A Very Tiny Play: #13

Is that unlucky? Numbers are weird. Here’s the play. Hopefully this arcane academy I’m developing won’t make people think I’m trying to rip of Harry Potter. Hahaha! #plagiarism

(Zelda is working in the school’s resplendent garden. She is wearing ordinary townsfolk clothes. Ferdinand, with a gardener’s apron over his shoulder, approaches her.)

FERDINAND: Zelda! You are almost finished!

ZELDA: Yep. What do you think?

FERDINAND: Wonderful. I am ecstatic not to have to do that myself.

ZELDA: You know? It’s not so bad once you get into it! I actually found it cleared my head. It’s nice when you’re so swamped in books.

FERDINAND: Yes. It is.

ZELDA: I couldn’t help but notice we don’t have any Fireweed.

FERDINAND: Fireweed doesn’t grow in this climate.

ZELDA: Oh! Right.

FERDINAND: Why were you looking for Fireweed?

ZELDA: I just, it’s so beautiful, I wanted to decorate my desk, you know?

FERDINAND: Zelda. I don’t know you very well. But I know of you. Are you being exceptionally gracious toward me in hopes of acquiring some Fireweed?

ZELDA: What? No!

FERDINAND: Why do you want the Fireweed?

ZELDA: It’s pretty! Do I need a better reason?

FERDINAND: Please, Zelda. Don’t disappoint me.

(They have a stare-down.)

ZELDA: … Sorry.

FERDINAND: Apology accepted. Will you answer my question?

ZELDA: I want it for a love spell.

FERDINAND: Obviously.

ZELDA: You knew?

FERDINAND: Fireweed is very rare and its flowers are used in two spells. I didn’t think you would go to such lengths for a tinting spell.

ZELDA: Heh. Yeah. No.

FERDINAND: Surely you must know magic is not the way to someone’s heart.

ZELDA: It’s not. I’m not really after someone. It’s … a guy from class, Leopold, he found out something about me, a secret, and …

FERDINAND: Your parentage?

ZELDA: I guess everyone knows now. So, yeah, I want to get back at him.

FERDINAND: I see. I’m impressed.

ZELDA: You are?

FERDINAND: A love spell is an excellent revenge tool.

ZELDA: It is?

FERDINAND: I will give you the Fireweed. In one week.

ZELDA: What? Why?

FERDINAND: Do you want it?

ZELDA: Yeah, but I was hoping …

FERDINAND: See you next week! Thanks for doing the weeds!

(He exits. Blackout. Lights up on Ferdinand lounging in his office reading a book. Zelda knocks.)


ZELDA: Hi, Sir.

FERDINAND: Please, Ferdinand will do.

ZELDA: O-oh. Okay.

FERDINAND: I have your Fireweed right here.

ZELDA: Thank you. But actually, I don’t want it.


ZELDA: I did a lot of thinking over the last week. I kind of visualised every way the love spell could turn out, and it all kind of sucked. In all my fantasies, I just ended up … meh. Except for in one part. See, my plan was to cast the spell on Leopold’s girlfriend. He would walk in on us making out at some point and just be so disgusted. Hahahaha! But then, she would be mad at me. She would hate me. That’s what makes me most afraid. I realised I care about her way more than blasted Leopold. So I’m still going to steal his girlfriend, but I’m doing it for me. Not because of him!

FERDINAND: That’s the spirit!

ZELDA: Thank you. You knew this would happen. Didn’t you?

FERDINAND: Something like it. Here.

ZELDA: Oh, wow! It’s amazing!

FERDINAND: Perhaps you need not burn it for your spell. Flowers are often well-received by ladies, I’m told.

ZELDA: Thank you, Ferdinand. Maybe I’ll come by this week to work in the garden again.

FERDINAND: I will be happy to see you.

(Zelda leaves the office and Ferdinand returns to his book with a smile.)

A Very Tiny Play: #12

This one’s a Doozen! Get it? Doozey + dozen? Oh, fine. Read the play!

(Thierry, a priest, is walking from stage right to stage left. He is very old and takes his time, for he’s got plenty. Leopold comes in from stage left and almost walks right by Thierry.)

THIERRY: Hello, young man.

LEOPOLD: AH! Holy, what the – where did you come from?

THIERRY: I reside at the chapel on the corner of this land. Have you seen it?

LEOPOLD: No. Sorry.

THIERRY: I see you have a lot of tools there. Might I inquire as to their function?

LEOPOLD: Sure. They’re for farming.

THIERRY: Farming? Where are you farming?

LEOPOLD: Well, hey! You’re the old pastor aren’t you?

THIERRY: Yes, I am.

LEOPOLD: Okay, great. Folks in town told me to find you and ask about making a farm here. See, I find myself unsuited to city life. I’m sure you understand. When I heard about an enormous battle that took place here long ago, I thought, hey, that land must be really fertile! So I came around to… farm!

THIERRY: Farming is indeed a noble occupation. What will you do with this farm?

LEOPOLD: Oh… grow vegetables. And fruits. Other farm things.

THIERRY: I will be happy if this land goes to good use. Please let me know if there is anything you need.

LEOPOLD: Thanks!

(Leopold turns to go.)

THIERRY: If you are lying, however, I must regretfully promise you a fiery voyage directly to the infernos of hell.

LEOPOLD: Uh… okay. Bye.

THIERRY: God be with you.

(Leopold goes out right. Thierry continues walking on his way. After a very long beat, France, in her park ranger outfit, rides in from stage right.)

FRANCE: Father!

THIERRY: My dear, how are you?

FRANCE: Cool. Good. Um, I found some… people. Digging.

THIERRY: Digging?

FRANCE: Ya. A big operation. Like, serious digging. I would call it a dig. I think they’re after… um…

THIERRY: Oh, my. Sounds bad. Did you notice a fellow carrying a lot of tools?

FRANCE: Yeah. There were a lot of tools.


(Thierry transforms into a monstrous demon.)

DEMON THIERRY: Take me to them.

FRANCE: Ya. Over here.

(They leave out the way France came.)

A Very Tiny Play: #11

It’s like #1, but with a 1 in front! I’m currently building a high fantasy setting for a D&D campaign. This is my first piece of drama set in that realm.

(Center is a glorious roadside shrine to the Silver Dragon, the patron deity of the province Argentum, which is populated mostly by elves. Sitting on the base of the shrine, naked, and with head hanging between his knees, is Pluoc, a half-orc. Pluoc is nearly 7 feet tall, with pale green skin and lean musculature (for a half-orc). Enter Senser from right. Senser is a half-elf, 5’5”, stout (for a half-elf), carrying a large back pack, and seems miffed. Senser is dressed well, but not too well. Like someone with a great fashion sense shopping at Value Village. Senser crosses to left, trying his best not to glance at Pluoc, but failing once or twice. He stops before exiting. He turns around to look at Pluoc. He turns around again, takes a step, and physically struggles in an attempt to take another. He sighs. He walks towards Pluoc.)


(With impressive slowness, Pluoc lifts and turns his head to look at Senser.)


SENSER: What, are you, doing here?

(With impressive slowness, Pluoc drops his head back to its original position.)


SENSER: Look, you can’t just sit there all day under the sun like that.



(Senser walks away. He stops before exiting.)

THE ELF IN SENSER: What are you doing? Help him, by Argentum!


THE ELF IN SENSER: You told him not to sit there. You didn’t even offer him sun lotion.

THE HUMAN IN SENSER: He doesn’t even have clothes, how do you expect him to pay for it?

THE ELF IN SENSER: It’s called charity! Have you forgotten how your ancestors were liberated from slavery and given their own province?

SENSER: Yeah, yeah….

(When Senser says this, Pluoc lifts his head enough to be able to peer at Senser.)

THE ELF IN SENSER: He’s naked, alone, and sitting under the eyes of the Silver Dragon herself. Go!

THE HUMAN IN SENSER: How did he get so naked? Eh? Maybe he’s dangerous!

THE ELF IN SENSER: He’s a half-orc – they’re all dangerous if you get them mad. They don’t just get mad at anyone! You help that fellow or I’m going to guilt you for years.

THE HUMAN IN SENSER: Aw, there you go playing the guilt card again.

(Senser turns again toward the half-orc and wanders over.)

SENSER: Listen. My caravan isn’t far. Why don’t you come with me? I can… I can give you some sun lotion.

THE ELF IN SENSER: Food and water!

SENSER: And food and water. If you’re thirsty. Or hungry. Or something.

(Pluoc is now staring at Senser. A long beat until Pluoc stands up, with impressive slowness.)

PLUOC: You do not know me. Why do you help?

SENSER: B-because. Because you need it. Don’t you?

PLUOC: … … … … yes. Thank you.

SENSER: Will you tell me why you’re sitting there?

PLUOC: To commune with Dragon.

SENSER: Argentum?


SENSER: Need answers? The clerics at the temple in Elgon are the wisest in the land, if you ask me – and I’ve been all over!

PLUOC: No. Need answer from Dragon.

SENSER: Ah. Well. Good luck with that. Now come along, my caravan’s this way. Do you – want clothes?

(Pluoc looks down at his junk and back at Senser with impressive slowness.)

PLUOC: Loincloth.

SENSER: I’ve got just the thing. Come.

(Senser plods out and Pluoc follows with impressive slowness.)

A Very Tiny Play: #10

This one’s bad! Oh, well….

(Inside a deranged playwright’s mind. Travis is lying on a La-Z-Boy playing with a paddle ball. Travis’ Self-Imposed Responsibility slinks up.)


TRAVIS: Nothing. Relaxing! It’s my day off.

TRAVIS’ SELF-IMPOSED RESPONSIBILITY: You are an independent artist. You don’t get time off!

TRAVIS: Yeah, whatever.

TRAVIS’ SELF-IMPOSED RESPONSIBILITY: You said you’d write a play every day. So, do it!



TRAVIS: No I’m not!


(Travis’ Self-Imposed Responsibility crawls to the foot of the La-Z-Boy and curls up like a dog for a nap.)

TRAVIS: What are you doing?


TRAVIS: Go away!

TRAVIS’ SELF-IMPOSED RESPONSIBILITY: Why? You used to like it when I –

TRAVIS: It’s my day off, okay?!


TRAVIS: AUGH You’re so annoying FINE I’ll write a stupid play.


TRAVIS: What do I need?

TRAVIS’ SELF-IMPOSED RESPONSIBILITY: A beginning, a middle, and an end.

TRAVIS: That’s it?


TRAVIS: Are you sure? I feel like there’s a lot more to drama craft than that.

TRAVIS’ SELF-IMPOSED RESPONSIBILITY: Well, there is. But that’s sort of, the minimum.

TRAVIS: So, what you’re saying is it’s going to be a bad play.


TRAVIS: Oh. Hm. I’m okay with that.


TRAVIS: Hmm… on second thought, I’ll write a bad play tomorrow.


TRAVIS: OH! Hey! It’s a play! Nice.


(Travis’s Self-Imposed Responsibility slinks away full of satisfaction and Travis continues paddle-balling.)

A Very Tiny Play: #9

Here’s one about archaeology and love and finding your true self. Let it inspire you!

(Deep underground an ancient temple. Zelda runs in and stops suddenly in front of a huge set of doors with runes inscribed overtop it. Simon runs in after her and stops for breath. Simon is carrying a large backpack, and Zelda holds only a satchel.)

ZELDA: This is it.

SIMON: What?

ZELDA: This door. It’s gotta be behind here. I fuckin’ know it. I can feel it. Can you feel it?

(She tries to push the door open.)

Yeah, didn’t think so. Here, give me the Rosetta Stone.

SIMON (through heavy panting): Nah, it’s okay, I’ll, I’ll do it.

ZELDA: Come on, Simon, the sunlight is fading! We don’t have time! You’re tired, give it to me.

SIMON: Nah, it’s fine. I’ll do it. I’m better at translating anyway.

ZELDA: Get the damn book out, Simon.

SIMON: I got it!

(He sits down with it.)


(She tries to take the book from him.)

SIMON: Zelda, what the hell!

ZELDA: You’re taking too long! Give me the damn book!


(She wrests the book from his hands.)

ZELDA: Thank you!

SIMON: Zelda! What the hell is wrong with you?

ZELDA: What?

SIMON: Ever since we got here you’ve been in such a goddamn rush! You almost got us killed twice!

ZELDA: How the hell was I supposed to know there would be traps?

SIMON: Research!


SIMON: I’m sick of this. Keep the damn book, I’m out of here.

ZELDA: What? Simon, fuck, come on, we’re right at the end, the crown is through here!

SIMON: You don’t know that! And the sun is going down! I don’t want to end up mummy food!

ZELDA: There’s still time! Look. We’ll find out what’s through there and then quit for the day. Here, you can translate the runes. Okay? Is that what you want?

SIMON: Fine. Okay. So that’s negating… face of light… transform, with a negation… into sun… in the second person. So, without a face of light you’ll never become the sun. What the f – any ideas?

ZELDA: Nope. Fuck. Fuck!

SIMON: Well, let’s go. We’ll come back in the morning

ZELDA: AUGH! No! I’ve come so far! I can almost fucking taste it, Simon. It’s calling to me. I know it. I feel it. It’s in me. It’s calling to me. I’m going to take it. It’s gonna make me… Simon. Sun. Could that also be star?

SIMON: Yeah.

ZELDA: Of course! These guys are all about the stars! It’s a transcendence thing! This is a temple, right? It’s the ultimate test! They want to make sure you believe in yourself, that you emit the light of the heavens, the face of light, and when you do, the doors will open! You hear that, door? I fucking solved you! I am the greatest archaeologist in the world and I’m gonna go down in the books with a big fat picture of you next to my big fat smile! You hear me! Open the fuck up!



(A beat.)

All right, let’s go. Fuck.


ZELDA: What?

SIMON: I think… I think my face needs to… be a face of light. Also.

ZELDA: What are you talking about?

SIMON: Maybe you noticed, I’ve been distracted on this expedition.

ZELDA: Yeah. Got us lost a couple of times. I noticed.

SIMON: Well, it’s because… I don’t really want to be here.

ZELDA: What…?

SIMON: Not that I don’t want to be with you! I just, I’ve never really wanted to be an archaeologist. I just did it because you were doing it, and, well, we were like this inseparable pair, this dynamic duo or whatever, and I didn’t want to break it up! And I love you and want to protect you, and help you reach your goals, but they’re your goals. Not mine. Mine are more… I don’t know. I just… fuck. No. I have to say it. My goal is you. I love you. Like, love love you. I want to kiss you. I want to dance with you. I want to… fuck, I want to rip your clothes off right here and take you on this floor! You’re so… you’re my Zelda. My princess. And I want to marry you.

ZELDA: Simon… you swore!

(The door thuds and creaks all the way open, revealing a brilliant threshold.)

SIMON: Well… shall we?


(She kisses him.)

There’s no time. We have to get out before the mummy wakes up, we have to fuck all night, get up, fuck some more, and make our leisurely way down here tomorrow. I’m not in a rush.

SIMON: Oh kay!

ZELDA: Race you out!

SIMON: Oh, come on!

(She runs out, he runs to follow her, doubles back for his back pack and exits.)

A Very Tiny Play: #8

Here’s another tiny play. It’s not as tiny as the rest.

Some of the plays I produce during the next 3 months will not be tiny at all. Be excited!

(At the table right after dinner.)

ANNIE: I think I’m going to appeal this parking ticket. The sign was, like, so clearly not visible from the curb. What do you think?


ANNIE: Should I appeal this parking ticket?

JOE-JOHNNY: Hah! Yeah, sure. Why not?

ANNIE: What’s so funny?

JOE-JOHNNY: Seriously?


JOE-JOHNNY: Uh, well, I guess I just don’t see why you’re putting any thought into that whole system.

ANNIE: What system?

JOE-JOHNNY: The parking ticket system.

ANNIE: You’re joking. You must be joking.

JOE-JOHNNY: I’m not joking. The whole system is retarded! I live by Gandhi’s words: (mystically, in a terrible Hindi accent) “Be the change you want to see in the world.” I want to live in a world without parking tickets. Therefore, I don’t pay my tickets.

ANNIE: That’s not – no, your logic is fallacious. You are not being in a world without parking tickets, you still have the parking tickets.

JOE-JOHNNY: Out of sight, out of mind, baby.

ANNIE: J-J! Pay your parking tickets!

JOE-JOHNNY: Mmm… no.

(Annie glares at Joe-Johnny.)

I don’t even think I can, anyway!

ANNIE (barely controlling herself): How much do you owe?

JOE-JOHNNY: I honestly have no idea.

ANNIE: How have I never seen a letter about these?!

JOE-JOHNNY: I’m very sneaky.

ANNIE: Joe-Johnny Shirkson, you will pay those parking tickets, or else never drive my car again!

JOE-JOHNNY: Whoa, Annie, calm down. Just don’t pay it, all right? Keep living your life like you never got one and we’ll be fine!

ANNIE: No, Johnny. I hate living in a den of secrets! And I – I just can’t have my car with so much – so many tickets!


ANNIE: … Because! I don’t want any… unwanted attention.

JOE-JOHNNY: Is there something you’re not telling me?


JOE-JOHNNY: There is! Spill it!

ANNIE: I can’t.

JOE-JOHNNY: Annie. You know you can tell me anything. This isn’t a den of secrets. I’m sorry I kept the parking tickets from you and when you tell me your thing I… well, I might consider paying them. You can trust me!

ANNIE: I know. It’s just… it’s a really big secret.

JOE-JOHNNY: Oh, really? What, are you part of the League of Evil Geniuses or something?


(A beat.)

JOE-JOHNNY: No, but seriously, what’s the reason?

ANNIE: I’m an agent of the LEG of Crime.

(A beat.)

JOE-JOHNNY: You… what’s your codename?

ANNIE: Oh, I can’t –

JOE-JOHNNY: No more secrets! You said! What’s your codename?

ANNIE: Cyber6.

JOE-JOHNNY: Cyber6!? I thought – damn! I was sure she’d be masquerading as a man!

ANNIE: You know me?

JOE-JOHNNY: I thought I did! Annie, I’ve been after the LEG for almost a year!

ANNIE: That’s your big case?!


ANNIE: Holy shit.


(A long beat.)

ANNIE: J-J. You have to join us.

JOE-JOHNNY: Excuse me?

ANNIE: It’s perfect. You’re perfect!

JOE-JOHNNY: Normally I like hearing that but right now I’m a little freaked out.

ANNIE: J-J, don’t you see? A mole in the police is exactly what we need!

JOE-JOHNNY: I’m not joining the League, Annie, are you insane?

ANNIE: Why not?

JOE-JOHNNY: They’re – they’re criminals!

ANNIE: So are you.

JOE-JOHNNY: No I’m not – oh, the parking tickets.

ANNIE: And you said it yourself, the whole system is fucked! J-J, I hate the system. Not just the parking tickets, every aspect of it. From parliament to arts funding, the whole thing is fucked. I am being the change I want to see in the world. The LEG is striving for a better future, for equality! Meritocracy!

JOE-JOHNNY: At gunpoint!

ANNIE: We’re like Robin Hood! Do you know how many charities get secret, undeclared donations by LEG members? No, you don’t, because they’re –

JOE-JOHNNY: Five major charities around the city, totalling to about $8 million per year.

ANNIE: O-oh. You’re good.

JOE-JOHNNY: I’m very sneaky.

ANNIE: J-J. This is the only way the system is changed. People have tried to change it from the inside and have only been absorbed by it. We have to create a new world from a new system. (She touches his arm) A world… without parking tickets.

JOE-JOHNNY: … I’m in.

ANNIE: Yes!!! Oh, I love you!

JOE-JOHNNY: Can I pick my own codename?

ANNIE: We will never talk about the LEG at home ever again, dear. Starting now.

(Annie mounts J-J and makes out with him as the lights fade.)

A Very Tiny Play: #7

Well, here it is. The end of one solid week of writing a play every day. I might as well tell you I intend on doing this for another 13 weeks and 2 days.

(In a military circus tent)

QUEEN JENNIE: Insolent fools! Why do you come here with your guns and your bombs?

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: Your majesty, we have come to invade, steal your gold, and rape your men!

QUEEN JENNIE: Barbarism! And we, a peaceful nation!

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: Your majesty, your lack of army is precisely what drew us here.

QUEEN JENNIE: Base avarice! Who needs an army when we’ve got the greatest circus in the world?

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: Your majesty, your father needed that army to unite the clans – did he not?

QUEEN JENNIE: Obvious facts! We have united the KINGDOMS, and no longer need fighting. Circus is better!

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: Ah, your majesty, but not for fighting. Your majesty, we will accept your surrender under these, ah, terms.

QUEEN JENNIE: Screw your terms! Here’s what’s going down. You will all go home, and we will visit and provide free circus training for your whole army – no, no, your whole stupid nation! Anyone who wishes!

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: You wouldn’t! I mean, Your Majesty, that’s too generous –

QUEEN JENNIE: Preposterous! Generosity is infinite!

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: Such kindness… it cannot be! Your majesty, you’re lying! You just want us to go home. You are not to be trusted. I must report you refused our terms and are ready to start our inevitable crushing victory.

QUEEN JENNIE (now quite intense): Ambassador.

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: Y-yes, your highness?

QUEEN JENNIE: Tell your general (she whispers in the ambassador’s ear)

AMBASSADOR FROM KRENT: Your majesty! I am…. Yes. I will deliver your message. A thousand pardons, your majesty. I will go. I… thank you.

(The ambassador goes.)

QUEEN JENNIE: Great victory! The world will have another circus, and lose another army.

(She turns to watch her circus rehearse.)