genre: absurdist drama, one act

“Playing Easy to Kill” Five characters: Madame Theory/Zombie-of-Kitten, Robot/Figurative-Cousin, and The Firing Squad. Setting: Empty stage, two chairs.

Madame decides to take Zombie-of-Kitten out for a spin. ZK’s been good, turning baby tears into something decorative, like a Chia Pet on a window sill. Robot’s been measured for a tux recently. Madame decides to go see how that’s coming along . . . . She walks center stage into the half light of dimly seen shapes. A spot light comes down on Robot, who is sitting in his chair. Madame turns to the shapes opposite him, asks, How’s he measuring up? The lights come up, revealing a Firing Squad, two men, one standing one sitting and a series of others coming in and out to bring ammunition. Madame is standing between the Squad and Robot.

What’s your relation to the prisoner?, asks the Squad.
Suddenly, a Zombie of a Chia Pet is pulled out of recesses of Madame Theory’s mind, out her nose, through her sinuses. Ow, she says.
Zombie-of-Kitten, stunned to find herself in the light at Madame’s feet, blinks a few times, looks around, says to Madame: Uh Oh.

Madame looks toward Robot quizzically.
Robot says, I’ve got this under control—I don’t want a cigarette.

Madame turns back to the Firing Squad. What’s he done?, she asks.
He’s toast, the Squad answers. Is he a friend of yours?
Um, yeah, says Madame, like a Cousin, Figuratively-speaking.
Zombie begins to giggle at Madame’s feet. Did you really just say that?, she asks Madame. Madame whips out her gun and shoots from the hip at Zombie, who scuttles out of range.
Ha Ha missed—You better stay on your game there Madame! Your turn to get shot at! And with that, Zombie zips into the wings stage left to cue up a jukebox.
[from stage left: Stuck in the Middle with You]
Very funny, says Madame.

The Firing Squad reads out the charges against Robot. A looooooong time later, Madame, somewhat dazed, asks, Can I have Robot’s cigarette? I need to think a minute.
Sure take your time, says the Squad.

The lights dim. Thought bubbles descend over the heads of Madame and the Squad members:
{I am clueless.}
{Somebody should have killed this guy a long time ago.}
{You stay sitting—Beta becomes you.}

The lights come back up, the thought bubbles ascend, and in the corner can be seen Figurative Cousin spinning a soccer ball on his finger.

Can I have a moment alone with the prisoner(s)?, asks Madame politely, sparks flying out her face.
Are you sure that’s wise?, suggests the Squad, smugly.
Madame stares them down.
Ok Ok, says the Squad—They’re all yours. You’ve got until sundown.
I’ll stay on top of them, she says.
[from stage left: lol]
The lights go down on the Squad. Madame walks over to where Figurative Cousin is lying on the floor, throwing the ball from hand to hand.

Hi, she says.
Ho, he says cheerfully. What’s up?
Madame puts down a pile of books next to him.
Ooo, Stone Soup, I love that one, says Figurative Cousin.
[from stage left: Want to throw a Cosmo Magazine on that pile, cuz what the hell eh? haha So Weird.]
I have a new theory, says Madame.
O yeah?, he smiles at her.
Yeah, baby, I think you might be flat out bonkers, Madame smiles back at him.
That’s impossible, he says, There are no gay or bonkers people in the Greek Community.
Madame Theory reaches out, lays her hand tenderly on the side of his face, then takes him by the shorthairs in a vice grip.
OW, he yipes.
Madame starts dragging him across the stage, him slapping at her grip and she impervious. She pauses for a moment in front of Robot.
I didn’t want to settle for just any execution, says Robot.
Madame cocks her gun and blows him to smitherines against the backdrop.
[from stage left: WOOHOO! There’s an upside to everything!]
Madame continues to drag Figurative Cousin into the wings, stage right.
Waitit’sbackgammonnightwaitIgottacheckthehockeypool—Can we talk about this?, asks Figurative Cousin, trying to pry her fingers up.
NO, says Madame calmly

[from stage left: Good luck Cous! Johnie Be Good.]