Past Our Dancing DaysA kitchen. MAN and WOMAN stand centre stage, in front of a counter with drawers. They are arguing as lights fade on.Past Our Dancing Days6 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
WOMAN. Look. Its called a double suicide pact for a reason. I kill myself, and then you kill yourself.
MAN. Why are we doing this again? Do I have to kill myself?
MAN. I dont like the smell of blood.
WOMAN. So what?
MAN. I dont like iron either. Probably because iron smells like blood.
WOMAN. Shut up.
MAN. Dont tell me to shut up.
WOMAN. When you shut up, Ill stop telling you to shut up.
MAN. You shut up.
WOMAN. Youre stalling.
MAN. Am not.
WOMAN. Are too.
MAN. Am not!
WOMAN. Then do it.
MAN. You were going first.
WOMAN. It doesnt matter who goes first. Well both be dead.
MAN. Im hungry.
WOMAN. We just ate.
FateFate11 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
A sunny day in the park. There is a single bench CENTRE stage. GOD is sitting on the LEFT side of the bench. He has long, white hair and a long, white beard, and is wearing a simple white robe. He is reading a newspaper. Enter PETER from the RIGHT. He is wearing black pants, leather shoes, a white shirt and a garish, comical tie. He is carrying a paper bag. PETER sits on the bench next to GOD, setting his bag next to him. He folds his hands and admires the weather.
PETER. Beautiful weather today.
GOD [focusing on his newspaper]. Mm-hm.
PETER. [Extending his hand] The name's Peter.
GOD [shaking PETER's hand]. God.
[GOD returns his attention to his newspaper.]
PETER. Um… God?
PETER. Not to be rude, but… your name is God?
GOD. I am God. Or at least I was God.
PETER. I… see.
GOD. You don't believe me.
PETER. Would you?
GOD. No. But it doesn't matter whether or not you believe in me.
Tuesday AfternoonGOD:Tuesday Afternoon7 years ago in Scripts & Screenplays More Like This
Yes, hello again.
I'm sorry, my memory fails me. Which one are you?
Well, I was Martin Fry.
I'm sorry, those records are terminated. What's your number?
No, no, not your queue number. Your executive number, the eight-digits.
You expect me to remember that?
Well, it is within the seven plus-minus two limit, which you should achieve if you've reached up to level one. Or, are you the reincarnation?
Yeah, that's right. That's what I wanted to discuss with you.
Did you miss your stop?
I only sent you off a few hours ago.
Yes, my point exactly. What's the deal with turning me into a sea turtle?
You said you liked swimming, and that you'd like a long life.
Yeah, but their life expectancy from hatching is only about four seconds, innit? I was eaten by a gull after two. You do realise that the odds of me becoming an old sea turtle are about one