Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Coward Joseph Stack

Every time I think about the coward Joseph Stack, I feel my right nostril twitch slightly upwards, pulling that side of my face into a sneer of disgust and unforgiving anger. This is the man who, on the morning of February 18th, 2010, set fire to the house where he lived with his family and then proceeded to fly his airplane into an office building in Northwest Austin, the city that I call home. Since then, it’s pretty much guaranteed that I’ll think about him at least twice a day, as I pass very close to the crash site on my commute to and from work. As of this writing, the access road that passes by the devastated building is still closed.

I saw the news first on Twitter just minutes after it happened, before it was clear that it was a purposeful act against a pre-determined target. I felt a twinge of recognition when I realized that the crash had taken place right down the road from my office, from the very spot where I was standing. Pretty soon, the entire office was abuzz, gathered around monitors with news sites pulled up, messaging links to one another, shouting out updates over cubicle walls. It was not unlike the atmosphere that followed the collisions of two other planes into two other buildings a little over eight years ago.

I can find nothing in the coward Joseph Stack’s actions or motivations that elicits anything even close to sympathy within me. I don’t care about his stupid tax problems or his frustrations with the government. Whatever issues he was having with them, whatever wrongs he felt he had endured, whatever pissy little grievances he had, I consider them all completely irrelevant to the conversation surrounding what he did. I’m sick to death of hearing and reading comments that start off with something like “Well, I don’t think it’s right to go flying airplanes into buildings, BUT...” and then go on to list the ways that the commenter agrees with the coward Joseph Stack. As far as I’m concerned, the coward Joseph Stack made no statement. He put forth no argument. The coward Joseph Stack committed no less than an act of terrorism and murder. Beyond that, one could argue that he committed an attack against his very own family, as he not only burned down the house where they lived, but did so while they were home. Whatever legitimate points he may have had to make during his lifetime, they all went up in smoke along with his charred corpse.

I don’t often write about current events, as I figure the news and other commentators have that pretty well covered, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about this one. This would have been a tragedy no matter where in the world it occurred, but it happened here, and in all honesty, I don’t remember ever being this pissed off about any other such senseless act of violence. How dare the coward Joseph Stack blast this horrid event into my town’s history? How dare he paint himself as some kind of victim? How dare he commit his murder in such a way as to ensure that he wouldn’t have to be around to be held accountable for it? How dare he bring an end to even a single life?

And besides all that, the fact that he even owned a house to burn down and a plane to crash, yet still felt like he was some kind of down-trodden victim, well it just makes me wish I could kick him in the face.

The coward Joseph Stack is done on this planet. He will affect no further change, whether for good or for ill. I write this simply as my own affirmation that what he did was absolutely not okay, not in any way, shape, or form. He was no hero, he is no martyr, and anyone who declares him as such is as foolish as he was.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Pretending to be an asshole is one thing, but some poor souls are stuck that way

I try not to be too big of a jackass in my real life, but acting the role of a remorseless prick can be a real hoot. The same is true of writing the parts for such characters. And foul language, goddamn how I do relish it, and I give not one flying fuck what the simpletons have to say about the relationship between one's use of profanity and the limits of their vocabulary. Oh, and making up technical terms about stuff I know not one thing about, that's fun too. All of that is what made this one here a lot of fun to write.

BONUSES

A table in a posh bar. Three well-off looking dudes, John, Scott, and Brad, sit around it and yes, they’ve been drinking. Brad is pissed off about something, Scott is laughing out loud at him, John is smiling smugly behind his drink.

BRAD
What the fuck?

SCOTT
Fifteen?

BRAD
That’s right.

JOHN
Don’t spend it all in one place, bro.

SCOTT
Dude, I’d be pissed if I was you.

BRAD
Why? How much did you assholes get?

SCOTT
Hey, don’t worry, okay? I got this round.

JOHN
You’re gonna have to go on welfare, yo.

SCOTT
No more organic for you, bro.

JOHN
Gonna have to cancel your gym membership.

SCOTT
And cable.

JOHN
Don’t tell your girlfriend, dude.

SCOTT
Fuck it, tell her. I’ll take that shit. You seen that shit?

JOHN
Indeed. Homeboy’s clearly been slipping something into old girl’s salad.

BRAD
Okay! Enough. I put my dick on the table, let’s see you guys. 

SCOTT
Testy, Bradley.

BRAD
Slap ‘em down. How much?

Carrie the waitress enters. 

CARRIE
You guys doing allright? Ready for another round?

JOHN
 Yes, please.

SCOTT
Shots! We ready for shots? We’re gonna need some shots.

JOHN
Let’s do it.

SCOTT
Don Roberto all around, please. We’re celebrating.


CARRIE
Great. I’ll have that right out. 

She exits.

BRAD
Okay, bitches. Numbers.

SCOTT
You hit that?

JOHN
No way, dude. Waitresses are fucking gross. 

SCOTT
What? I love that shit.

JOHN
That shit’s guaranteed herpes, bro.

SCOTT
I just like having a fine bitch fetch my alcohol for me.

JOHN
I’d let her suck my dick, though.

BRAD
            Snaps his fingers in their faces
Hey!

SCOTT
Get outta my face, fucker.

JOHN
Poverty’s got him turning violent already.

BRAD
I asked you a fucking question.

SCOTT
Oh we weren’t done laughing at your paltry little bonus, were we?

BRAD
We all started at the same fucking time. We’re the same fucking age. No way you guys got bigger bonuses than me. I do not accept that.

JOHN
Check it out. First stage of grief. Denial.

SCOTT
He’s gonna be bawling here in a minute. You’re gonna have to console him.

JOHN
I would, but between my massive bonus and my enormous cock, I can barely stand.

Carrie returns with their drinks.

CARRIE
Okay gentlemen, Don Roberto. 

JOHN
There it is.

CARRIE
And your beers.

SCOTT
Thank you so much. You are so awesome.

CARRIE
Aw, no, you guys are awesome.

SCOTT
Are we? Are we your most awesomest table tonight?

CARRIE
Mmmm, it’s a close race between you and those ladies over there in the corner.

SCOTT
Oh no way, those chicks aren’t awesome.

CARRIE
They’re not?

SCOTT
They’re totally gonna screw you on the tip. 

CARRIE
Oh no. How can you tell?

SCOTT
Attractive women hate other attractive women. It’s a proven fact. Besides, I work in finance. I can always spot a stingy bastard, regardless of gender.

CARRIE
Wow, I better watch my back, huh?

SCOTT
We’d all better.

She laughs at him and walks off. They all watch her walk off.

JOHN
I guess I’d hit that.

SCOTT
Who are those hoes in the corner?

JOHN
Who cares. Just let ‘em get a few more drinks in.

BRAD
Okay, fuck you guys. 

Brad gets up to leave.

SCOTT
Hey where you going? We’re just getting started here. We got shots.

BRAD
You can have mine.

SCOTT
Dude, come on. Sit down.

BRAD
No. I’m sick of you guys.

SCOTT
Dude.

JOHN
Come on Braddy boy.

SCOTT
We’re just fucking with you.

BRAD
So you didn’t get a bigger bonus?

JOHN
No, we totally did.

Scott laughs.

BRAD
You gonna tell me how much?

SCOTT
Dude, do this shot with us, okay? Please?

Brad considers, then sits back down.

JOHN
There he is.

They pick up their glasses.

SCOTT
Okay, so what are we drinking to?

JOHN
Big money, baby.

SCOTT
Fuck yeah.

JOHN
Except for Brad, who got the monetary equivalent of a used Toyota.


Scott laughs. Brad gets up to leave again, Scott grabs his arm.

SCOTT
Oh come on, dude, that was funny.

BRAD
I’m leaving, okay? I’m gonna go home and fuck my girlfriend. What are you guys gonna do? Sit here, get drunk, go home and jack off? Fuck the both of you.

JOHN
Dude, it was a joke. Quit being such a cuntrag about it.

SCOTT
It’s not us you’re mad at bro.

BRAD
I’d just feel a lot better about this if you guys would just tell me how much you got.

SCOTT
No you wouldn’t. You really wouldn’t.

BRAD
Try me.

SCOTT
Dude, come on. Sit down. Be cool. Do a shot with your bros. We’re celebrating.

He sits back down and they pick up their glasses again.

JOHN
Cheers.

They do their shots.

SCOTT
Ah, there it is.

BRAD
Okay, done. Now how much?

SCOTT
So what are you gonna spend that big fifteen-K on?

BRAD
Oh no, ah-ah. You first.

SCOTT
Because a used Toyota, while funny, probably not a great idea.

JOHN
Plus, what do you need a car for anyway? You live in the city.

BRAD
Motherfuckers. Okay, that’s it. For real this time, I’m leaving.

SCOTT
Oh come on, bro. Tell me and I’ll tell you.

BRAD
No you won’t.

SCOTT
I will! I totally will.

BRAD
You fucking swear?

SCOTT
I fucking swear.

BRAD
You too?

JOHN
Fuck it.

BRAD
I’m gonna use it to pay for my wedding.

SCOTT
I thought you already bought her a ring.

BRAD
I did. No, I mean the actual wedding. With this money, plus a few thou more I got socked away, that oughtta cover it.

JOHN
Isn’t the chick’s dad supposed to pay for that shit?

BRAD
Well they’re pitching in, but Heather’s family doesn’t really have a whole lot of money.

SCOTT
Wait, you’re marrying a poor bitch?

BRAD
She’s not poor. Her family’s middle class.

JOHN
Middle class?

SCOTT
Bro, listen, do you really want to be the rich son-in-law--

JOHN
Rich by their standards maybe.

SCOTT
Right. Do you really want to be they guy they ring up every time they need something paid for? Oh, grandma just lost her insurance and she needs her hip replaced.

JOHN
Oh, the bank’s gonna take our house.

SCOTT
Oh, we have to pay for grandpa’s funeral. 

JOHN
And if you dare try to say no, then you got your old lady on your back.

SCOTT
Fuck that shit.

JOHN
Fuck it in its ass.

SCOTT
In your ass.

BRAD
Okay, fuckers, I answered your stupid question. It’s your turn. Bonuses. How big?

SCOTT
Well let’s see here, I seem to recall, uh...well, shit. You know the exact figure was so astronomically large, I’ve totally forgotten it now.

BRAD
I will slap you. I’m going to slap you.

SCOTT
I can’t help it man! All those zeros stretching out into space.

JOHN
Like fucking Star Wars.

SCOTT
It boggles the mind.

BRAD
You know what? I don’t even care. I’m through with your stupid game.

Brad gets up to leave.

SCOTT
Oh come on, bro.

BRAD
Oh go die, bro.

SCOTT
Come on, man, let’s do some more shots. Let’s get fucked up and pick up some whores. Quit worrying about your fucking bonus.

BRAD
Tell me how much you got and I will.

SCOTT
Just let it go, man, okay?

BRAD
You gonna tell me how much you got?

SCOTT
Yes. Probably. Eventually.

BRAD
Fuck you.

Brad turns to leave.

JOHN
Ninety-seven nine.

SCOTT
What?

John mimes dropping his comically oversized penis on the table.

JOHN
Blaugh! How you like me now, bitches? Plenty of knob for all y’all to schlob.

BRAD
Ninety-seven nine?

JOHN
Sounds like a fucking radio station, doesn’t it?
       in radio voice
Ninety-seven nine, The Dick, playing all your mega-dick favorites.

SCOTT
How the fuck, dude? We all started at the same time!

JOHN
Yeah, and? I think it’s pretty obvious I bring the firm significantly greater value than either of you losers, and the boys up top know it. 

SCOTT
But ninety-seven thousand? That’s insane!

JOHN
I know, it’s criminal. I feel terrible.

SCOTT
John, dude, seriously. Tell me you’re full of shit.

JOHN
No can do, Scotty boy.

SCOTT
That’s just not right.

BRAD
So Scotty, I take it your bonus was significantly smaller?

SCOTT
Shut the fuck up! We’re both getting fucked in the ass here, you get that?

BRAD
And yet I’m still sort of enjoying this. 

SCOTT
How the fuck, dude?

JOHN
Look, what did you assholes work on this year? NG-487’s? Double K ten-thirties? Fucking glorified savings accounts.

SCOTT
Hey, I was a key contributor to that 487 rollout for Martindale!

JOHN
Key contributor? Don’t talk to me like I’m your fucking resume.

BRAD
All that means is you went to a few meetings.

JOHN
Straight up, homes.

SCOTT
So whose dick did you have to choke on?

JOHN
No fellatio involved, bro. Ross and Sorenstein had me in on devising one of the new SID’s.

SCOTT
SID’s?

JOHN
It’s basically an 87w but without the front-end interest credits. You pull in funds from investors and pool ‘em together in a long-term CMI with a minimum quarterly return.

BRAD
What’s the minimum?

JOHN
Anywhere from one to nine percent, depending on the seventh digit of the account number. So on the third Friday of every month, the returns are invested into a series of AM mutuals with 4a backends that are targeted for maturity every three quarters. Then at midnight of the maturity date, a computer runs a series of equations using the original investment capital, the add-on return percentage, the investor’s birthdate and marital status, the current position of the moon, and the top grossing film from the previous week. Depending on what it comes up with, it’ll either reinvest in the original CMI, open a new mutual, or just mail out checks to the investors. 

BRAD
Nice.

JOHN
Or, if the system comes up with a figure that goes out more than six decimal places, it kicks off a program that selects at random any one, three, or five of the top dozen performing stocks at the close of the bell that day, and invests the returns in those. These, in turn, are scheduled for sale on the Monday following the next national holiday.

SCOTT
They really had you working on this? 

JOHN
Fuck yes. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. We were churning on all sorts of other ideas how to keep the money going. We’re talking serious cash. 

BRAD
So how’d it do?

JOHN
In this economy? It fucking tanked. Had to shut the whole thing down.

SCOTT
Fucking Obama.

JOHN
Fucking Bush.

SCOTT
Fucking Clinton.

JOHN
Fucking Reagan.

SCOTT
Hey!

JOHN
What? You weren’t old enough to vote for him.

SCOTT
So let me get this straight. Your shit fucking tanked and they still dropped damn near a hundred K on your sorry ass?

JOHN
Hey, they recognize and reward talent. What can I say? They don’t want to lose me.

SCOTT
This is fucking bullshit. 

BRAD
So how much, Scott?

SCOTT
Fuck you.

JOHN
Come on, man. Spill it.

SCOTT
Where’s that fucking waitress?

JOHN
In the back sucking a dick, where you at?

BRAD
Come on, man. Out with it.

Pause for Scott’s reluctance.

SCOTT
Seventeen.

BRAD
Seventeen?

Brad bursts into laughter. Carrie reappears.

CARRIE
How you guys doing over here? Can I get you anything?

JOHN
We’re gonna need another round of shots over here.

Scott gets up and leaves in a huff.

BRAD
Oh come on, man! We’re celebrating!

CARRIE
So, two?

JOHN
Fuck it.

Scene.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

There was sickness, now there's candy

I don't mind telling you that the past week has sucked the balls off a Ken doll (the anatomically correct series, of course). Ashley got hit by the pneumonia bus, which had her laid up something good. Her doctor also tossed out the idea that she might have H1N1 as well, which seemed like the most ludicrous combination of diseases that it just had to be true. She's on the mend now, and we're beginning to think that her doc's declaration of pig flu may have been incorrect, or else she had the mildest case ever. While we still thought she had it, she was wearing a mask whenever she was around the boys. Funny thing, they didn't ask all that many questions about it. Whatever, I'm glad it's gone. I'm also glad the house is full of way too much Valentine's candy, all of it hidden away from the boys to be doled out by their righteous benevolent parents.

Like I mentioned last week, I'm trying to write one short play a week. With everything that was going on, I thought about skipping this week, which seemed really lame since it's only week 2. So lame, in fact, that I decided to go ahead and throw a quick little something together. This one was fun.

BOO

A bathroom in a house. A toilet. Toilet paper. A bathtub situated next to the toilet, the shower curtain closed.

Marcy sits on the toilet leisurely relieving herself while she flips through a magazine. All is quiet for a moment. Without warning, the shower curtain flies open, propelled by Chad, who is standing in the bathtub with a menacing look. Marcy is not at all startled. She doesn’t even look up. Chad holds his pose, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She does not look at him when she speaks.

MARCY
I want a divorce.

Chad’s expression falters slightly. Blackout.

Lights rise again on the same bathroom with the same Marcy on the same toilet doing the same thing, except this time she’s looking at stuff on her phone. The shower curtain is once again closed. Chad’s fingers curl around the edge of the curtain, though Marcy doesn’t notice or care. He yanks the curtain open, again with a look that is mostly silly with a dash of threatening tossed in. Again, Marcy is neither impressed nor amused, and does not look at him when she speaks. 

MARCY
I’m moving out next weekend.

Again, Chad’s expression falters slightly. Blackout.

Lights rise on the bathroom once again. This time, Marcy is typing on her laptop whilst relieving herself. A few moments pass. The shower curtain slowly begins to eek open. But before Chad reveals himself:

MARCY
I’m keeping the cat.

The shower curtain stops opening. A moment passes. The curtain slowly closes once again. Lights out.

Lights rise once more on our little lavatory, once again with Marcy on the toilet. She has nothing in her hands this time.

MARCY
The truck is all packed. I’m about to leave.

No response.
MARCY
Chad? Would you just come out already? I know you’re in there.

No response

MARCY
God, you never learn, do you?

She yanks the curtain open herself. He’s not in there.

MARCY
Huh. Maybe you do.

The lid of the toilet tank opens silently behind her as she finishes up. Chad rises out of the tank, the lid held over his head. He has the same goofy/scary expression as before. He is, of course, dripping wet. He stands there, frozen, waiting for her to notice him. Marcy finishes up, turns, and gets the scare of her life when she sees Chad. He howls with laughter.

CHAD
That was awesome! Okay, you can leave now.

Scene

Monday, February 08, 2010

Every week, a beginning, a middle, and something like an end

I've set before myself a new challenge: I'm going to write a short play every week, short as in anywhere from 2 - 20ish pages. My long term goal is eventually, once again, to create something that can go up onstage and be totally awesome, but I've come to realize that my playwrighting skrills are a bit out of practice, not having written a full length piece in something like 5 years. Out of that realization, this weekly play idea was born. Some of these may be awesome, some may suck, I suspect most will fall somewhere in-between. Since I don't really plan on doing anything with these other than learning from them, I'll toss the ones that I like up on the blogosaur. Here's the first one that I wrote this week. I kind of like it.


Upstage left, lights rise on a man sitting in a large wingback chair, much of his face in shadow, pipe in one hand and scotch in the other. This is Father. 

Downstage right, Lita’s bedroom appears. It is the bedroom of a young girl. She stands in front of the bed wearing footed pajamas like a kid. She’s a grown woman
.

LITA
My father was a werewolf hunter by trade.

Lights rise to show stuffed werewolf heads mounted on the walls above and around Father.

LITA (cont’d)
He spent the week before and after every full moon away from us.

Her father stands, puts a hat on, tosses a pack on his back, takes a rifle off of the wall, and exits.

LITA (cont’d)
Effectively half of his life. Half of our childhood. Where he went, we had no idea. It could’ve been the nearby campgrounds, it could have been Siberia. He rarely spoke of his work. But without fail, seven nights after every full moon, he returned bearing fresh evidence of his latest victories.

Father enters, followed by a pair of workmen who are carrying a rolled-up werewolf skin rug. They lay it on the floor and unroll, head facing the audience. Father stands atop it. He takes a manly swig from his flask. 

LITA (cont’d)
Don’t misunderstand, none of this was hidden from us. On the contrary, it adorned every corner of our home, which I suspect is what drove mother mad, but that’s a whole other story. He never told us not to, we simply knew that we weren’t supposed to talk to our father about what he did. The mystique of his occupation was so strong, in fact, my brother and I dared only speak of it in whispers.

KARIS
Pssst! Pssssssssssst!

Lita lifts up a sheet to reveal Karis hiding under her bed. 

LITA
What?

KARIS
I think our father is a werewolf hunter.

LITA
I know. We’ve discussed this. In whispers. 

KARIS
Oh yeah.

LITA
Go back to your room.

KARIS
Can I sleep under here?

LITA
No!

KARIS
But it’s dark and the house is full of werewolves!

LITA
They’re all dead and stuffed, stupid.

KARIS
They look so alive!

She heaves a sigh and drops the sheet, hiding him once more. 

KARIS (cont’d)
Thanks sis!

LITA
It was true, though. Our house was full of dead werewolves. Not a single corridor escaped the burden of bearing their heads.  And we noticed something after a while.

KARIS
pokes his head out
Hey, have you noticed that they keep changing the old ones out with new ones?

LITA
Yes!

Workmen enter on Father’s side of the stage. Directed by Father, they take down several trophies and replace them with new ones. They all exit, carrying the old trophies with them. 

LITA (cont’d)
It made sense, of course. If he was going to keep bringing home fresh spoils, he had to make room for them. Still, we had to wonder.

Karis crawls out and sits on the bed. He too is wearing footed pajamas like a little boy, even though he’s grown.

KARIS
Hey, what do you think they do with the old ones? You think they burn them? God, imagine the stench!

LITA
They sell them.

KARIS
You think?

LITA
Father has to pay the bills somehow.

KARIS
Aren’t we rich?

LITA
I think we’re old money. I’m not sure.

KARIS
Who wants to buy a stuffed werewolf?

LITA
Affluent types who wish to be seen as eccentric.

KARIS
What’s a stuffed werewolf go for, you think?

LITA
Well it’s not the kind of thing you can get just anywhere. I bet the gray ones go for more than the brown ones.

KARIS
Because they’re rare?

LITA
Exactly. Oh! Remember that white one we had hanging in the kitchen last Christmas? I bet that one drew a fat stack of cash.

KARIS
Why are they different colors? Was that one a white person?

LITA
I don’t think it’s a skin color thing. Hair color maybe?

KARIS
So the grey ones and the white ones come from old people? That might explain their rarity. 

LITA
But then why do we never see any blonde ones?

KARIS
Because a blonde werewolf would look stupid.

LITA
Our house was a museum whose installations were constantly in flux. And it wasn’t just heads, either.

KARIS
Hey, have you seen the new setup in the library?


Father leads the workmen back in. This time, they roll in a platform, atop of which stands the full body of a stuffed werewolf. It is up on two legs with its mouth open, teeth visible. Directed by Father, the workmen place the platform and then decorate the scene with paper mache boulders, plants, tree stumps, etcetera to make a nice little diorama. Very Museum of Natural Science and shit. The workmen exit. Father surveys the scene, steps in and adjusts the werewolf’s arms to make it look more fierce. He surveys his handiwork, then exits. Lita walks over to it and Karis follows. They look at it for a moment.

LITA
Something weird about this one.

KARIS
It’s big.

Lita examines the werewolf’s face closely. This makes Karis nervous.

KARIS (cont’d)
What are you doing?

LITA
Hey, Mr. Werewolf. What’s shakin?

KARIS
Sis, maybe we shouldn’t--

Lita turns its head to one side, then the other

KARIS (cont’d)
Are you crazy? Stop that!

LITA
  Opens its mouth and looks inside
Say aaaaaahhhh.

KARIS
Stop it!

She touches its teeth. 

LITA
What big teeth you have.

KARIS
Oh my god, please stop!

LITA
I don’t know what it is, but there’s something extra creepazoid about this one.

KARIS
Dad’s gonna notice that! If it’s one hair off, he’ll notice!

LITA
Then I’ll blame you and he’ll believe me because he loves me more.

Karis opens his mouth to respond, but doesn’t. He looks at her for a moment, then runs back to his room. 

With some effort, Lita pulls one of the wolf’s arms down to her level and examines the long sharp claws extending from its fingers. She reaches out and touches the point of one. She pushes her finger hard against it, as if she’s daring it to puncture her skin. There’s a noise outside that startles her from her focused state and makes her pull her finger away from the claw and clasp it in her other hand. She hides just as Father enters, his head in a book. He walks past the werewolf, then stops and turns back to it. He notices that it is not as he left it. He sets the book down and adjusts the werewolf’s arms and head back to where they were. As he’s doing this, he catches a scent on the werewolf. He sniffs, trying to determine what it is that he’s smelling. He follows it for a moment, then figures it out.

FATHER
Lita.

She crawls out from hiding. She’s casually holding the finger that she had pressed against the werewolf claw.
FATHER (cont’d)
Why are you hiding?

She shrugs.
FATHER (cont’d)
You tampered with this. Do not lie to me.

She nods. He looks at her for a moment, takes a breath, then turns back to the werewolf.

FATHER (cont’d)
What do you think of him?

LITA
It’s big.

FATHER
I suppose he is.
LITA
How many bullets did you have to use?

FATHER
Just one.
  touches its heart
Right there. He was lapping up water from a puddle when I approached. I was upwind of him, but I’d taken the precaution of masking my scent. He never knew I was there. It was all rather humane. Textbook in its perfection. So no, he was not nearly so fierce as this display might lead one to believe. Such is the joy of taxidermy. How was school today?

LITA
School? Um, okay.

FATHER
Eighth grade. Your last report card showed a C in mathematics. It had previously been an A. Explain this.

LITA
You looked at it?

He says nothing, just looks at her and waits for an explanation.

LITA (cont’d)
I don’t like thinking about numbers.

FATHER
You seemed to like them well enough before.

LITA
Well now I find them rather unpleasant. 

FATHER
Do you like your teacher?

LITA
We’ve had a sub for the past few weeks. She seems nice, but she doesn’t know very much.

FATHER
Your permanent teacher has been ill, I take it?

Lita shrugs.
FATHER (cont’d)
Lita, your teachers have a job to do and I suppose most of them are reasonably qualified to do it, but I want you to remember this word of wisdom from the flawed man who is your father. Do not let them overrule what you know to be true. If something they try to teach you feels wrong, reject it. Vomit it forth from your being the way you would a poison from your belly. Do not allow it to sink in. Trust your own sense of what’s true. Do you understand?

LITA
Dad, why do you do this?

FATHER
You’ve homework to do.
  starts to exit, turns back
And in the future, daughter, look, but no touching.

He exits. She remembers her hurting finger and winces at it. She examines it as she walks back to her room and sits down on her bed. Lights dim on the werewolf side of the stage. Reluctantly, she pulls a textbook out of her school bag and sits down to do her homework. Karis pops his head out from under the bed.

KARIS
Sis?

She’s mildly startled.
 
LITA
Dammit, Karis.

He climbs out from under the bed.

KARIS
It’s just me.

LITA
And this is just my room. What are you doing in here? Under there? Again.

KARIS
Waiting for you. Where have you been?

LITA
I have homework. 

KARIS
Sis, I think I know something.

LITA
Great. Do my homework for me. 

KARIS
Dad does what he does.....for what?

LITA
Because he failed eight grade math?

Karis pulls a bag out from under the bed and puts it on Lita’s bed.

KARIS
I did something.

LITA
You think something, you did something. You’re speaking in very general terms today, brother of mine.

KARIS
There was a head mounted in the big dining room a couple of months ago. You might remember it. Average size. Brown fur with touches of gray. Nothing special, really. There was just something about it. 

LITA
  eyeing the bag and moving away from it.
Oh my God, Karis.

KARIS
He had this really great jawline. Good lines, you know? 

LITA
And you dared to call me crazy.

KARIS
I totally covered my tracks, sis. I replaced him with another one off the wall in the north corridor. Same color and size. Then I took the nail out of the wall where it had been, I even filled in the hole that the nail left.

LITA
Has dad said anything?

KARIS
Not to me. Has he said anything to you?

LITA
He asked me about school.

KARIS
Really?

LITA
Did you know he looks at our report cards?

KARIS
No way.

LITA
Karis, what were you thinking?

KARIS
I don’t have very many friends.

LITA
You don’t have any friends.

KARIS
Neither do you.

LITA
Because we have so very much in common with other kids our age.

KARIS
I know, that’s why I thought...I felt like he could hear me somehow.

LITA
Hear you?

KARIS
I liked to prop him up at the foot of my bed where we could look at each other and we would just talk. 

LITA
Karis, if you have a brain in your head, you’ll put your imaginary friend back where you found him. But at the very least, you get that thing out of my room. The last thing I want is--

He opens the bag and yanks the head out, along with the wooden plaque to which it is mounted. But instead of a werewolf head, it’s the head of a middle-aged woman, with only a few slight traces of werewolf fur here and there. She does not look at all ferocious. Lita screams in horror at the sight and recoils. She keeps screaming. Karis puts the head down and puts his hand over her mouth to make her stop. 

KARIS
Someone’s going to hear you.

LITA
They’re...all of them. All throughout the house.

KARIS
Every room, every corridor. I know.

LITA
I don’t know why I’m acting so surprised. Wer, man. Wolf--

KARIS
Wolf.

LITA
You said it was a he.

KARIS
I’d just been thinking of it as a he for so long.

LITA
You’d been thinking of it as your best friend. 

KARIS
I’m pathetic, okay? I know.

LITA
I’m not much better, honestly. The only reason I ever have to speak to other kids my age is to ask them to leave me alone.

KARIS
Look, I have a theory. See, I think if you were to kill a werewolf and just leave it, I think it would probably just turn back into a human right away.

LITA
Like in the movies?

KARIS
Right. But I think father’s doing something after he shoots them that slows down the process.

LITA
So he can use them for decor? 

KARIS
I guess. How should I know?

LITA
Maybe it’s naturally a slow process.

KARIS
The rehumanizing?

LITA
Yeah, maybe it takes a few weeks. Naturally.

KARIS
None of this seems very natural.

LITA
God, Karis. Are we the children of a lunatic? 

KARIS
He started hunting more after mom died.

LITA
But he still hunted before that. He still hung dead people all over our walls. Why? To what end any of this? Who was this woman? Who are any of them? Who--? Oh my god.

KARIS
What?

LITA
  grabs a calendar off of her wall and scans through it
What day is it?

KARIS
The 12th.

LITA
The library.

Lita runs out of her room to the library. Karis follows after, leaving the woman’s head behind. Lights in her room dim as they enter the library and turn on the lights. The wolf’s hands, his feet, and part of his arms and legs are now human, but the rest of him is stilly plenty furry. There’s fur all over the ground beneath it. The rug is gone.

KARIS
Oh my god.

LITA
They’re getting rid of it any day now, I bet.

KARIS
  picking up some of the fur on the ground
What a mess.

LITA
There’s something about this one, Karis. I can feel it.

KARIS
Well, do you recognize its feet, or its hands?

She examines the parts of it that are human.
 
LITA
I’ve seen these hands before, I swear.

KARIS
Married. See, look. Ring line. And definitely male, judging by the arms. Or else a woman that one might describe as handsome.

LITA
Okay detective, but do you have a name?

KARIS
I’m doing the best I can here.

They continue examining it. Karis pulls off a clump of fur, then another.

KARIS (cont’d)
Hey look. You can pick the fur right off.

Lita picks madly at the fur on the wolf’s face

LITA
Help me!

Karis helps her. After pulling at fur for a moment, he notices something about the beast’s snout and begins pulling at it.  

KARIS
Wait a second. Pull here. 

LITA
Here?

KARIS
Yeah. It’s loose.

They both pull at its snout. They work it up and down trying to loosen it from the face. 

KARIS
There, I think we almost got it. If we can just--

The snout comes loose from the face, causing Lita and Karis to fall backwards. A man’s face is now revealed. As with the woman’s head in Karis’s bag, it looks not at all ferocious.  

KARIS (cont’d)
Pain. Ouch.

LITA
Oh my god.

KARIS
What? Oh, hey, isn’t that your math teacher?

LITA
Mr. Clem. He disappeared a few weeks ago.

KARIS
Huh. Well, mystery solved, right?

Lita starts crying.
KARIS (cont’d)
Oh, Leet, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think. I guess he was a pretty good teacher, huh? I would’ve been in his class in a couple of years. I wish I’d--

Lita screams and punches Mr. Clem in the face. His taxidermied body stays in place, but his head turns to the side in response to her punch. 

KARIS (cont’d)
Oh. So not such a good teacher then.

MR. CLEM
  turns his head back to face Lita
Once again, class, our very own Miss Lita has done her part to reenforce the notion that girls and math do not get along.


KARIS
He said that?

LITA
And worse, every day.

MR. CLEM
And from out of the mouth of Lita, yet another incorrect answer.

KARIS
Were you really that bad at math?

LITA
I had a solid C.

MR. CLEM
Would anyone care to enlighten her with the correct answer to this ridiculously simple equation? Perhaps we should fetch one of the first graders from next door to assist her.


Karis laughs, Lita gives him a dirty look.

KARIS
I’m sorry. What a jerk.

LITA
That wasn’t even the worst of it.

MR. CLEM
Not that you’ll need an education to get by in this world, my sweet. Looking at you now, I can tell you’re going to blossom into quite the attractive young lady.

LITA
I wish I’d been the one to shoot you. 

She punches him again. His head turns, then his body falls over, knocking over pieces of the diorama and making a huge racket. 

LITA (cont’d)
Was that loud?

KARIS
Father’s probably asleep, maybe he didn’t--

Father enters.

FATHER
Ahem.

KARIS
Oh.

FATHER
Children.

Father examines the mess.

LITA
That was me. I knocked it over.

KARIS
We both did.

FATHER
Oh I hold the both of you responsible. There’s no need to clamor over the blame.
  He kicks at the body. He dials a number on his cell phone.
Yes. Library. Disposal. No, no hurry.
  He hangs up.

LITA
Father, this man--

FATHER
Both of you to your rooms. If you’ve homework, finish it. Then to bed. I'll deal with you later.

LITA and KARIS
Yes sir.

They both exit to their rooms. The workmen enter and, along with Father, they lift Mr. Clem back up to a standing position. Father examines Mr. Clem’s face, turning his head to one side, then the other, then finally looking him directly in the eye. The workmen roll him out. Father follows them out, turning off the lights as he goes.


Lights rise in Lita’s room. She is sitting on her bed doing homework. She gives up on it and tosses the book aside.

LITA
Karis?

She looks under the bed, but he’s not there.

LITA (cont’d)
To this day, I wish I’d been the one to put the bullet in Mr. Clem’s heart. Seeing him dead and stuffed in my father’s library brought about such a sense of contentment. It occurred to me that life would be so much more fun if all the people that I hated were werewolves. Father’s occupation suddenly made such perfect sense.

She lays down and turns out her light to go to sleep. The stage is dark for a moment. Then the door to her bedroom opens, Father enters, and turns her light back on. He is standing over her bed. 

FATHER
You wish you had been the one to put the bullet in that wolf’s heart. Did I hear you correctly?

LITA
Yes sir.

FATHER
The full moon is nine nights from now. I leave in two. Do you wish to come with me?

LITA
Yes sir.

FATHER
You will carry a weapon and you will do as I say and if you wish to do so, you will learn how my work is done. Is that understood?

LITA
Yes sir.

FATHER
Have you any questions? Any at all?

LITA
No sir.

FATHER
Very well. Good night.

He turns off the light and exits.
 
LITA
Good night, Father.