:: Prelude to the climax of the best play I could conjure while vacationing from sobriety at 3am ::

Sunday, November 16, 2003

VAN: And the chase will... and then, Cuthbert, there'll be no need to pretend that we're asleep in the massage chair. There won't be any erstwhile benefactors hunting us down. It's not like we're slaves or anything so hideous as that, we're just harried. And as if the pressures of leapfrogging from one day to the next weren't enough, now we have to deal with... look it's not like we don't deserve this, but that won't stop me from indulging in a little fantasy I call liberty.

CUTHBERT: Listening to your blather is enslavement enough. I call upon the four elements of disillusionment! Certainly, you must be familiar with them.

[VAN, CUTHBERT, and THE GOLDENROD GOLFBALL MONKEY enter the Pachinko factory.]

VAN: Sure, just heap your derision on me. That's ok, I'm used to being the martyr. Can't say I didn't want this burden. I just wish you'd admit to some culpability in the matter.

CUTHBERT: Oh, I'm to blame.

[CUTHBERT giggles and staggers forward, casting a glance towards THE GOLDENROD GOLFBALL MONKEY, who is trailing behind indolently, exuding the petulant angst of lovers left unkissed.]

CUTHBERT: In a lot of ways I'm more to blame than our little friend here.

VAN [truculent]: Come off it. You haven't -

[VAN is stopped short by a loud thud coming from the escarpment behind the structure. The three voyagers stop dead in their tracks as the facility's rear twin doors are flung open and THE CUTTING CREW enter, clad in their customary periwinkle jumpsuits, eyes and feeding orifices a-glitter. THE GOLDENROD GOLFBALL MONKEY instinctively fortifies his psychic carapace with the ambitions of the undead. THE DECORATIVE OVOID MEAD CHALICE, leader of THE CUTTING CREW, cautiously approaches the persecuted trio, brandishing his extensive collection of cured meats and flatware. Agony is his trade and anarchy his remuneration. Somewhere, a songbird chirps in a meadow.]

VAN: This...

CUTHBERT: ends...

THE GOLDENROD GOLFBALL MONKEY [softly, like the footfalls of a kitten, but less tentative]: tonight.

Posted by morland @ 02:31 AM

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