I want to meet the person that is right for me. And I decided that—after a series of decisions, of course—Decisions—that mostly had to do with You.

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I saw You at a party in a sweatshirt and jeans, As if dressing casually is something You do without thinking— Which,it probably is, or rather, was.I decided to walk over and talk to You, Because You looked Well, radiant is the first word that comes to mind,And it’s probably the most accurate.You looked radiant.And it’s not like I believe in love at first sight or anything,And I don’t think attraction is based solely on the physical,But there was something intangible—Inexplicable about the whole experience, And I felt it was the right thing to do next—that is talk to you. It was the only piece of the puzzle that made sense.So I walked over and introduced myself. I decided that I thought You were funny—Okay, more than funny. You were clever.I decided that pretty quickly.You cracked some terrible pun—The kind of pun that makes everyone groan, but secretly loves.I knew then, as I know now, regardless of how the rest of the story goes, That I found You funny. I decided to ask for Your number.A bold move, I know. But I decided I wasn’t done with this conversation—With this spark—with the possibility of what this could be.So I handed You my phone and told You to enter Your number.You did, along with Your name(And a custom ringtone that I wouldn’t discover for a few weeks).When You handed it back to me,I made a secret pledge never to use emoji’s when texting You,So as to not embarrass myself. (But then You used one first, so I guess it ended up being okay).

I sent You a text with my number—Sort of a cell-phone-etiquette quid pro quo, And even though I was standing right there, You responded with a smirk on Your face and a glint in Your eye, “Who is this?”

***

I decided to let You text me first. I didn’t want to seem too eager, And (according to the way I was keeping score) I had made all the moves so far. So the ball was in Your court, as far as I was concerned, And I was concerned. I was concerned that it would take You days, weeks—Possibly months to text me. But it only took a matter of about 13 hours (not that I was counting). And so, I decided, this had a chance. I decided to call You after a few days of texting Flirtatiously. I held my breath and pressed call. I decided to hang up halfway through the second ring. I only decided to answer when You called me back almost immediately. And I decided to be honest about what had just happened, Because I decided that there was no point in lying about it, really. We talked and laughed and agreed to a date of sorts. A meeting, I suppose;Because I couldn’t decide if I could classify this as a date…

***

I decided it was a dateWhen You arrived Clean-shaven, flowers in hand, As cute as cute could be, And You paid for my coffee.

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So, You helped me make that decision.

I decided to let myself be Okay. I decided to let myself admit that I was falling for You—Hard, Fast,And without control or a safety net—Partly because I could tell You were also falling Hard, Fast,And without control. So I decided it might be Okay. I decided it WAS Okay. But I decided I wasn’t ready for it to be more than“Okay.”It was just Okay for now.And that was Okay.

I decided to lean over and kiss You while we were looking out into the park,Watching people mill and live.I became overwhelmed, and I decided now was the time. That doesn’t mean I did lean over and kiss You. I decided that I was going to, But, luckily, You beat me to it.

***

I decided to cook you dinner: A big elaborate dinner With candles and cloth napkins And five courses, at least. I went on all the websites. I downloaded all the recipes. I made a grocery list.

So, You helped me make that decision.

I decided to let myself be Okay. I decided to let myself admit that I was falling for You—Hard, Fast,And without control or a safety net—Partly because I could tell You were also falling Hard, Fast,And without control. So I decided it might be Okay. I decided it WAS Okay. But I decided I wasn’t ready for it to be more than“Okay.”It was just Okay for now.And that was Okay.

I decided to lean over and kiss You while we were looking out into the park,Watching people mill and live.I became overwhelmed, and I decided now was the time. That doesn’t mean I did lean over and kiss You. I decided that I was going to, But, luckily, You beat me to it.

***

I decided to cook you dinner: A big elaborate dinner With candles and cloth napkins And five courses, at least. I went on all the websites. I downloaded all the recipes. I made a grocery list.

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I had a plan. Then I decided I didn’t know how to cook. So, I decided to order Chinese instead. You laughed at my explanation,And You said You loved it.And You said You loved me. And my heart decided to stop beating, And my brain decided to stop working, And my eyes decided to well up, And my mouth decided to say it back, And my heart made no decision. Because it already had—a while ago—without warning or pretense. “I love You.”

***

I decided it was time for You to meet my parents. You decided that it probably wasn’t.We decided to go anyway. And you decided to bring a host gift: Dessert—homemade brownies that took You hours to bake. And when we rang the doorbell And my parents walked over, I introduced You, And they embraced You, metaphorically. It was then that I knew I had made a good decision in You.And we all decided Your brownies were a hit.

***

On the way home that night, Someone decided to start arguing about—nothing, actually. I decided not to push the argument any further, Although I knew I was right And that you were being unreasonable.I decided to sit silently in the passenger seat,While You fumed a little.

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I decided to apologize, even though I wasn’t in the wrong.You exhaled and apologized, too. It was a big fight. Not our first and not our biggest, But it was significant enough for me to decide I didn’t want to fight anymore.

Then I decided I couldn’t just let it go.It wasn’t fair.You needed to hear how I felt. I was trying to explain, and You kept interrupting me.You weren’t listening.You did that often—Assumed You were right, presumed to know everything. I just wanted You to hear me, and without thinking I yelled, “No! Shut up! Stop interrupting!I hate You!”And as soon as I said it, we both stopped. And I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t,But I decided not to take it back.

***

We decided to try having a long distance relationship. We knew the risks. You and I had talked about how hard it was going to be, But we decided to just try it and see what happened. You left, I stayed, and “we” went nowhere;Which, in hindsight, I have decided might have been the problem. We had decided to call every day. I tried, at first, to call You every day, But Your schedule was busier than mine. So, eventually I just decided To wait for You to decide I was worth the time and effort it would take to just pick up the freaking phone.

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I secretly decided it wasn’t working. Then I decided I didn’t care if it wasn’t working: I needed You. I had decided that a long time ago. So I decided to pretend everything was fine— That I didn’t notice we had nothing to talk about, And that I didn’t care that we spoke less and less.

*** I decided to be excited when You said You were back in town for a couple days. We decided to meet for coffee. I walked into the coffee shop, And I tried to look excited or thrilled—anything but anxious or defeated. I saw you across the room, and I tried to make my eyes light up. But I saw the tears in Your eyes, as You saw me, And I knew there were no more decisions to be made. We mutually decided it was over. We mutually decided to remain friends. Then I decided that was ridiculous.

*** For some reason, years later, You decided to invite me to Your wedding— Your wedding to some reasonably pretty girl Who sent out custom made stationary with calligraphy on the envelopes. I decided not to burn the invitation on first sight Or to call You and ask what kind of sick joke this was. I just decided to throw it away. I hate weddings. But mostly— I hate That I was the bad decision this time.

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NOTES THIS SELECTION CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER. How far would you go to protect the one you love? This is the rhetorical question Robert Hodgson Van Wagoner poses in his extraordinary short story about a man who suddenly finds himself torn between simply protecting his wife and becoming a hometown vigilante. This haunting selection should be performed by a mature male and may be entered in either Prose Interpretation or Dramatic Interpretation. If used in Prose Interpretation, the drama mask icons are simply suggestions for where to turn the pages in the manuscript. Three days ago my wife was raped. She’s in the bedroom right now, lying there like a mannequin, waiting for the light to turn green, or for something that has nothing to do with anything about three days ago. I suppose, in a way, she’s waiting for me, too. She doesn’t know what she wants of me; but she waits like she might wait for the shriek and bump in a B-grade horror flick. That’s one of the reasons she’s in on the bed, and I’m out here in this chair looking at the bloody carpet. It was worse two days ago. The police—they won’t leave me alone. Not three days ago, not two days ago, not yesterday. They ignore my wife. Until today, she was at the hospital screaming my name at the nurses. I was here at home whispering her name to the police. The nurses and the police should talk to each other.

*** Six years ago, my wife and I were driving away to our honeymoon—she touches me and asks what frightens me. We were romantic, then, but still not a unit. “Losing you,” I say. She smiles and voicelessly lips my answer over and over again like a little child. But driving to our honeymoon, I don’t know what in the world is frightening. I don’t realize that love is frightening, that loving her is what in the world to be frightened of. I find it quite strange that she is in our bedroom loving me and I am out here loving her, and we are mostly satisfied being frightened of each other…and being happy with the distance. Perhaps even this will change when the carpet cleaners suck away the stain—

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or when the carpet is finally ripped apart and replaced all together, because the stain is too deep and too set.

*** A unit. A unit is what my wife and I are most of the time. A unit is purchasing tampons for her because you know she’s forgotten she’s out, and you remember she’s going to start tomorrow. Or sometimes it’s her forgetting your birthday, and you not saying anything. Instead, you act overly kind, indulgent even, so when she does remember, she feels extra bad. And then you feel bad, because you made her feel bad, just because you felt bad. Later you argue about it, so you can have extra-good make-up sex after you are both through laughing at the stupidity of it all. That’s being a unit. But being a unit is no good when your wife gets raped. I suppose when your wife gets raped, you get raped too.

*** The police just keep looking at me, asking me why I did what I did—why I didn’t stop when I should have. I tell them the truth. I say, “Because, we’re a unit.” They don’t get it, so they ask me if there is anything funny about our marriage lately. “Has she been seeing anyone?” they ask. I tell them, “You’re all crazy.” And in my brain I see my wife all wounded, sprawled out on the floor, wondering what the hell to do next. “Get the hell out of my house,” I scream. But, of course, they don’t. They tell me they’re not going to take me in. “Come down to the station sometime tomorrow,” they say. “And stay away from the newspaper.”

*** My wife likes roses and old Barry Manilow albums. I buy her both, though I don’t really like either. She buys me cheap cherry chocolates and rubs my feet. As far as I can tell, she likes doing those things. We talk about children and practice making them. She wants a boy first; I want a girl. It makes for good conversation, though neither of us really cares what we get first.

***

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or when the carpet is finally ripped apart and replaced all together, because the stain is too deep and too set.

*** A unit. A unit is what my wife and I are most of the time. A unit is purchasing tampons for her because you know she’s forgotten she’s out, and you remember she’s going to start tomorrow. Or sometimes it’s her forgetting your birthday, and you not saying anything. Instead, you act overly kind, indulgent even, so when she does remember, she feels extra bad. And then you feel bad, because you made her feel bad, just because you felt bad. Later you argue about it, so you can have extra-good make-up sex after you are both through laughing at the stupidity of it all. That’s being a unit. But being a unit is no good when your wife gets raped. I suppose when your wife gets raped, you get raped too.

*** The police just keep looking at me, asking me why I did what I did—why I didn’t stop when I should have. I tell them the truth. I say, “Because, we’re a unit.” They don’t get it, so they ask me if there is anything funny about our marriage lately. “Has she been seeing anyone?” they ask. I tell them, “You’re all crazy.” And in my brain I see my wife all wounded, sprawled out on the floor, wondering what the hell to do next. “Get the hell out of my house,” I scream. But, of course, they don’t. They tell me they’re not going to take me in. “Come down to the station sometime tomorrow,” they say. “And stay away from the newspaper.”

*** My wife likes roses and old Barry Manilow albums. I buy her both, though I don’t really like either. She buys me cheap cherry chocolates and rubs my feet. As far as I can tell, she likes doing those things. We talk about children and practice making them. She wants a boy first; I want a girl. It makes for good conversation, though neither of us really cares what we get first.

***

I ride in the ambulance with my wife. At the hospital the doctors tell me about stuff. A nurse takes me to a private waiting room and sends up a social worker. My wife’s social worker, she says; she wants to ask me some questions. “How long have you and your wife been married?” “Six years.” “Has anything like this ever happened to your wife before?” “I doubt it.” Then I say, “No! Are you crazy?” “Has your wife ever been treated for any kind of abnormal behavior?” “What’s abnormal? She had her appendix out once; it stopped her moaning. Her moaning seemed abnormal. It might have just been me, though.” “Are you purposely taunting me? Because if you are, I’ll ask your wife these questions instead.” “Don’t you go anywhere near my wife.” “Have the police advised you to get a lawyer? I believe you should get a lawyer. You might need a lawyer.” “Get out!” A policeman pops his head into the room, and the lady scurries off.

*** My wife and I were sexual Victorians before we married—though we thought liberal thoughts. We were both virgins. I suppose that’s part of the reason we married each other. It was an appropriate ending, all in all—or beginning, depending on how you look at it. We were a novelty; our friends thought we were cute. We complained about the jokes, but really, we liked the attention. We weren’t prudes—we simply reached that age where if you haven’t had it yet, not getting it becomes a matter of principle. Looking back, I think we could have married other people who weren’t virgins. But to marry each other we both had to be virgins. It was part of our private bonding, if you know what I mean.

*** The doctors say my wife is mostly just bruised. She might need some stitches on her face and a few down below where he cut her. They want to keep her for a few days—let her see a shrink, monitor her emotional state. I tell them I’ll

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sue if they let that stupid social worker anywhere near her. They stretch their necks and scratch their chins and say, “Of course. Anything you say.” I sign some papers with my left hand, because I can’t move my right hand. Then they send me to X-Ray.

*** My wife is afraid of hospitals. Inaccurate; my wife is afraid of pain. She has an amazingly low threshold. When she had her appendix out, she was so distraught I stayed with her all night. I held her hand and read her articles from REDBOOK when she was awake. So funny—TV husbands are compassionate to their raped wives. They make promises and reassure wholesomeness. Sometimes they cry manifested love-tears. I go to see my wife and I’m so sad and so sorry I can’t feel a thing. I can’t smile, and I can’t frown. My eyebrows raise slightly and the pupils in my eye-balls dilate some. It’s all there again, right there, and I can see Mr. Compassion standing off to one side kicking me and demanding that I hold my wife. But I just stand and stare and make small talk for a while. My wife is compassionate instead, acts like she understands, and it helps me, but I don’t think it helps her any.

*** I came home from work early three days ago to celebrate my wife’s birthday. She knew I’d be home early, though we hadn’t discussed it. Tradition; everyone has one like ours. In my wife’s birthday tradition, I park the car outside the garage and sneak in the back door, so she supposedly won’t hear me. She finds me in the Lazy-Boy looking seductive. We have a giant party and go out to dinner. Always the same tradition and we love it. It’s as much a part of being a unit as her forgetting my birthday. We’ve always had a rather lovely unit, really.

*** So three days ago, I sneak in the back door. Tradition says she stays out of the living room, so I can get to my Lazy-Boy undiscovered. Every now and then she’s allowed to look in to see if I’ve arrived yet. Three days ago, when I tip-

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sue if they let that stupid social worker anywhere near her. They stretch their necks and scratch their chins and say, “Of course. Anything you say.” I sign some papers with my left hand, because I can’t move my right hand. Then they send me to X-Ray.

*** My wife is afraid of hospitals. Inaccurate; my wife is afraid of pain. She has an amazingly low threshold. When she had her appendix out, she was so distraught I stayed with her all night. I held her hand and read her articles from REDBOOK when she was awake. So funny—TV husbands are compassionate to their raped wives. They make promises and reassure wholesomeness. Sometimes they cry manifested love-tears. I go to see my wife and I’m so sad and so sorry I can’t feel a thing. I can’t smile, and I can’t frown. My eyebrows raise slightly and the pupils in my eye-balls dilate some. It’s all there again, right there, and I can see Mr. Compassion standing off to one side kicking me and demanding that I hold my wife. But I just stand and stare and make small talk for a while. My wife is compassionate instead, acts like she understands, and it helps me, but I don’t think it helps her any.

*** I came home from work early three days ago to celebrate my wife’s birthday. She knew I’d be home early, though we hadn’t discussed it. Tradition; everyone has one like ours. In my wife’s birthday tradition, I park the car outside the garage and sneak in the back door, so she supposedly won’t hear me. She finds me in the Lazy-Boy looking seductive. We have a giant party and go out to dinner. Always the same tradition and we love it. It’s as much a part of being a unit as her forgetting my birthday. We’ve always had a rather lovely unit, really.

*** So three days ago, I sneak in the back door. Tradition says she stays out of the living room, so I can get to my Lazy-Boy undiscovered. Every now and then she’s allowed to look in to see if I’ve arrived yet. Three days ago, when I tip-

toe into the back hallway, I hear a noise that sounds like someone’s drowning in the living room. Crazy-like, I put my feet here and there on the carpet until I’m standing, panting, in the doorway to the front room. And there she is, drowning—my wife’s drowning in the front room under a man much larger than I. Under his heavy hand she squeaks and moans and thrashes only a little because she hurts, or because he’s holding a knife, I don’t know. And I remember honeymoon drives and holding her hand in the hospital. His big, ugly back is pointing at me. I reach for my wife’s Praying Hands, the large crystal statue she bought from Oral Roberts, though she doesn’t like Oral Roberts, just the statue. I don’t think about what I’m doing really, because I’m too involved in my wife’s moaning and sounding like she needs to go to the hospital. So I grab the statue by the fingers, and I bludgeon that big bastard in the back of the head. At this point he rolls off of my wife and onto his back on the carpet. I think he’s smiling, so I club him again, this time on the forehead. His head takes a funny shape and his eyelids flutter, which disgusts me, so I hold the statue in my left hand and hit him three times in the face with my right hand to make him stop fluttering. I pick up the statue and pound him again. Then I stand up and kick him in the groin—with my wing-tipped, Nunn Bush shoes. Twice.

*** He’s dead, so I flop down on the ground next to my wife, who, in retrospect, I believe was more coherent than I. And though I can’t figure why in the hell I do it, I wish her “Happy Birthday.” She lays there on the carpet looking up at me with crazy gratefulness. Then she faints, so I call the ambulance. The police and some firemen come, too. And those are most of the reasons why my wife’s in our bedroom lying on our bed, and I’m sitting in this chair out here in the living room…looking at the bloody carpet. *** The original version of this story first appeared in Carolina Quarterly, Fall 1989.

toe into the back hallway, I hear a noise that sounds like someone’s drowning in the living room. Crazy-like, I put my feet here and there on the carpet until I’m standing, panting, in the doorway to the front room. And there she is, drowning—my wife’s drowning in the front room under a man much larger than I. Under his heavy hand she squeaks and moans and thrashes only a little because she hurts, or because he’s holding a knife, I don’t know. And I remember honeymoon drives and holding her hand in the hospital. His big, ugly back is pointing at me. I reach for my wife’s Praying Hands, the large crystal statue she bought from Oral Roberts, though she doesn’t like Oral Roberts, just the statue. I don’t think about what I’m doing really, because I’m too involved in my wife’s moaning and sounding like she needs to go to the hospital. So I grab the statue by the fingers, and I bludgeon that big bastard in the back of the head. At this point he rolls off of my wife and onto his back on the carpet. I think he’s smiling, so I club him again, this time on the forehead. His head takes a funny shape and his eyelids flutter, which disgusts me, so I hold the statue in my left hand and hit him three times in the face with my right hand to make him stop fluttering. I pick up the statue and pound him again. Then I stand up and kick him in the groin—with my wing-tipped, Nunn Bush shoes. Twice.

*** He’s dead, so I flop down on the ground next to my wife, who, in retrospect, I believe was more coherent than I. And though I can’t figure why in the hell I do it, I wish her “Happy Birthday.” She lays there on the carpet looking up at me with crazy gratefulness. Then she faints, so I call the ambulance. The police and some firemen come, too. And those are most of the reasons why my wife’s in our bedroom lying on our bed, and I’m sitting in this chair out here in the living room…looking at the bloody carpet. *** The original version of this story first appeared in Carolina Quarterly, Fall 1989.

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NOTES On April 16, 2014, The Sewol, a ferry, carrying mostly high school students on a field trip to Jeju, an island off South Korea’s southern coast, sank, killing 304 people onboard. In her fictitious one-act play based on actual events, Sujin Jeong introduces us to Sora, a high school student, who, after losing her best friend, Minji, in The Sewol ferry disaster, experiences Post-Traumatic Syndrome, causing her to believe her best friend is still alive. This psychological drama should be performed by a female and be entered in Dramatic Interpretation; however, two females may choose to perform and enter this play in Duo Interpretation or Duet Acting. There are several key components to consider when performing this play: First, there are considerable physical and vocal dynamics involved. Next, during the actual sinking of the ferry, the actor(s) should create a true sense of urgency, as the boat is filling up with water.Finally, it is important that the performer(s) not play the tragic ending at the beginning. In other words, don’t give away the ending too soon. This is a powerful play that serves as a tribute to all of those young people who lost their lives that day. It also serves as a reminder of the pain and enduring loss felt by those who survived the disaster and by those who lost their loved ones.

Characters: Sora, a 17-year-old Korean girl Minji, a 17-year-old Korean girl Intercom, a voice-over announcementJanitor, a custodian at their school

Sora: (Picking up a crystal glass and filling it with water, she moves her finger around the rim of the glass to make that crystal ring sound) Youhear that? That’s the sound that only comes from real crystal glasses. My friend, Minji, always insists I use these when she comes over. (Grabbing a clean towel) So, just give me a moment to clean these off. (Finishes wiping the glasses) There. These glasses are my parents’, so I don’t use them very often. Just on Fridays. See, Fridays are the days set aside for just Minji and me. We meet up at my place and hang out for a little while.

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(Pause, concerned) I tried to call her earlier to see where she was. But, of course, she must’ve lost her phone—AGAIN. But it’s impossible for me stay mad at Minji.

*** Sora: Okay, I haven’t heard from Minji all day, so she’s either coming back from the gym, coaching at the pool, or she’s gone to one of her singing lessons. She wants to be a Korean pop star. I told her, “Minji, if you want to be a Korean pop star, then you’re going to really upset your fans by being late all the time.” Do you know what she said? I kid you not, the girl literally tells me that she’s not late. Everyone else is just early. (Laughs) But…that’s Minji for you. I actually think Minji was born knowing she was going to be famous—which is weird, because, when I first met her, she was not a people person at all. (Flashback) Sora: Hi! I’m Sora. Can we play together? Minji: (Playing with and singing to a doll) No. Sora: If we play together, then I’ll pledge loyalty to you for my entire life—and pay my highest respects every week. Plus, I’ll give you a chocolate bar. Minji: (She stops singing and hands Sora the doll) Okay. (End of flashback) Sora: And that’s how we became friends. (Pause) Can I tell you something? (Hesitant) I am deathly afraid of being disliked. I’m the type of person to cry for years over spilled milk, but Minji—Minji’s like this unbreakable force. She has this unbounding energy that just goes and goes without ever stopping. I’ll give you an example: We were about to leave for our class trip, right? (Begins setting the dinner table with place settings) And everyone’s already onboard. The ship is about to leave, and I’m freaking out; because, I can’t find Minji, who’s late, as always. And right before we’re about to set sail, Minji comes flopping down the dock. And she falls. But she’s got this energy—this pure energy. So she jumps up, poses, as if in front of a camera, and (Pretending to strut) STRUTS—like some supermodel onto the ship. (Pause) Man, I wish I could do that.

I’m kind of jealous of her. But I also feel lucky—just knowing that someone that fascinating and charismatic and fun loves me so much. (Another flashback. Sora turns around to open a cupboard. She says the following lines with her back to the audience.) Intercom: Attention all passengers. Please, remain calm, and refrain from moving up the ship. We will announce further instructions shortly. Thank you. (Sora turns around, gripping a bar, trying to walk, but she is having difficulty) Sora: Minji, what do you think is happening to the boat? Why are they telling us not to move? Minji: Sora, do you know what this means? Sora: No, what? Minji: If this ship sinks, we’re going to be famous! This is such a good tragic backstory for when we’re celebrities! Sora: Minji, if this is serious and we die, you’ll never become famous at all. Minji: Yeah, that’s true…Sora, I’m joking. (Realizing that Sora is really scared) Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Hey, we’re going to be okay. Okay? (End of flashback) Sora: I don’t know why they told us to stay down. Why did they tell us that? The water on the ship was so cold. It was coming into the galleys so fast, and I tried to scale these stairs—when I see… (Flashback) Sora: (Sputtering; gasping for air; clutching onto the stair’s railing and finally seeing Minji) MINJI? MINJI, GET OVER HERE! Minji: (Struggling to swim forward, because of the strong current) Sora! Sora: (Extending her arm) Minji, grab my hand! MINJI, GRAB ONTO MY HAND! (End of flashback) Sora: Maybe you heard about it on the news. “The Sewol Ferry Disaster,” they called it. Out of the almost 400 students onboard, only 75 high school students survived. In my class alone, only six survived—including Minji and me. When we came back to school, it was hell. When I saw Minji for the first time, she didn’t want to talk to me. I thought maybe she thought I didn’t try hard enough to save her on that ship, but she’s still my

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best friend. I wouldn’t do something like that. So, I decided I would confront her. (Getting things from her backpack, Sora stops, looks up, and thinks she sees Minji) Minji? (Zipping up her backpack and setting it down on the ground) Minji, wait up! (Begins to follow) Minji! Minji, where are you going? Class is going to start and— Minji, what do you need from your locker? (Sora catches up, grabs the person’s shoulder and turns the individual around) Janitor: I’m collecting the belongings of all of the deceased. We’re returning all personal items to the parents. Sora: I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong locker. This is my friend, Minji’s locker. I don’t think she’d like it, if she knew someone was going through her things. Janitor: (Pulling out clipboard) Hmmm. (Pointing at photo) This is her, right? Locker 230. Sora: (She pauses in putting Minji’s things away; confused and shocked, Sora grabs the clipboard) Yes, but I think there’s been some sort of mistake. Because she’s here today. She’s been in school ever since we came back, sir. She’s here! (Pointing behind the janitor) Look. She’s right there! Look at her. She’s right there! Janitor: (Looking over his shoulder; pauses; hesitantly) Miss, there’s no one there. Sora: Please. Please, I’m not crazy. The other day I opened my locker, and I found all of these letters saying: “Why did you survive? Out of the 300 plus students and teachers on that ship, how come you made it and not Minji?” I don’t know. Every single Friday, when I clean these glasses, set the table and wait for Minji to NOT walk through that door, I ask myself why? (Pauses, collecting herself) I read somewhere that after something traumatic happens, survivors tend to cope in different ways. The article said that some survivors start drinking or hurting themselves. But I don’t need to do that. (Sora now sees Minji and wipes away her tears, if any) I don’t need to feel guilty, as long as Minji is here. (Pulling out a chair for her, Sora gestures for Minji to take a seat) I don’t need to feel guilty, when I see her. (Pouring Minji a drink of water and clinking glasses with her) So, I will keep on seeing her. Until everything is better. Until everything is back to normal. Until everything is back…like it used to be…

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NOTES In the tradition of the science fiction classic, Planet of the Apes, along with anod to Jake Barton‟s poetry collection, The Dog Pound, playwrights Gregory T. Burns and Bryan Denbow take us to the future—where Earth is no longer run by humans. Instead, society is governed by Dogs and Cats, and humans have become more-or-less indentured pets. The Human(e) Society takes a poignant look at society as a whole, as we ponder the question: Hundreds ofyears from now, will societal problems be all that different from the problems we face today? This futuristic tragic-comedy should be performed by twomales and may be entered in either Duo Interpretation or Duet Acting. A single male, however, may choose to perform this as a multiple character Dramatic Interpretation. There is a lot of sci-fi fodder found within these scenes; however, it is important to play the two main characters, Joe and Mohammad, realistically. As performers begin the arduous task of creating characters, stay true to the breed: Boxers—honest, dependable, likeable, and masculine. They have a sense of humor and use it frequently. Also, be mature, and don‟t try toover-emphasize the use of the “B” word, which, of course, may be cut or edited at the performer‟s discretion. Just remember that the word merely refers to a female dog, and, in the context of this play, is simply spoken as everyday language used during conversation between two male canines. There is amultiple character public service announcement within this play. The commercial should be played for its drama, not comedy. The goal should be tomake the audience empathize with the plight of what will happen to those humans who are not adopted. This is a powerful play—enjoy!

Characters: Joe, a canine BoxerMohammad, a canine BoxerVoice-Over Luke, a humanMartha, a human toddlerDog 1, a dog who adopts a humanEdna, an elderly human

Scene One: Human Feeding Time

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NOTES In the tradition of the science fiction classic, Planet of the Apes, along with anod to Jake Barton‟s poetry collection, The Dog Pound, playwrights Gregory T. Burns and Bryan Denbow take us to the future—where Earth is no longer run by humans. Instead, society is governed by Dogs and Cats, and humans have become more-or-less indentured pets. The Human(e) Society takes a poignant look at society as a whole, as we ponder the question: Hundreds ofyears from now, will societal problems be all that different from the problems we face today? This futuristic tragic-comedy should be performed by twomales and may be entered in either Duo Interpretation or Duet Acting. A single male, however, may choose to perform this as a multiple character Dramatic Interpretation. There is a lot of sci-fi fodder found within these scenes; however, it is important to play the two main characters, Joe and Mohammad, realistically. As performers begin the arduous task of creating characters, stay true to the breed: Boxers—honest, dependable, likeable, and masculine. They have a sense of humor and use it frequently. Also, be mature, and don‟t try toover-emphasize the use of the “B” word, which, of course, may be cut or edited at the performer‟s discretion. Just remember that the word merely refers to a female dog, and, in the context of this play, is simply spoken as everyday language used during conversation between two male canines. There is amultiple character public service announcement within this play. The commercial should be played for its drama, not comedy. The goal should be tomake the audience empathize with the plight of what will happen to those humans who are not adopted. This is a powerful play—enjoy!

Characters: Joe, a canine BoxerMohammad, a canine BoxerVoice-Over Luke, a humanMartha, a human toddlerDog 1, a dog who adopts a humanEdna, an elderly human

Scene One: Human Feeding Time

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Joe: (Feeding the humans in their cages) Here you go. That‟s a good boy. Come on. Don‟t be afraid. It‟s okay. I know you‟re scared, but there‟s no need to be afraid of me. I won‟t bite. (Calling humans to cages) Ttt. Ttt. Ttt. (Petting a human through a cage.) Yes, that‟s a good human—a very good human. (To another human) Ttt. Ttt. Ttt. Hey, Guy, you are so excited today. Yes, you are! Yes, you are! Yes, you‟re a pretty human. Yes, you are! Such a pretty Guy! I brought you some food. Yes, I did. Yes, I did. Pretty Guy! Pretty boy! Mohammad: Everything okay in there, Joe? Joe: Yeah, I‟m just finishing up feeding the lot for the night. Guy is so excited! I think I‟m starting to get attached to this one. (To Guy, the human) Yes, I am. Yes, I am. (To Mohammad) It just irritates me. Why don‟t dogs get these humans fixed or neutered? They just breed and breed; and then they have to be euthanized, if they don‟t get adopted. It‟s not their fault. Homo sapiens just want to make us happy. They are so innocent, so trusting, and so cute. Mohammad: That may be well and true, but some of those Homo sapiens are pretty finicky eaters. And a lot of those homos seem scared to death. Joe: Of course, they‟re scared. I would be, too. Mohammad: They just have to get use to horrible food! I wish we could give them something better. More vegetables and stuff, things they crave. Joe: Well, they better get used to it. Human shelters don‟t receive the state funding like they used to. The food is horrible, but at least they get a meal. It has to better than scavenging on the streets. Mohammad: That‟s for sure. The economy‟s a mess. I‟m telling ya. Ever since they cut everyone‟s wages by 14%, Lola‟s been after me to get a second job. With her hoity-toity French family always finding ways to point out how their breed is better than mine, the bitch is always wanting me to go out and buy the best of everything, ya know? She‟s a wonderful, loving bitch, don‟t get me wrong, but she is a little spoiled sometimes. Joe: Well, that‟s what you get for marrying a Poodle. Mohammad: I love her, Joe. I really do, but she‟s just so spoiled, you know? I mean, it‟s not enough to have a matching set of dog bowls when her family comes over—noooo. Now we have to use the best bowls all the time, not just for special occasions. And the way she runs up our credit cards is almost unnatural. I‟m telling ya, Joe. It‟s a homo eat homo world out there, my friend; a homo eat homo world. (To Guy, the human) You wouldn‟t do that! Would

ya, boy? No, you wouldn‟t. No, you wouldn‟t. You‟re a good human, yes you are! Such a good homo, yes you are! (To Joe) I tell ya. If I didn‟t already have two humans back at the house, I‟d take some of these guys home. Joe: Yeah, but what would Lola say? Mohammad: Are you kiddin‟ me? She‟d bark her head off all night long. Lola refuses to have any more humans. She says they‟re too much trouble; plus, there‟s the expense of feeding them. It really makes me sad, but the bitch is right. Scene Two: Politics Joe: (Reading the paper) Hey, Mo, did you hear about that controversial politician upstate running for the senate? Mohammad: No. What about it? Joe: (Long pause) It‟s not even a tom-cat. It‟s a feline queen! A female cat! Need I say more? Times are changing. Mohammad: Well, felines—they‟ve got a right to run for office, if they want to; after all, like you said—times are changing, whether we agree with feline rights or not. Ever since cats got the right to vote, things in this country have started to change. I mean, I‟m not saying anything racist about cats, but it‟s just getting different out there, that‟s all. And now that the Supreme Court made it legal for dogs and cats to get married, well—all bets are off! What next? Humans and dogs can get married? Ya know, when you get right down to it, you just have to question a cat‟s agenda. I mean, they are a different species. Literally, they are a different species. We‟re canines, and they‟re felines. Joe: (Trying to find the quote from the newspaper) It says here in the paper, listen to this, “I, unlike my canine opponent, have run a clean campaign—” Mohammad: (Quickly interjecting) Well, cats are known for being clean. But all that licking themselves is a little much. They do it non-stop. I mean, I don‟t care what they do in the privacy of their own homes, but do they have to flaunt it? It‟s just gross. It‟s really gross. Sick, actually. Joe: Ha! That‟s funny—politically incorrect, but funny. (Continuing to read from the newspaper) She, the cat queen, goes on to say, “—And I promise to fight for the issues that are important to all felines.” Of course, there is no mention about what she can do for canines. Whaddaya think of that, huh?

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ya, boy? No, you wouldn‟t. No, you wouldn‟t. You‟re a good human, yes you are! Such a good homo, yes you are! (To Joe) I tell ya. If I didn‟t already have two humans back at the house, I‟d take some of these guys home. Joe: Yeah, but what would Lola say? Mohammad: Are you kiddin‟ me? She‟d bark her head off all night long. Lola refuses to have any more humans. She says they‟re too much trouble; plus, there‟s the expense of feeding them. It really makes me sad, but the bitch is right. Scene Two: Politics Joe: (Reading the paper) Hey, Mo, did you hear about that controversial politician upstate running for the senate? Mohammad: No. What about it? Joe: (Long pause) It‟s not even a tom-cat. It‟s a feline queen! A female cat! Need I say more? Times are changing. Mohammad: Well, felines—they‟ve got a right to run for office, if they want to; after all, like you said—times are changing, whether we agree with feline rights or not. Ever since cats got the right to vote, things in this country have started to change. I mean, I‟m not saying anything racist about cats, but it‟s just getting different out there, that‟s all. And now that the Supreme Court made it legal for dogs and cats to get married, well—all bets are off! What next? Humans and dogs can get married? Ya know, when you get right down to it, you just have to question a cat‟s agenda. I mean, they are a different species. Literally, they are a different species. We‟re canines, and they‟re felines. Joe: (Trying to find the quote from the newspaper) It says here in the paper, listen to this, “I, unlike my canine opponent, have run a clean campaign—” Mohammad: (Quickly interjecting) Well, cats are known for being clean. But all that licking themselves is a little much. They do it non-stop. I mean, I don‟t care what they do in the privacy of their own homes, but do they have to flaunt it? It‟s just gross. It‟s really gross. Sick, actually. Joe: Ha! That‟s funny—politically incorrect, but funny. (Continuing to read from the newspaper) She, the cat queen, goes on to say, “—And I promise to fight for the issues that are important to all felines.” Of course, there is no mention about what she can do for canines. Whaddaya think of that, huh?

Mohammad: I think that cat thinks she‟s this country‟s “meow”! Joe: Again, funny! Just don‟t say something like that out in public. You know how it is; you can‟t say anything about the felines nowadays without being judged as being prejudiced or insensitive. Mohammad: Still, that queen needs to get off her scratching post and come down to earth. Joe: You‟re barking up the wrong tree there, buddy. Those cats up in D.C. don‟t care about us. Don‟t you know that? They‟re always going to think they‟re better than us. Even if they aren‟t, they act like snobs. Just the stares they give to everybody has “snob” written all over it. And have you ever noticed how cats never seem to blink? It‟s creepy. (Beat) They‟re always going to think they‟re the “cool cats” up in D.C.—who have nothing better to do than to take our bones away from us every chance they get. Mohammad: Well, I guess it could be worse. Joe: Whaddaya mean? Mohammad: Well, ya know how the ancient myths and legends tell us—that centuries ago—all of us—dogs and cats—we were all more-or-less indentured pets to the humans. Legend says that homo‟s ruled the world. Joe: Yeah, that‟s what the history books say. All those hieroglyphics and ancient scripts, who knows? (Beat) If homos did rule the world at one time, apparently they did something wrong along the way and lost it all. Mohammad: But that‟s crazy talk! How could humans ever become intelligent enough to understand true language, art, mathematics, science or anything else that we hold valuable today? I think all of those stories are just myths or folklore invented by aliens or something, because those humans—they all may be innocent and eager to do good deeds—but there is no way they could run the world! Joe: Who knows what‟s right and what‟s wrong, but I‟ll tell you one thing. Nothing is more adorable than a human baby‟s breath. (Beat) What is it about that? I love it. It isn‟t a good smell, but it‟s so sweet and adorable. (Sighs) I just love that smell. Scene Three: We’re Having Puppies! Mohammad: Well, I understand congratulations are in order! Joe: (Slightly embarrassed) Oh, you heard, did ya?

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Mohammad: Do you know how many yet? Joe: Well, the vet said we‟re looking at having maybe six—possibly seven puppies! Mohammad: (Teasing him) You stud! Joe: (Pretending to be modest, but really almost bragging) Well, ya know, what can I say? Mohammad: That‟s practically a pack! (Beat) Is Trixie excited? Joe: (Joe now takes on a more hesitant, serious tone) Yeah, every time I turn around, she‟s off howling to someone about it. What can I say, the bitch is so happy. (Suddenly Joe’s excitement fades a bit) I just—I don‟t know… Mohammad: (Noticing Joe’s sudden lack of excitement) What‟s the matter? Joe: (Hesitant) I don‟t really wanna talk about it. Mohammad: Why not? Come on. You can tell me, Joe. I‟m your best friend. Joe: (Realizing Mo’s right) Yes, you are, Mo. (Pause) Okay, it‟s just—I‟m not sure the puppies are mine. Mohammad: Whaddaya mean? Joe: Well, as you know, Trixie and I aren‟t—ya know—married. Mohammad: So? Joe: (Getting worked up) So??? While I‟m down here working my tail off at the human shelter, I‟ve heard that Chihuahua from down the street‟s been coming over to visit. Mohammad: What? That little rat terrier-looking thing? No way would your bitch mess around with a dog like that. Joe: Ya think so? Mohammad: No. I know so. Besides, you‟re a Boxer. You could take him out in what—one—two bites tops? Joe: That‟s not the point. Mohammad: Joe, have you talked to Trixie about this? Joe: Yeah. Mohammad: And what does she say? Joe: She says they‟re only friends. But still—when that bitch is in heat? (Beat) She does some crazy things. Mohammad: Well, when the puppies are born—you‟ll know for sure. Joe: (As if he hadn’t even thought about this) Hey! You‟re right! I‟m a Boxer. She‟s a Boxer. When the puppies are born, I‟ll know! Thanks, Mo! Mohammad: Anytime, Joe—anytime!

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Mohammad: Do you know how many yet? Joe: Well, the vet said we‟re looking at having maybe six—possibly seven puppies! Mohammad: (Teasing him) You stud! Joe: (Pretending to be modest, but really almost bragging) Well, ya know, what can I say? Mohammad: That‟s practically a pack! (Beat) Is Trixie excited? Joe: (Joe now takes on a more hesitant, serious tone) Yeah, every time I turn around, she‟s off howling to someone about it. What can I say, the bitch is so happy. (Suddenly Joe’s excitement fades a bit) I just—I don‟t know… Mohammad: (Noticing Joe’s sudden lack of excitement) What‟s the matter? Joe: (Hesitant) I don‟t really wanna talk about it. Mohammad: Why not? Come on. You can tell me, Joe. I‟m your best friend. Joe: (Realizing Mo’s right) Yes, you are, Mo. (Pause) Okay, it‟s just—I‟m not sure the puppies are mine. Mohammad: Whaddaya mean? Joe: Well, as you know, Trixie and I aren‟t—ya know—married. Mohammad: So? Joe: (Getting worked up) So??? While I‟m down here working my tail off at the human shelter, I‟ve heard that Chihuahua from down the street‟s been coming over to visit. Mohammad: What? That little rat terrier-looking thing? No way would your bitch mess around with a dog like that. Joe: Ya think so? Mohammad: No. I know so. Besides, you‟re a Boxer. You could take him out in what—one—two bites tops? Joe: That‟s not the point. Mohammad: Joe, have you talked to Trixie about this? Joe: Yeah. Mohammad: And what does she say? Joe: She says they‟re only friends. But still—when that bitch is in heat? (Beat) She does some crazy things. Mohammad: Well, when the puppies are born—you‟ll know for sure. Joe: (As if he hadn’t even thought about this) Hey! You‟re right! I‟m a Boxer. She‟s a Boxer. When the puppies are born, I‟ll know! Thanks, Mo! Mohammad: Anytime, Joe—anytime!

Scene Four: Public Service Announcement Joe: (Boxing with each other.) Hey, Mohammad, you‟ve still got it for an old dog. Mohammad: (Sparring with Joe) Well, I prove the old adage false. You can teach an old human a few new tricks! Besides, it‟s in my name. Many great Boxers have been named Mohammad, ya know. Joe: Hey, take a look at the tube! The Human Shelter‟s new commercial is about to come on! Mohammad: That‟s right. It comes on during the commercial break for The Dog Pound. I still don‟t know why dogs watch that kind of stuff? It‟s mainly the bitches. They know who their market is…having all those alpha-males and all. Joe: Trixie loves stuff like that. She‟s crazy about some of those soap operas. Mohammad: And the way those alpha-male dogs look, always taking their shirts off? Those dogs don‟t even look real. They have to be air-brushed or something. Joe: I‟m sure they are. (Beat) I hope they are. (Beat) I can‟t compete with that! Mohammad: (Laughing) Me neither, buddy. Me neither. (Getting excited) Oh, hey, look! It‟s on! Here it is—the public service announcement! Voice-Over: (The camera pans over the faces of humans in cages at the shelter) Everyday, innocent humans are abandoned, mistreated, forgotten and left with little hope. Take a look at these faces just begging to be adopted by someone like you. This is Luke. He was found in horrible conditions, abused and malnourished. Now, he only wants a family to love. Luke: (His words sound more like whines) Me. Meee. Me. (In a barking tone) Help! Help! (Whimpering and whining again) Please. Please. Me. Meee. Voice-Over: Or Martha—only two years old, but blind in one eye and deaf due to neglect. Little Martha would make a great addition to a family with pups or kittens. She is quiet, kind and full of love. Martha: (Crying and Whining) Can you be my mommy? Mommy. Mommy? Voice-Over: Humans make great companions. It‟s been proven time and time again—humans can decrease depression, provide companionship, and bring happiness to lives while providing unconditional love to you and your family. Dog 1: I adopted a sheltered human, and it was the best decision I ever made.

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Not only did I save his life, but he‟s shown me why humans are considered a “dog‟s best-friend.” I love my little Pete. He‟s become a part of our family. I can‟t imagine life without him. Voice-Over: Look at these human faces. Human babies found in ditches and trashcans. Human toddlers abandoned on the streets, and elderly humans dismissed and thrown out simply because of their age. (Beat) Won‟t you consider adopting a human today? Poor, lovable Edna has reached her elderly human years. She‟s been disregarded by society as being useless and needing too much care, but Edna can still love. And love is all she needs. Edna: (Whining) Love…love…me…love you. Me love you. Voice-Over: But if you can‟t adopt a human, you can still help. For the cost of a mere five bones a month, you can help support The Human Shelter, providing humans with the food and medical treatment they desperately need. You can save a life. (Beat) So, think about adopting today or making a small donation to save a life. Don‟t wait. Adopt a human today, because tomorrow may be too late. Mohammad: (Solemnly turning off the television, there is a long silence) Wow. (Beat) That was powerful. Joe: (Another long pause, obviously moved by the public service announcement) If I wasn‟t a Boxer—I‟d cry right now like a Pekinese. Mohammad: It makes me want to adopt one of those humans myself. Joe: Me, too. Mohammad: And I know just which one I‟d adopt, too. Joe: Really? Which one? Mohammad: Guy. He‟s without a doubt my favorite. Joe: Well, if Trixie and I weren‟t having a litter soon, I‟d adopt every single one of them. (Beat, humbled and sincere) Yes, sir, I‟d adopt every single one of them. Mohammad: (Realizing they have work to do) Well, it‟s time to get back to work, my friend. Those humans aren‟t going to feed themselves, ya know. Joe: (Stopping him) Hey, Mo. Mohammad: Yeah? Joe: (Beat, smiling, feeling charitable) Let‟s both—feed the humans this afternoon. Scene Five: The Human(e) Society

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Not only did I save his life, but he‟s shown me why humans are considered a “dog‟s best-friend.” I love my little Pete. He‟s become a part of our family. I can‟t imagine life without him. Voice-Over: Look at these human faces. Human babies found in ditches and trashcans. Human toddlers abandoned on the streets, and elderly humans dismissed and thrown out simply because of their age. (Beat) Won‟t you consider adopting a human today? Poor, lovable Edna has reached her elderly human years. She‟s been disregarded by society as being useless and needing too much care, but Edna can still love. And love is all she needs. Edna: (Whining) Love…love…me…love you. Me love you. Voice-Over: But if you can‟t adopt a human, you can still help. For the cost of a mere five bones a month, you can help support The Human Shelter, providing humans with the food and medical treatment they desperately need. You can save a life. (Beat) So, think about adopting today or making a small donation to save a life. Don‟t wait. Adopt a human today, because tomorrow may be too late. Mohammad: (Solemnly turning off the television, there is a long silence) Wow. (Beat) That was powerful. Joe: (Another long pause, obviously moved by the public service announcement) If I wasn‟t a Boxer—I‟d cry right now like a Pekinese. Mohammad: It makes me want to adopt one of those humans myself. Joe: Me, too. Mohammad: And I know just which one I‟d adopt, too. Joe: Really? Which one? Mohammad: Guy. He‟s without a doubt my favorite. Joe: Well, if Trixie and I weren‟t having a litter soon, I‟d adopt every single one of them. (Beat, humbled and sincere) Yes, sir, I‟d adopt every single one of them. Mohammad: (Realizing they have work to do) Well, it‟s time to get back to work, my friend. Those humans aren‟t going to feed themselves, ya know. Joe: (Stopping him) Hey, Mo. Mohammad: Yeah? Joe: (Beat, smiling, feeling charitable) Let‟s both—feed the humans this afternoon. Scene Five: The Human(e) Society

Mohammad: (Anxiously awaiting the news about Joe’s puppies) Soooo? Joe: (Proudly) Four boys and three bitches. (Beat) And they‟re all 100% Boxer! Mohammad: Congratulations! Joe: (Overjoyed) They‟re all—beautiful. Mohammad: (Teasing) So they all take after Trixie then, huh? Joe: (In awe) It‟s amazing. Birth is—amazing. I was there, and I saw the whole thing. Mohammad: (Not knowing what to say) Gross. Joe: No, Mo—it was beautiful. (Beat) Of course, now reality is setting in—and I realize—I have to somehow make more money to feed all of those little mouths. Trixie‟s milk can only go so far with seven hungry puppies all wanting seconds. Mohammad: Ya know, I may have a solution to that problem. Joe: (Teasing) What? (Teasingly looking at Mohammad’s chest) You have milk, too? Mohammad: Hardy-har-har. (Beat) No, I‟ve been thinking. Joe: (Curious) Yeah? About what? Mohammad: Well, you and I like both like humans. Face it. We both spend the majority of our days caring for them. Why not take it to the next level? Joe: (Still confused) Like opening up a human store? Mohammad: No. Dogs and cats that have humans—well, they want to see them behave. Right? Joe: I‟m following you so far. Mohammad: What if we take this to the next level? What if we opened up an obedience school of sorts? You know, we could offer classes. We could advertise how we‟ll „house-train‟ their humans. Face it—dogs and cats hate it when humans have an „accident‟ indoors, and we could teach classes where we train humans to do all of the tasks dogs and cats hate doing themselves. Joe: Like what? Mohammad: Well, for dogs, we could teach humans to dig up and retrieve our old bones buried in the backyard. For cats, we could—I don‟t know—train humans to act annoyed when their owners won‟t even acknowledge their presence. Joe: (Smiling) Yeah, cats love that. Mohammad: I‟ve even got a name picked out.

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Joe: (Intrigued) Really? What would we call it? Mohammad: Well, you know I‟m a history buff. Joe: Yeah. Mohammad: So, centuries ago, when humans were the dominant species in the world—they had places called The Humane Society. Joe: (Not sure where this is going) Okay… Mohammad: Well, let‟s just tweak the spelling a bit. Joe: (Not picturing it) I don‟t get it. Mohammad: Well, “human” almost looks like the word “humane,” right? Joe: Yeah. Mohammad: I say we put the letter „e‟ on the end of “humane” in parenthesis. (Beat) Whaddaya think? Joe: I think its genius. (Beat) Trixie‟s going to be thrilled. Mohammad: And it will keep me out of the human house with Lola and her brood. Joe: (Proudly, as though imagining the marquee) The Human(e) Society: An Obedience School for Humans. (Beat, smiling) I like it. Mohammad: (Excited and offering another benefit to their opening a side venture) And we could practice right here at the shelter—thereby, making all of the humans here at our shelter that much more adoptable. (Beat) Wanna shake paws on it? Joe: (Smiling) Sure thing, partner. (Beat) You know, I don‟t care what the other dogs say about you. Your bark…is definitely worse than your bite. Deep down inside…you‟re just one big—pussycat. Mohammad: (Pleased that his best friend recognizes his softer side) Well, that may be true—but there‟s one thing you‟ll never catch me doing. Joe: Yeah? What‟s that? Mohammad: In the upcoming election, you won‟t catch me voting for no stinking Cats. Joe: Me, neither, buddy. (Laughing) Me neither. Scene Six: Euthanized Joe: (Tenderly) Hey, Guy. You‟re such a good human. Yes, you are. Yes. Yes! Yes, you are! Mohammad: Joe, don‟t make this harder than it is. We‟re just doing our job,

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Joe: (Intrigued) Really? What would we call it? Mohammad: Well, you know I‟m a history buff. Joe: Yeah. Mohammad: So, centuries ago, when humans were the dominant species in the world—they had places called The Humane Society. Joe: (Not sure where this is going) Okay… Mohammad: Well, let‟s just tweak the spelling a bit. Joe: (Not picturing it) I don‟t get it. Mohammad: Well, “human” almost looks like the word “humane,” right? Joe: Yeah. Mohammad: I say we put the letter „e‟ on the end of “humane” in parenthesis. (Beat) Whaddaya think? Joe: I think its genius. (Beat) Trixie‟s going to be thrilled. Mohammad: And it will keep me out of the human house with Lola and her brood. Joe: (Proudly, as though imagining the marquee) The Human(e) Society: An Obedience School for Humans. (Beat, smiling) I like it. Mohammad: (Excited and offering another benefit to their opening a side venture) And we could practice right here at the shelter—thereby, making all of the humans here at our shelter that much more adoptable. (Beat) Wanna shake paws on it? Joe: (Smiling) Sure thing, partner. (Beat) You know, I don‟t care what the other dogs say about you. Your bark…is definitely worse than your bite. Deep down inside…you‟re just one big—pussycat. Mohammad: (Pleased that his best friend recognizes his softer side) Well, that may be true—but there‟s one thing you‟ll never catch me doing. Joe: Yeah? What‟s that? Mohammad: In the upcoming election, you won‟t catch me voting for no stinking Cats. Joe: Me, neither, buddy. (Laughing) Me neither. Scene Six: Euthanized Joe: (Tenderly) Hey, Guy. You‟re such a good human. Yes, you are. Yes. Yes! Yes, you are! Mohammad: Joe, don‟t make this harder than it is. We‟re just doing our job,

buddy. We‟re just doing our job. Joe: I know. Mohammad: If Lola and I didn‟t already have two humans, I would take him home myself. Joe: I know you would. Mohammad: Joe, don‟t get down on yourself, okay? It‟s our job. Doing this is a part of our job, and it never gets any easier. Joe: No. It doesn‟t. (To Guy) Hey, Guy. This is just going to take a minute. (Preparing the needle to give Guy a shot) You‟re such a good human. You are! Mohammad: Joe, don‟t worry. He won‟t feel a thing. He‟s just going to slowly fall asleep. Joe: I just wish someone would have adopted him. Guy would have been the best human ever. Mohammad: You‟re right. (Beat) It breaks my heart every time. And sadly, there‟s thousands more just like our little Guy here. Joe: (To Guy) It‟s all going to be okay, little Guy. It‟s gonna be okay. (Begins to inject Guy with the poison) I‟m injecting him now. Mohammad: Just a little prick and that‟s all. Joe: (To Guy) Just a little prick. That‟s all. It‟s not so bad. That didn‟t hurt too much, now did it? No, it didn‟t. No, it didn‟t, boy. Mohammad: He‟ll start to feel sleepy any minute now. Joe: I hate this part of the job. Mohammed: We all do, buddy. No one likes to put a human down. Joe: It‟s just hard sometimes, especially with a human like him. Guy was always so happy and ready to please—so innocent. Mohammad: (Noticing the shot is taking affect) Hey, look, Joe. He‟s starting to get tired. See how his eyes are starting to close? Joe: He‟s trying so hard to stay awake. Mohammad: Just remember. He doesn‟t feel any pain. Joe: I know, but the fact that he doesn‟t feel any pain—it doesn‟t make me feel any better. Ya know? Mohammad: I know. But he‟s at peace now. Joe: Yeah. He is. Maybe it is better this way, at peace.

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ISBN 978-942109-77-8

ISBN 978-942109-77-8

ISBN 978-942109-77-8

ISBN 978-942109-77-8

ISBN 978-942109-77-8

The Munchies GamesBy Jennifer Riley and James Killmurry

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When I See HerBy Sujin Jeong

The Human(e) SocietyBy Gregory T. Burns and Bryan Denbow