It Could Be Worse

 

The last portion of Spring Quarter was all about drama (plays, script writing, etc.), and I can't remember the exact assignment for this one, I'm happy with the result.

oOo

An apartment living room that doubles as a sewing space. Late afternoon or early evening. The décor is kitsch and tacky, as if decorated by a grandmother who prides herself on her thrifting abilities (pale pink walls, weird paintings of cats, brightly colored crocheted pillow covers, etc.). A candle burns on the coffee table. To the left is table with a sewing machine. Fabric and other sewing nothings cover the table and spill on to the floor. On a dress form is a beautiful mermaid gown made with various shades of grey tulle and silver sequins. RAINE is sitting on a vintage velvet ottoman gluing rhinestones to the gown’s nude illusion sleeves.

[JUNIPER staggers in, dropping her backpack and collapsing on the couch.]

RAINE: Welcome home.

JUNIPER: That candle smells like Fireball.

RAINE: Us non-alcoholics like to call it “cinnamon”.

JUNIPER: [shouts.] Hey! My life is falling apart! I deserve to come home drunk.

RAINE: [Looks at watch] At 6:30, no less. We’re on, what? Day 3 of your quarter-life crisis?

JUNIPER: I used to have plans. By now I was supposed to have my own house in a nice gated community. Be an Instagram influencer who was engaged and drove a pink Audi TT!

[RAINE looks out at the audience and rolls his eyes.]

JUNIPER: But instead I’m single with a shitty day job that barely covers the rent, and the closest thing I own to a car is a bike with flat tires!

RAINE: Don’t forget about your vague yet exciting academic pursuit in Communications.

[JUNPIER makes a dissatisfied sound]

RAINE: Or that lovely postmodernist biology lab partner of yours. What was his deal again? Only using every fifth word from Shakespeare’s “The Comedy of Errors” when he speaks?

JUNIPER: I’m dying. Donate my organs to science. Except my middle finger. Give that to my dad.

RAINE: I don’t think either party wants those. [Uses cellphone to take a picture of his progress. Shutter sound on.]

JUNIPER: Bite me.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The bones aren't scary; it's the meat

What is " Authentic self "? Humans are impressionable beings. We absorb our surroundings, mimic others in our environments. For safety, comfort, acceptance. Do we push our true selves away? Down in the mass of meat that puts our skeletal husks into motion, for the mere sake of acceptance of lemmings? I shared a high-five with a woman in my Social and Emotional Foundations class for having chronic anxiety in common. I am authentically anxious but do I define myself by it? Finding camaraderie among fellow anxiety riddled individuals helps with the struggle. It encourages continuing the conversation on mental health, and tearing down the stigma of shame. Lady Gaga wrote "I am obsessively opposed to the typical", and I feel that this describes me perfectly. My authentic self was found beneath the rubble of castles torn down. Dishonest keeps of identities I desperately wanted for the sole acceptance of trash.
Read more

One of those strange happenings sort of days

Assignment: write a scene (a double-spaced page) that shows your character in a situation that forces them to act "out of character." Write a scene that shows your character committing a slightly immoral act. This is done to add dimension to your character. Think small, quiet actions. Maybe your character tells a lie, gossips, confesses a secret. What propels your character into this action? Place your character in a specific setting and go from there. o0o A news clipping of an article titled “Three-week-old corpse doing better, family tells coroner” sat abandoned on a table at Starbucks. Maeve frowned at it from where she stood at the counter waiting for her fair-trade coffee. It lay open on one of the uncomfortable-by-design wooden chairs. The clipping looked old and was parched and yellowed along the edges, and in the creases from where it had once been folded into quarters.             From where she stood Maeve could no...
Read more