“Murder” – A One Act Play
“Theater…lovely parties of wilder grandiose behavior is it not? Behavior the ways of the wider World, the ways of the jeerman to steer! and the wherewithal and the nons to do it – this be a Spectacle! This be the tripsy-turvy Moondigger Delight! Dost thou want it? Dost thou must have it? Eh? Eh? The Moon does She sparkle as does your eye upon the winning, so sit right thee down, and here beknownst upon you the Caernival Spectacle of the Ages, the one that we all came to here to see: the “Age Old Problem”, yet the uncalled upon me.
What is Murder? What is this Delight? Does it even exist in the wider World? Does it even…? The taking of another’s life as if it ‘twere theirs to have! What is the “Having”? What is that? What is that, “Life”? What is that Act of the Death Bringing? Ha! I say ne’er upon you, ‘pon your heads little ones, ‘pon your heads! Drive tonight, everyone, drive tonight! For ye shall not know your thinking when it comes to it, as if those were a thing of our sanities? Murder, murder, me oh my, indeed! Call it! Call it well young gentle sirs, madams and all those inbetwixt, here be a Caernival Spectacle delight for the taking, for the having, as if we were all the Murderers indeed…”
Murder is appropriately entitled to a small play I have devised in the backroom some years back, shall you see?
Yes we shall
[Enter Man, Woman, Children.]
All. [Running in a circle]
Murder, murder me oh my, can we not live this long to die?
When we can and when we might, we shall live long through the Night!
And then come ye, a stabbing murderer, see?
Man, Woman, Children. [Pointing at the Murderer.]
See? See? See?
And shall he be lost to the weather, the wither of a branch and tether.
But no, he bringeth knife and angry face,
A mere round about the place, shows we are not home.
Murderer. [Enters middle of circle.]
Kill the plates and kill the cat, nothing here hath been sat!
A-ha! Well you shall see, but a loss in case of history.
Slit your throats I will tonight, won’t be back home tonight!
Buried in weather shall we be, in all the caves of history.
Bleed you dry to run from me, bleed you senseless shall you be!
Ne’er shall I go; ne’er shall I run, from this that’s thus begun.
Bleed you tonight shall you be, no one e’er runs from me!
And thus I ran and thus I might, to be home safe and sound tonight.
And upon your return shall you see, all dead and slit your family.
Man. [All dark except for overhead spotlight on Man.]
My cock! My cock! I still have me cock!