Act 2: Scene 1:

-A small tavern filled with its usual patrons, a barmaid is polishing glasses behind the bar. Archie, an old army leader who defected from the north to fight with the south, sits at the bar alone. In walks Theo.-

Archie: Aha! Pray barmaid, two of yer best for us and haver not. Come prithee ye wee bastar’t and sing yer stories of success, I chance.

Theo: Thus?

Archie: Aye, today mind.

-Theo joins Archie at the bar and sits upon a high stool-

Archie: So, tell me young Theo, dids’t thou witness the great rivers of blood from these savage beasts or lay still and keech yer garments again? -Archie roars into great laughter-

Theo: Scoff. What chance? No monarch army, Road layer or foreign legion could mark upon those hills. Leathered five to one. I know not how to defeat these locals, for they are savage and unyielding. My men are submerged in the pool of doubt before a sword is even unsheathed. Their fears are whetted and then the metallic fog of death fills their lungs. The hills are painted with our crimson waters and those cretins laugh at us as we retire. So hastily our retreat was, the echoes like hysterical ravens followed us for miles.

-the barmaid brings across the tankards of ale for each man and places them on the counter. Theo grasps his and goes to take a sip. Archie grabs the tankard from Theo’s hand and launches it across the pub. Archie leans over the top of Theo and does not blink-

Archie: Tell me, ya wee shite: yer no sitting warming thy belly with ale after permitting the men of the north to laugh at us again are ye? I entreat ye; permit me my boot into thy warm belly and have me go up there to do it myself.

Theo: Stay your hand Archie. I have a renewed and cunning plan.

Archie: Aye? Entertain me then, bastar’t. And if ye use my name again, I will beat ye with my fist until death.

Theo: Sir, the clans are unrested. A local dolt spilled his lungs to my men. The savages fight over land and other matters. We should be patient and-

Archie: PATIENT!? How many full moons hast thou counted with these men, to result not?

Theo: Please sir, I beseech. Should we wait until they resort to the violence they do, and they will, their numbers will be littler and our men can wade in and end their reign.

Archie: Troubled, Theo. I am troubled and ye were bested again and, beset by farmers I should say. Should your tactic prove bereft, my dear Theo, there shall be no quarrel but I shall give ye a sore neck upon that rounded piece of quarry laying upon the grass outside and I shall have the weans punt yer empty heed into the loch. Dos’t I make ma self clear?

Theo: Wholly, sir.

-Archie sits down and begins to drink from his ale-

-Lights dim to spotlight on Theo, voice over commences-

Theo voice over: Whos’t thou to insinuate bastard? You northern filth. Driest dung to be scraped from mine boot serves better purpose on this Earth than thee, great almighty oaf. If mine father heard of this insolence he would have thou head. Drink away beast and return back to thou beast wife too. I dares’t suggest thy own womb bearer be a creature of the swamps too! I will destroy these savage creatures in the north and then I shall return to this mud-hut and find thee doubtlessly slumped across this bar top and I will pierce thee rear with my spear and decorate this tavern with thy remains. See if I do not.

-lights come up again-

Archie: Theo!

Theo: Sir?

Archie: Dreaming of going back to thy mammy to suckle upon the teet of home comforts?

Theo: Nay…

Archie: Oh, then perhaps thou was ignoring me? Perhaps I should cave in thy daft wee face and save the northerners the trouble?

Theo: No, sir.

Archie: Then what more business hast thou for me? Be gone wee bastar’t and show not yer face here again until those savages are cleared. Thoust would do well to not darken this place again or so help me. Be gone I said!

-Theo gritted his teeth and clenched his fist for a moment before standing up and walking out of the tavern-

-Scene end-

I. O’ Una, my mind on thee keeps the Cerberus of my memory asleep at the gate. Golden as the Martian sands, yer een pierced a cosmic vacuum through the gales of my middle. No leviathan could hinder my efforts to spread thee across the linen pool once again. Nothing do they know of my secret below. Walls of liquid euphoria do rock my very abode. I shall ride the sea of death and defeat my palest nemesis. Pains from my ivory limb, engorge mine appetite to spill the oil. Gabriel warned me and I phlegmed with laughter. No deity; but a grail to aloft upon my mantle, to peer at thy will and know: Death’s touch and I will be evaded. Patience grows weak and my kill will be leathered among man forever more. Be still my gracious Venus and hold thy moon close to thy breast, for my return shall be rapture.

II. Dearest diary. These choppy seas so treacherous, I fear where we go next as much as I ever had in times of war. So beautiful is the sunset and the freedom of open sea, encased my heart with joy has the scenery of this journey. My long is to love and learn. This chase, I fear, will be the end of us all. Mr. Queequeg lives with us through miracle and almighty grace, yet still his coffin lies amongst the craft of this ship. What a peculiar sight. I see the way Starbo has been looking at the captain. An ominous shadow is cast and I wish only to see more twilight hours.

III. Fruitless are my pleas and gone is my will to pursue this any further, for we are doomed. I could kill him. Could not I? T’would be folly indeed. No man could get near or past Pip, even! I just want to go home. Another poor man plunged from the mast yet still does he not see it! We must go back or our lives are forfeit. Revenge is no task for man against the giants. I shall place this piece in a glass bottle. Will it grace the sands of land or be lost to the grains of time? My family must know of me and my outcome. We are sailing on to the end of the Earth and there we shall fall from it. Dear family, please remember me, my love to you, ‘Buck.

Patrick sat up. His senses returned to him in a sudden flurry, yet, there was nothing. He reached up and touched his face and he felt it and knew his eyes were open but he couldn’t see anything. He put his hand back on the floor and felt the cold wetness and that’s when he became aware there was water in the ground. In fact it came to him that he was in about an inch of water. His back and the back of his head were soaked.

Pat slowly stood up. His balance was all wrong, without being able to see anything he struggled to orient himself. He shivered as he was cold and looked around as if to hopefully spot any chink of light in this world of darkness. It wasn’t until he turned around completely, then he noticed it. Like an oasis in an endless barren desert, he peered up and gazed in amazement as he looked upon his old childhood house. It didn’t look right, how was it that this house was very clearly visible when…

Patrick shook his head and blinked wildly in amazement. The darkness was gone and he was standing in the street in front of this house. There was no one around, no cars, no people, no noise. He could smell bread in air like he used to smell when he was a young child from the bakery just around the corner. He couldn’t see it from where he was standing but he knew it was there and could smell it clearly. It couldn’t be though, as it was clearly the middle of the night and the bakers shut around 6 o’clock every day.

It was raining. For Pat, it was clear what his next move was going to be. He stepped under the porch and looked around out into the vacant street, only the sound of rain starting to pour heavier on the concrete filled the air. No sirens, no shouting neighbours arguing over some pointless issue. It was the strangest feeling for Pat. Like he was home but, none of it felt right.

He extended his arm out and grasped the spherical handle of the storm door and it opened with complete ease, as it always had. He propped open the storm door with his right foot and reached in again and knocked the main door 4 times. Something he always did when he was young. The words of his mother echoed in his mind, “What are you doing Patrick? You don’t have to knock your own door y’know. Just… come in!”.

After a few moments, Patrick reached for the handle of the main door and as he did, the door popped open itself. As if his hand was magnetic towards the spherical handle. Patrick nudged the door and it creeped open to reveal his home, exactly as he remembered. The house was dark but he made out pictures on the walls of his family and himself. Patrick walked in and instinctively said “Hello?” Barely above a whisper. He glanced up the stairs and was met with pure darkness. He tried the light switch but nothing, not even a hum. Patrick reached into his pocket in search for his phone but he didn’t have it. A brief panic set in but he allowed it to pass as he knew he was probably dreaming. “How lucid” he thought.

He walked quickly through the kitchen and into the utilities room where he knew his father kept a tool bag. It was there. He opened the bag and peered in, seeing the outlines of tools and objects in the bag from the light of the street lamp peeking in through the kitchen window. He spotted what he wanted. He reached in and pulled out a rather hefty torch which he instinctively shook first then tried the switch. It instantly shone a great burning light right into Patrick’s eyes. He flinched and pointed the torch away from himself.

He wandered back into the living room and looked around shining the torch on wherever his eyes gazed. He reached and picked up a picture of his mum and dad standing in front of some Spanish tapas restaurant. His dad had his arm round his mums shoulder and they both looked great and happy. He remembered that night when his parents came home and they sat on the couch.

Pat turned and looked at the couch and it was! It was the same couch from when he was young.

Young Patrick came running in crying to his parents who were laughing, slightly drunk on that couch. Patrick pointed to the ceiling and said that there was a bad man upstairs and he was chasing him around the house while his mum and dad were out for dinner. Patrick’s dad smiled at his wife and picked up young Patrick and took him upstairs. Showed him around to prove there was no one but he didn’t check the wardrobe.

Patrick’s dad tucked him into bed but as he did, the wardrobe burst open suddenly and a dark figure started wrestling and struggling with Patrick’s father. In the middle of it all, a loud bang and flash!

Patrick snapped out of the memory.

He slowly wandered to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. Not even the torch could pierce the darkness up there. Slowly, step by step, he ascended the stairs until he reached the top. The door to his room was ajar and the darkness was inviting.

Patrick walked into his room and scanned the room. It was as if nothing had changed. He stood beside his bed and looked down. The pool of blood still there, circled his boots. He turned his attention to the wardrobe. He wasn’t sure what inspired him, but he flicked the switch on his torch and the room fell to darkness and there it was. The dark figure within the wardrobe. Patrick sighed and turned to face to the wardrobe…

With talk and song to spread the word Of joy and praise; to lead the third

Gallant steps, silver wings were spread To the south and east, who seemed to dread

The rising sun engulfs the land An Eagle fans the flames at hand

The west to welcome with whistles and cheers The faces glistened through metallic tears

Follow hands on hearts with rousing speech Vermillion seas would lap the beach

A metal monster surfs the waves A Bismarck putting men to graves

An eerie fog rolled across its bow Leviathan was hidden now

To South and south the steel blades mowed From pyramids to deserts and where rivers flowed

The islands of tricks where the locals would hide Jump out and grab you and drag you inside

Winged dogs threw metal and fire Through the air they dived, to kill was desire

From Kraut to Tango and Charlie to Bogey No human to see, a target Shinobi.

The beast had emerged like a fog laden buoy The hunters had found him and cried: “destroy!”.

The Phoenix had scorched and the loss was too great The fury had grown, we must retaliate.

To north we shall March to the icy barrens A pennies worth to pay to your Charon’s.

Auf der Heide blüt ein kleines Blümelein Un das heißt: Erika.

Alas such short and sweet venture dwindles we must retreat Such poverty and division awaits us to greet.

The ice golem awakens and ceases their March Rations are rationed until supplies are parched.

The adventure is over and no more talks or songs The tolling of bells, the bangs and the bongs

The eagle sores high and its payload is dropped The World in the east, suddenly stopped.

An end to the travels of miasma and death For once the world let out a breath.

But the fog of war shall venture again

Again and again and again and again

The moving images, blurred Sound distorted, speech slurred TV just ain’t what is used to be

I’m mindless but I know what they’re doing I know where she is I know who she is

The riots and the violence that splash across my screen Endearing and fascinating but not to me My mind is focused on the void and I see nothing else

To the ship I must fly To this world, say goodbye Goodbye to everything

Stars and light shift across my windows Could I simply float to the moon? Swim in a sea of space An eclipse with my own shape

Finally I find her, and him, that is I But he is not me, nor I him Prospect One, or am I Prospect One? I can’t focus.

I see them sleeping on the waves of silk. A cloud caressing their sleeping bodies, the window’s open. The eyes of the parliament glow vivid in the night.

In another room my hand turns the valve. Turn it to release, fill the room. Am I me?

He took what was mine and I could never have again What is he?

Creeping in before the rise of the sun, I shall wait no longer. I know what I must do.

I raise the box above my head, overshadow the dead. I see the writing in the side: “Property of the Night Owls”.

It is time now, I must open the box.

I see them once again. They are holding each other, like it’s the last time…

And it is.

Every day seems the same for Rob Schneider. Living his life as a multi-millionaire actor and comedian. Until one day… Rob Schneider wakes up and realises… he’s turned into a lamp. And he’s gonna find out, being a lamp is not all it’s cracked up to be! Rob: “Ha, I’ve got a bright idea!” “Oh, baby! You really know how to turn me on!” Rob Schneider stars in… Being A Lamp.

—

Every day seems the same for Jack Black. Judging fat people as unlikeable and comparing them to Narwhals. Until one day he gets hypnotised and Jack Black sees everyone as a Narwhal. Eventually he falls in love and has premarital sex with a stunningly beautiful Narwhal before being un-hypnotised and realising it was just a fat bird. Jack: “Damn, you’re a horny creature ain’t yah?” Narwhal: “Glerrggggaaahh” Jack Black stars in… Shallow Hole

—

Every day seems the same for Liam Neeson. Until one day, a bunch of evil dudes steal his precious Budgerigar. Liam proceeds to kill and molest half of Northern Ireland because he hates Protestants and thieves. “I will find ye, and I will fuck ye… Then kill ye! Ye orange bastards!” Liam Neeson stars in… Mistaken.

—

Every day seems the same for Vin Diesel… until one day, he moves to the UK and is forced to buy a Ford KA and follow the rules of the road. Vin takes up a new role as a plasterer and dating Chantelle who he met on Tinder. Vin: “Hey babe. We should go see the new Rob Schneider movie!” Chantelle: “What, the one where he turns into a lamp? You must be having a laugh mate! All those films are shite!” Vin Diesel stars in… The Furiously Slow.

—

Every day seems the same for Benedict Cumberbatch, living life as a successful and well talented actor. Until one day Brumbledick Chamberlain decides to take up voice acting and narration, landing a gig on arctic birds. Turns out, for Beanerduct Cumpybum, it’s not as easy as it sounds… Bendertick: “Look at these pengims… Perguns… pungims… peeguins, of for fuck sake…”

Beaniebaby Clusterfuck stars in… South Pacific.

—

Every day seems the same for Rob Schneider, living the good life. Until one day, he turns into one of Chantelle’s tampons. And he’s gonna find out, being a tampon, is not all it’s cracked up to be! Rob: “Hey, is she dating Vin Diesel? I didn’t know he owned an Irish Budgie!”

Rob Schneider stars in… Derp Der Der

Fuck

I mean Fin

It was a small town, the type of place where everyone knew everyone.

Oscar owned a series of high-end American model cars. The type of car that if you seen it somewhere else in the world you would say “God damn, that’s an American car!”. He kept them all in his super-sized garage that had one of those remote controls he could use to open and shut the door as he entered and left, in slow motion I imagine. His two story five bedroom detached villa behind the white picket fence made you wanna wipe the tears from your eyes using that star spangled banner flapping in the warm dry breeze that blew past his property.

Well, this morning Oscar was found bludgeoned to death with a tire iron. Not least the one from his own garage. Unfortunately Miss Escarlata, who had arrived for an early morning clean of Oscar’s house, found his body and what remained of his head scattered throughout the study.

“So! Whadda we got?” In stepped the customary Irish ex-NYPD detective to blanket the area with his deductions. The recently out-of-retirement professor helping with the investigation swung his annoyed side glance away from the uniquely extrovert detective and begrudgingly responded through his sigh. “Single white male, mid to late 60s, former Marine Corps Colonel found in his home beaten to death with a tire iron. Mr. Mustard was found by his house maid not long after 7am this morning when she arrived as scheduled to clean the house…”

“Colonel Mustard eh?” The detective disrupted with his joke and a toothy grin.

“…Hilarious” sighed the professor.

“Professor; Detective! There’s a note here on the desk. Looks like a suicide note” said a nearby CSI. “What!?” Exclaimed the professor, who rushed over with what seemed like one single step. The detective still grinning at his previous joke shuffled over with all the speed of an old arthritic dog.

The Professor stood up straight after studying the note for all of three minutes, even admiring it to some degree. “It is a suicide note!” The Professor turned his entire tall stretched frame to face the detective. Although he knew what the detective looked like it still astonished him to see this five foot five inch, slightly overweight and unshaven monkey of a man who still smelled slightly of scotch and cigarettes stood before him. The Professor rolled his eyes slightly.

“A suicide note? I mean I’m no detective but… Oh wait, yes I am!” And there was that yellow tinged toothy grin again. “My man did not do that to himself! He was killed last night at his birthday party, right?”

The Professor squinted his whole face at this theory. “Detective we’ve been here for an hour and a half before you bothered to turn up and we don’t have a solid idea yet, what makes you think-“

“Well, it’s fairly simple Professor. I spent the last thirty minutes looking at the rest of the house. No signs of forced entry, it’s a well secured house. There’s birthday cards above the fire place downstairs…”

“No mention of a birthday party in his diary, detective...” the Professor threw that out there almost in spite.

“Yeah well most people don’t need a reminder of their own birthday, Professor.” At this the Professor frowned as if he’d regretted that last move.

The detective continued “the candles in the dining room were lit last night, the dishwasher is full and there’s a half empty bottle of wine in the fridge. No signs of struggle in here, he was taken by surprise and the killer was a guest at the party. I believe they may also have gotten away in one of the Colonel’s impressive collection of American blooded cars. I’ve seen a picture of every car in his collection and one is definitely missing from his garage.”

The Professor took a step forward and sized up this tiny half-cut man. He extended his hand with his strangely elongated fingers out-stretched. “I’m Professor Plumb. You can call me Richard. And you are?”

The detective smiles and also extended his hand and grasped Richard’s hand in a full motion hand shake. “My name’s Neil Peacock. Nice to meet you Dick!”

At this, Richard cringed so hard his whole body seemed to curl up. No one had called him Dick before. This was going to be a long investigation.

The darkness it hides me The shade it finds me The whites of my eyes pierce the veil.

Blood pumps a rush Breath I must hush For my need, you must not find me.

My steps must be silent My need is quite violent Your body is mine for the taking.

The pulse in my limbs A creature of sins I think I could die just watching you.

Your tall slender figure So full of vigour My hands could take that away.

Your soft milky skin An Earthly seraphim I retch in excitement to wear you.

My nails dig in the dirt My body starts to hurt I must release what’s inside - it’s killing me!

You’ve reached your destination With zero indication My eyes roll back, it’s now or never.

I sprint towards my deer You had simply no idea - no fear You’ll be mine forever.

Behind my basement walls that slide Preserved in formaldehyde You will always be my favourite.

Your charm, your wit, your interests and looks. You were absolutely perfect.

Your smile it melted my insides to a sticky gooey substance and filled my belly with moths.

Your deep eyes would suck the soul from my being, my body would wander lost, as a ghost, if I couldn’t look into them.

You made me happiest when we’d talk for minutes about literally anything. Just being with you and knowing you were safe was what mattered.

You would never be taken from me by another if I was beside you, I know that.

I loved you.

I hated the way you made others laugh and talked about all your interests. Worse yet, they would make you laugh.

I hated the way your smile would melt the insides of others, it was surely me alone that should have your smile?

I deserved to have my soul lost in your eyes, no one else.

I hated it when you wouldn’t see me because you were going out with friends, anything could happen to you!

I hated that you could never see me as a lover, but merely a friend.

I hate you, because I love you.

No one is good enough for you, your charm, your wit, your beauty; no one deserves those things, but me.

No one showed you the love I give for you every second of every day.

No one asked what you’re up to a hundred times a day.

Because no one cared like I do!

Now no one can.

My love burned so fiercely that what better way for you to go. Your pyre burned so bright I knew it was your real love for me that fuelled it.

My hands still ache and my shoulders and face still bare the scratches of our final encounter.

They’ll never find you. Your ashes mixed within the ink of my newest tattoo and your beautiful eyes preserved and hidden for whenever my soul needs a break from my body.

We are one now, forever.

I love you.

A burning of pages, on my front porch I’m now sat upon the cold concrete with words ablaze in my hand. Smoke has filled my lungs and tears have dried my eyes.

A revelation. Care not if these be true for my family is destroyed because of them.

She, my wife, believed the time was nigh. The voices of angels were ringing and the sounds of trumpets drowned her mind in a thick deceitful fog.

“Incorruptible” she sang. With arms aloft and fingers agape she cried to the artex “the dead shall be raised, and we shall be changed!”

In a moment of clarity, her knowledge of impurity was worn upon her like a weighted, gilded black hood. She knew her daughter was not yet worthy.

If only I’d seen it. Seen past her “phase”.

I was out of sight and mind and wish I could have been there when she, my wife, the judge, removed the breath from her, our daughter, her sweet lungs.

What dreams I was having: The thick and unyielding grass saved the way for the serpent to evade my grasp, until she woke me I chased the deceiver through forbidden courts and bellowed at the ache of wake and the bright lights seared my eyes. I saw her, she sat rocking back and forth whispering songs of joy to the saviour. Praise be.

I checked the time, 4-13. The silence was deafening and I had an inkling it was feeding time, but no cries graced my ears. It was my own cries that would deafen the deaf and all hell unfolded. She was gone, taken in her pre-baptism.

Now I sit, epistles ablaze before me. Car lights, blue and red and blue and red, I couldn’t focus on either.

She believed it was what she had to do, I stated. My sweet daughter is gone now!

And she awaits an iron rapture beyond the bars of justice, she will never hear those trumpets again.

A mind so out of order, shall find no peace in heaven.