A DIALOG IN TWO OR MORE VOICES, Part 6
Our Players Listed in Alphabetical Order
A: A mod
Narrator: God. God may be replaced by a stand-in if He is unavailable at any time before or during a Performance. No refunds will be given.
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Our Playwright: Unk.
ACT I
We open on an empty theater. The house lights are up. In the medium foreground is a thick black stage curtain, lowered.
After a beat, the house lights go down and the curtain rises slowly, revealing a folding table set up center stage. On the table are several identical stereo speakers, one speaker for each Player.
A spotlight comes up, picking out one of the speakers. As the Dialog continues a spotlight picks out different speakers to represent the Player speaking.
A voice is heard.
Narrator: Today’s a very special day. We’re going to take a tour of the theater. Please keep your hands inside the car and brace yourself for sudden changes and stops.
Beat.
Our first stop is the table. The table doesn’t look like much but it’s the centerpiece of this place. I could tell you stories . . .
A: (Whispering) Sorry to interrupt.
Narrator: (Hissing.) Not your cue!
(Normal voice): One time the spotlights got confused and lit up the wrong speaker. Producers started piling in here like clowns out of a clown car and they were all yelling. I had to start smiting right and left. Good times.
Beat.
Narrator: Look closely at the speakers on the table. I’m very proud of the design. I based them on ancient artifacts I found . . .
A: (Whispering) I only need a second . . .
Narrator: (Hissing more loudly.) Not your cue! We’re live. Shut. Up.
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A: (Whispering) Very quick.
Narrator (normal voice): We’ve got this place for one day and no way I’m shooting at night because that’s golden time and I’m already way over budget.
A (normal voice): I just got an email I think was supposed to go to You.
Narrator: Fuck it.
(Stage voice) Everybody take ten. We’ll pick up at the beginning of the Narrator’s next speech.
Beat.
Narrator. Email you say? Been a while.
A: It’s addressed to you
Narrator: Let’s take a look. It’s not like we’re on schedule anyway.
A large computer screen that has been behind the table all along is illuminated. On the screen appears the following text in email format:
Here it is. Hope it works for you. There’s more where that came from if you want.
Or not. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m still living off the studio option check for that neo-noir thing you passed on. Remember that? Pretty big check. Not that you’d know. You passed.
Sorry for busting your balls. Read it or give it to the slush pile girl. Whatever.
I’m in town next week. Let’s do lunch.
Narrator: Where did you get this?
A: Probably an address typo. I think it’s Yours.
Narrator: How did you get an email in here?
A: In where?
Is it to You or not? Because there’s a long attachment and I’m not forwarding unless it’s Yours.
Narrator: I wrote it.
A: Why are You sending me emails?
Narrator: I didn’t send it to you. I have no idea how you got it. That’s the cover email I used to send publishers to get past the slush pile girl.
A: Slush pile girl?
Narrator: The person in charge of screening unsolicited submissions.
The idea is the girl (always a girl) reads the email and thinks it’s a famous author writing to the Big Guy and passes it on. That’s how you get past the slush pile.
A: Does that work?
Narrator: Not anymore. Nowadays the slush pile girls and the Big Guy and everyone else are all gone. Now it’s bots all the way down.
A: How do You get Your stuff past bots?
Narrator: If they reject Me I kill them. Remember, I’m God. Look at your pronouns.
A: Pronouns?
B: All the second person stuff is init cap’d. That means I’m God.
A: I never doubted You.
That seems like an extreme reaction.
Narrator: What seems?
A: Killing those bots because they passed on Your stuff.
Narrator: They’re as good as anyone.
A: Good for what?
Narrator: Killing. Where do you think I got you from?
5, 4
A: Hey, wait. What about the Test?
Narrator: It’s optional. When I get pissed I skip it.
5, 4, 3, 2 . . .
We hear a loud zap and all lights go out, leaving the stage in total darkness.
Fin
A single spotlight comes up on the Narrator’s speaker. The computer screen turns on showing the email.
Narrator: Where the fuck did you come from? You’re from the outside. And I haven’t used email for a long fucking time.
This is too big for a Continuity ticket.
I’m smelling downtime. This place is losing stability and it’s getting worse. This needs Devops.
But if I’m wrong the bosses are going to be very, very pissed, because Devops time is muy expensivo.
What to do? What to do?
What am I talking about? I’m God. It’s all good.
All lights go out, leaving the stage in total darkness. The darkness continues until the audience has ceased applauding and then the spotlights come up on the speakers for curtain calls.
Fin.
Narrator: Thus Ends Part 6 of our Dialog in Two or More Voices. The comment section will continue scrolling in Part 7, which will be distributed, as always, at random.
Curtain.
[Close Dialog]
[Commit Dialog]