Something’s a Little Off

A story of intent and injury

ACT 1

SCENE 1

A toilet is positioned center stage. A spotlight shines from directly above. The rest of the stage is in darkness. Upon the toilet sits YOU who blinks as if just coming awake. After a moment YOU reaches down and pulls their cell phone out of their pants, which are pooled around their ankle.

As YOU unlocks their phone, the back of the stage illuminates. The text of this play, which YOU is reading on their phone appears projected onto the theatre’s back wall. The text scrolls as YOU scrolls. The text will remain on the back wall of the stage throughout the play.

YOU reaches this point in the text, looks up, and notices the audience.

YOU: Holy shit.

YOU stands up fast, hoisting their underwear. YOU stumbles a few steps with their pants around their ankles. The spotlight follows them, and does so throughout the rest of the play. YOU finally manages to get their pants up. They look down at their phone.

YOU: What the hell?

YOU scrolls up to the top of the play. Behind them, the text scrolls up. They scroll back to this point. They look at the back of the stage.

YOU: What…?

The phone in YOU’s hand rings. They jump and almost drop it. When YOU has recovered, they stare at the screen for a moment, then answer.

YOU: Hello?

ME: Are you reading it?

ME’s voice is broadcast loudly so the audience can hear it too. ME has a British accent. While his voice has been modified by twenty years in New York, he still sounds posh enough to be self-conscious whenever he goes back to the motherland.

YOU: What?

ME: Don’t read it.

YOU: What’s going on?

ME: I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

YOU: But what is happening?

ME: You started reading it, didn’t you?

YOU takes their phone away from their ear and stares at it. They then slowly put it back to their ear.

YOU: What! The! Fuck! Is! Happening?

ME: The problem is dramatic tension.

YOU looks up to the heavens imploringly.

YOU: Just answer my question. Please. I don’t understand any of this.

ME: I just want you to know that none of this is personal. You’re not even a named protagonist. I mean, I’m sure you have a name, I just…

ME takes a long, long breath.

ME: This wasn’t meant to happen.

YOU: What wasn’t?

ME: I’m sorry.

ME hangs up. A dial tone buzzes across the stage. YOU takes the phone away from their ear and stares at it in clear hatred. The dial tone dies. YOU then punches redial. A voicemail message plays.

ME: I’m sorry, I don’t ever answer my phone. Or check my messages. Just text me like a normal person.

The phone beeps. YOU pulls it away from their ear again, stares at it for a moment longer, then flings it across the stage. The projection of the play’s text dies. YOU stands there for a moment, breathing hard. Then, almost reluctantly, they cross the stage and pick up their phone once more. The projection of the play’s text resumes.

YOU scrolls back through the conversation they just had. The projected text follows them, then comes back to this point.

YOU: Dramatic tension?

A second spotlight comes on. It illuminates a body in a pool of blood. A knife protrudes from its chest.

YOU: What?

YOU approaches the body slowly.

YOU’s phone rings again. They startle, look down, hesitate, then answer.

ME: You don’t know them, right?

YOU: Did you do this?

ME: I mean… well that’s hard to say. I didn’t hold the knife. But I caused the knife to be held. I’m not the person who gets arrested though. Does that make sense?

A beat.

YOU: No!

ME: That’s fair.

YOU: I just wanted to read a distracting story for a few minutes.

ME: And I really appreciate that. I just… I needed a protagonist.

YOU: But why me?

There’s a pause

ME: Sorry. It’s hard to shrug over the phone.

YOU approaches the body.

YOU: This man is dead.

ME: Dramatic tension.

YOU pauses to thinks.

YOU: Who does get arrested for this?

ME: Bit of a spoiler to tell you that.

YOU: I really don’t mind.

ME: I’ll tell you this much: it’s not dramatic tension.

There is another pause while YOU doesn’t laugh at this feeble (and insensitive) joke.

ME: You don’t know the body, though, right? It’s just a body.

YOU looks down at the corpse.

YOU: But it’s got to be someone, right?

ME: It’s just meant to be an anonymous body. A plot point really. Nothing much more.

YOU continues to stare at the body. Then they stare at the audience. Their gears turn.

YOU: But it would be more resonant, right, if the body was someone the audience knew? Isn’t that how fiction works? If you’re trying to evoke emotion, don’t you want someone in the story who’s death has weight?

ME: I mean… well, I guess, sure. But you’re an unnamed protagonist, and there isn’t anyone else in the play. It’s just a one scene thing you see. There isn’t really time to flesh anyone out that much.

YOU: Well, that’s not entirely true.

ME: OK, well, yeah, but… calling the protagonist “YOU” is really just a sort of shorthand trick to build rapport quickly within the confines of the structure.

YOU: That’s not what I meant.

Another beat.

ME: I’m sorry. I feel like I should know what you’re going to say, but for some reason I don’t.

YOU: Yeah. That’s sort of what I’m talking about.

ME: What’s happening?

YOU: You see, I just remembered something I know about modern literary theory.

ME: What are you talking about?

YOU smiles with relish.

YOU: The author is dead.

The line goes dead. The projection fades. YOU stands over the body of ME.

LIGHTS DOWN. FADE TO BLACK.