2023

When we first put our lips together, it was very similar to being alive
I prodded your jaw with my clumsy fingers, you wrapped yours in my wiry hair
We moved with each other in the shadows, as the sun rose and set outside,
the beasts began to graze and the insects crawled into our bed with us.

You were warm. You are still.
I sleep on top of you and you on top of me,
feeling skin upon skin upon skin
Happy, without words to say it

You placed your hand against mine, pressed upon the stone,
and I laughed at you like wind in my lungs.
Red stain was sticky beneath our fingernails,
printed like a signature on our wall.
I touched our mouths together and red got on my shoulders, on your back, in our bed.

We ate together. We held each other and watched the stars
You knot the twine around my spear like only you can,
trekked over grassland and rock,
I ignited heat for you, rolled in our only home.

You bled for me, pebbled skin and rough hands,
gashes open and starving and red as the paint on our walls.

You keeled, clutching your stomach.
You staggered and became cold.
I leaned over you, put my lips against yours,
and it was very similar to death.

I run after a twister,
barefoot and splintered,
in my car, I drive toward high winds,
with my camera,
shaky down an empty road

Each breath comes like a promise,
tornado of my own lungs,
ringing in my ears,
I pick up the call,
cut out of magazines and memories,
big things are coming, I know,
they're already here

I hook the whale with my own two hands,
and pull it out of the muddy sky,
fleshy,
wrapped in a blanket of black holes,
I fall into the mouth of the storm,
and I drown in the expanse,
of being strewn throughout questions,
hidden in the crowd,
I gasp and I am back on the highway
In the middle of the world
Small, and held gently in warm hands,
of tiny, tiny people.

Is the dog which chases its tail stupid?
It's nice to think so
We've invented the wheel thousands of years before this,
banging fire together with rocks
And this dog tries to hunt itself
Eats fire
This dog is stupid.

The dog wants to know if it can
Stretch itself around and grasp the part of doghood that's always out of reach.
We've done it privately:
Made contortionists out of ourselves to look at,
not just prod,
The body we possess

And, so, the dog runs in a tight circle
Unwieldy claws scuffing up your hardwood floors
It reaches out and closes his teeth around it
Holds the tail in its mouth like a prize,
like the most exciting thing

This dog receives no victory,
and it lays in its bed with big eyes as it watches we people walk from end to end
The dog knows that we know what we are doing
And the dog smiles
Accepts a treat

Is the dog which chases its tail afraid?
Decidedly, no.

Like bats, we circle each other in red
In shadow, dripping blood and sparkling tears,
Prancing feet in black lace tight skirts,
We think of ourselves as cutthroat
We imagine gore and slashed tendons,
Open wrists and romantic mouths,
Dark and misunderstood--
The night is so young.

We connect with pin-pricked necks,
like moonlight we hang over the churchtops and feel as if we will live forever
We dedicate ourselves to the curved knives and the beatings
Scary-eyed catthings, freaks trapped in movie screens,
Pulled-apart and fake,
We put value in our bloodstains.

Like ravens, overdramatic and unhealthy,
Seen and stoned,
Full of vitriol, crawling through our caves,
Spitting difference through cold comments,
We want, so much, to be known and not destroyed,
Valued for our broken minds,
Feared and loved.

You keep thinking about hitting someone with your car.
You can't get it out of your head. It's unintentional. It would be unintentional, if you were to do it.
If you were to hit someone with your car, you wouldn't mean to. You don't want to hit someone with your car. But it might happen.
You stare at children in the school zone. You stare at them and imagine hitting them with your car. You put your eyes back on the road. You don't want to hit a child with your car.
You can hear their parents crying. You can see a gravestone, a framed picture of the kid smiling, the casket, the funeral. You can taste the tears. You might be fired from your job. You might be interviewed on the local news. Everyone would hate you. Everyone would hate you for killing a child with your car.
You pull into your driveway and turn off your car and lay your forehead on the steering wheel. You wring the tension out of your body like a sponge. You didn't hit anyone. You didn't kill anyone. You can stop shaking.

You keep thinking about setting your house on fire.
You double check and triple scheck each appliance in your kitchen. You don't light candles, but you check for them anyway. You unplug all your lamps when you're done with them. You buy new batteries for your smoke detector.
You tell your dog that you love her every time you leave, just in case you come back to find her dead.
You can smell the smoke. You can smell the smoke. You're in your office at work and you can smell the smoke at home. You almost tell your coworker that you think your house is on fire, but you would sound insane if you did that. You clock out early, and on the drive home you imagine hitting a cyclist with your car. You imagine turning into your street to see a fire truck and all of your things destroyed.
You pull into your driveway. You feel like throwing up. Your house is uncharred. Your car isn't bloodied. You give your dog two treats and lay with her by the TV. You're so glad she's alive.

Your mom calls you on Friday. You stare at your phone and let it ring. You think your brother has died. You think he's gotten into an accident-- worse, he's been murdered. It's sudden, it happens. You think he has a terminal illness. You don't know what you'll do without him. You never connected enough, while he was alive.
You let it ring out all the way, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and then feel awful and immediately call her back. She tells you that she got a promotion at her job, and you tell her that you're happy. You ask how your brother is doing, and she says he has a lot of homework.
You say goodnight to your mom, you tell her you love her, and that you love your brother, and to tell him that.

You need to put the pizza in the oven. You need to eat dinner. Your mom bought you a frozen pizza for the weekend and you need to put it in the oven.
It sits, heavy, cold, on the stovetop. The oven has been preheated for 15 minutes now. The pizza is wet as it thaws. You're standing in the middle of your kitchen. You need to put the pizza in the oven.
Your dog has eaten before you. You put the mitts back on. You pick up the tray with the pizza. You lean over the oven, and the heat hits your forearms. You see yourself dropping the pizza, shattering the glass of the oven door. You scorch your arms and your hands on the metal tray and topple into the oven. You have to quit your job because your hands are too burnt to use a keyboard, to do much of anything.
You put the pizza back on the stovetop. Then slide it back into the cardboard box and put that in your freezer. You turn off the oven. You eat a peanut butter sandwich for dinner.

You think there is someone in your house.
After eating, you'd sat down on the couch and put on a movie that you had never heard of and you don't care about. You think there is someone in your house. You can hear their footsteps. Creaking and pausing. You hear the draft from the window they climbed in through. You think of how you opened the window the other day and maybe you forgot to lock it again. You are paralyzed.
Your dog is asleep on her bed and seems unbothered. You're terrified for her.
You pause the movie and sit there in silence for minute after minute. You hear something move in the back of your house.
You yell hello, and is anyone there, and there is no response. Why would there be? There's someone in your house.
You're more scared than you ever have been. You imagine a shadow running across the floor, and bright hot gunshots and dying and you rot here for days without being discovered. Maybe your mom finds you. She's worried, she comes looking. She will never be the same after seeing her child with a hole between the eyes.
You decide you want to die in your sleep, and so you turn off the tv, and you take the blanket from the back of the couch and you lay down. And you close your eyes with it over your head like a child. And you feel stupid. And you're so scared.

I
My eyes open
To find myself staring
Into the face of the blackbird

II
There are trees in my backyard
Or, there is me in the trees' frontyard,
Harboring the calls of blackbirds

III
People write about the blackbirds
Dotted against our white skies
Like strangers

Oddly,
No one writes to the blackbird

IV
I can see myself with smaller hands
A pencil,
A crayon,
A ballpoint pen.
I fold my letter unevenly
And unfold to try and straighten
--the crease, which is already branded into
----into

I pack questions in my envelope
And deliver it
to the mailbox
of the blackbird.

V
Swimming in my head
Like blinking
Like beeping
Like

Something.

The blackbird stares me down in language,
Shaking flame
Light I can't reach.

VI
In the car it is cold
Iced roads, more than ever,
Hour-commute from the hotel far from home
Cut like cigarette smoke
Like missing
And holes in the world

No hawk,
But one blackbird.

VII
A halo of gold
I am watched
Strikingly,
Anxiously, in grief

The words never came to me
Shadowed in my nest
Sunlight where you lost
How the blackbird walks

Simple tears
Time has passed

VIII
Sluggishly upside-down
Welcome home blackbird

IX
I lost sight of, you, blackbird
Feet slamming into ground
I tumbled like a duststorm
In the direction of the blackbird

I fell into your ocean
I rumbled like the Earth
And I couldn't find it
As deep as I went
I was gone

X
I wake
To find myself staring
Into nothing

I look up
And discover the eyes of the blackbird

XI
He rode over his home
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he may never see
The shadow of his blackbird

XII
I covered my eyes, once, like a blackbird
Stark against my face

XIII
He is still walking
He has been all evening.
I see him in my feet
Stuttering to speak,
I call in my tree
Sleeping under the blackbird.

You're like a spiral to me
Like a curling iron, colorful, twisting and spinning me
Taking me in
Taking me down
Twirling
Winding
With you

You're like nothing
And everything
It means everything
When i hold your arms
Curl myself around your shoulders
Feel how different you are
To my mom
Or my dad
Who i hug much more often

Kill me
Take me into your home
Hold my hand
Lean in
Press me against the floor
Crush me
With everything
You have

I'm not in love with you
I don't think i have ever been
But you're like a clot in my throat
That i can't swallow down
A shag carpet
In the rain
With beautiful winding red and gold and emerald green
Mold
Sinking me
Into helpless world

Miles away
Another planet
My galaxy
My stars
Holding tight
Pushing me under the water
Sprouting flowers from my hair
Planting me
Turning my soil up
Throwing me out of the sky
Running with me
Beating against the pavement
Like music
Where will you go
When I'm not around?

It Pays To Report

Borrow a pen from your coworker
Red ink slithers onto the page
Every morning, on the television, on the radio
Actors fired like flies on a stovetop
Kinetic headlines, you're writing, you're making,
Individual beliefs don't come into play
Narrow your view or leave your job
Good things come for this country

am I any more than a paper?
am I spelling out my own containment?
a scare in my office is a scare to my world
I do what I can to keep living

Hardworking

A vein is visible through the skin of his forehead
Blood rushes loud in his neck
Flushed, Sweating, Eye Twitching
He sits with the newspaper over breakfast
His hands tremble, gripping yellow pages
National traitors arrested and tried
Hollywood actors promoting divide
Union, Propaganda, Committee
Revolution, Disruption, Subversion,
He grumbles to his healthy wife about jobs and foreign powers
He hears whining in his ears
He wants to protect his wife, his kitchen,
Breakfast, Paper, Country,
He calms himself and turns on the radio
McCarthy speaking, infiltration in our righteous nation
Red, Red, Red

Eye of a Needle

They'll string me up on the capital hill
Arms raised above my head in an endless prayer
They'll hang me from my neck and feet
Leave me there for days
Long enough for graffiti to litter my feet like buzzards looking for rotten commie flesh
Circle-A's in lieu of a gravestone
Hair falls over my dazed eyes
And I emerge from the White House
Days later
To go to church on Sunday

My feet are calloused from walking in wing-tip open toe sandal shoes
They corner me in my committee, take my fellowship in arms
They put me in that windowless tomb and scream and yell
This nation never loved me
I have no loyalty to the damned

His ear bleeds like Van Gogh
And I'm making degenerate art
Their churches are run by rich men
I embrace the poor, unable, sick, abandoned, starving
They are no less than me

Senator McCarthy, you invoke the name of the Holy
But your texts are shrouded in hate
Warped and withered to give worship to the rich
Stake your claim to the nation I was born in
Put my people in chains and whip them and beat them
I could never hate you, but by God I've been betrayed

If I came back tomorrow, no Christian would listen
And I'd be painted red
From crown to foot

The Debate

Two people sit across from each other in red armchairs
And congratulate themselves on a healthy Debate
“I hate you,” One says, “I wish your kind were wiped out,”
And the other rolls over and shows his belly
Says “I disagree, but we'll be civil,”

They each shame loud protest
“Let things grow with time” Says one
“Be quiet and let us kill you” Says the other
And nothing is ever changed

Tomorrow, they'll hold hands
Because, in some way, they need each other
The rationally concerned
And one of the good ones
They never push each other
And nothing is ever helped

She pushes her button to talk
She sees it light up
She waits her turn
Hands folded in her lap
But she knows she won't be allowed

She listens to the Debate
One by one, her fellow Reps are allowed to speak
One by one, they gurgle lies that they've repeated for months on end
But an impolite comment is enough to label her voice as dangerous
And nothing is ever changed

The rallies outside the doors are dispersed by public security
It's a threat
She's a threat
The voices screaming for representation and respect are threats
That must be removed
And nothing is ever helped

What are they teaching our children?
That their teachers could be fired for untainted education?
That the school boards would rather empty shelves
Then protect their wounded students?

This is a system that allows exploitation,
This is a system that our weakest cannot participate in,
Under this system these Debates will run on
Ballots flowing from open mouths, tallying the popular,
Sick and vomiting faith
The Elephant and Jackass are soon to be shot
And nothing will ever be changed

Clunk.

“C'mon Castor, it's like you're not even trying!”

“I am! Stop!” Castor protested towards Mav's jeering. “I'm just getting— distracted, okay? I wasn't ready!”

Mav rolled his eyes and snickered as Castor went to retrieve his wooden sword. It had mud stains all up and down the sides from how many times it'd been thrown into the slightly soggy dirt.

“Distracted by what?” came Rooster's shrill voice from the sidelines, just as mocking as Mav's despite the fact that he wasn't even involved in their practice duels. “The birds? The clouds? If this was a real fight, you'd have been stabbed in the gut about seven times by now.”

Castor grumbled as he wiped the sword's muddied handle against his glove, scraping the caked soil back onto the ground. “Okay, well it's not a real battle, and I'm fine. Mav, let's go again.”

Mav ignored him, tucking his own training blade into the loop at his side. His dark, curly hair was done up in a loose, high ponytail and his dull brown eyes darted around their makeshift camp for a moment. “Hey, where'd Radyn go?”

“Who knows,” replied Rooster nonchalantly, setting aside the arrows he'd been re-feathering while watching his friends' fighting. His red hair was bright in the evening sun, falling over his shoulders and around his freckled face. “She'll come back eventually; she always does. Just let her do whatever she needs to do. Maybe she went out to find Jona and Keia.”

“Maybe,” said Castor, putting away his own sword in defeat. “I just hope they're back soon. Jona and Keia, I mean— I'm starving..”

“All worked up from losing so much?” Mav teased, and Castor opened his mouth to try and defend himself, but decided it wasn't worth the effort.

A loud rustling noise from a nearby brush made them all fall silent. Rooster's pointed ears twitched up reflexively, each of their heads swiveling towards the noise. The telltale crunches of sticks and leaves being trampled by heavy feet got closer by the moment— a whooping noise came from further behind the scampering— Radyn's voice.

Castor put one foot back to steady himself and hesitantly held his training blade out defensively. He saw Mav do the same and caught Rooster pulling out a knife in his periphery. The air hung heavy for a moment, the evening sun casting orange haze over the camp.

The thing leaped out of the brush so quickly that Castor stuttered to get a good glance at what it was. Before he realized what was happening, the beast had sprinted across the clearing and collided with Rooster. Mav yelled something in surprise as Rooster hit the ground with a thunk.

Radyn pushed her way into the clearing just moments after.

“Aw, Gods!” She exclaimed, and Castor had trouble keeping up with all the movement.

Mav was running over to help Rooster and Radyn fight off the creature— it was scaled and feathered— but Castor was frozen in shock. Little red spatters littered the grass around Rooster, his long crimson hair splayed out underneath the tussle.

“Castor!” Mav yelled at him, “What the hell are you doing?! Don't just stand there!”

That, for some reason, got his body to work. Reality clicked back in and then Castor was sprinting over to his friends, skidding to the ground beside them as Radyn hauled the creature off Rooster's bloodied form. The thing had a long snout and reptile eyes. It stood on two legs with brutal-looking hooked talons at the ends and sported red feathered wings that bent at the midsection to act as arms. Its mouth was hung open in a silent screech, Rooster's knife lodged in the underside of its throat.

Mav was staring down at Rooster. He was visibly alive, at least— eyes squeezed, and face tensed as his hand pressed against the bleeding gash in his side. He grunted, and Castor gasped.

“You— you— Oh my god! Castor! Get the— get something! Do something!” Mav said, panicked.

“There're med supplies with Keia's sleeping roll.” Radyn said it flatly, but with a noticeable tremor in her voice. She worked to keep the beast down as it struggled through the last moments of its life, gurgling and spitting.

Castor stood and ran towards where Radyn had directed him, stumbling over his feet as he did. It was just his luck that something like this would happen while both people with healing magic were out. He silently prayed that they would be back soon.

Castor dumped the bag of medical supplies onto the ground by Rooster— he was still grunting out words but looking dazed— and scrambled to find the numbing salve among them. His hands shook violently, thoughts racing frantically around his head. He found the container he'd been looking for and sat it down for a moment to pull off his gloves. Beside him, Mav wrung his hands, his hail swishing wildly behind him.

“I... I... Okay, um, lots of blood, bleeding— pressure! Apply pressure!” Mav muttered to himself, rolling up his sleeves to his forearms.

Radyn, having dispatched the creature, pulled over a bag and propped up Rooster against it. As Mav reached forward to press his hands against the wound, Rooster moved his own away. It was a dark and violent red, going slack against the ground.

Castor smoothed out a layer of gauze bandage as he watched. Mav's eyes were wide and frightened as he placed one hand over the other and pressed firmly against Rooster's side. Rooster cried out, clenching his jaw so hard Castor thought he might hear a crack.

“I'm f— I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,” He chanted, very obviously clinging desperately to consciousness.

“You're fine,” Mav affirmed, but he didn't sound like he believed it.

“Just stay conscious, ok? Jona and Keia will be back soon. I think.” Radyn hesitated. “They'll be back soon.”

Castor spread the salve over the inside of the bandages, fingers trailing through the mixture. He was for a moment taken back to a time when he'd done this before. Many times, in fact, in the midst of battle during his knighthood. He would usher injured fighters toward the healers' tent and soothe their wounds. His deft hands would press against open gashes, spurts of red hurt drenching his fingers and palms. Healing magic could be a lengthy process— keeping a fellow knight conscious was always the top priority.

He looked up toward Mav. “Can you clean it? Before I put the bandages on.”

Mav blinked at him and opened his mouth to reply, but Radyn interrupted. “I'll do it. Don't lift your hands, Maverick.”

She plucked an off-white cloth from the supplies that littered the grass and wet it lightly with some water from her flask. She nudged Mav's fingers out of the way as the cloth soaked up blood and dirt, methodical.

Castor glanced towards Rooster's face once more. His eyes were shut, and he breathed in stutters, nose pinched up against the pain in his side.

“Stay with me, Rooster, ok?” He said it gently, and Rooster gave a small nod.

“Ready, Castor,” Radyn said, pulling away from her cleaning. At some point she had cut Rooster's tunic open to expose more of his pale skin, making room for the bandages. Castor let out a long breath and moved to hover over the wound. He plastered one side of the bandage to Rooster's stomach before looking up at Mav. The other man understood, carefully removing his hands. Castor wrapped the bandages tightly over the gash and secured the other side. He smoothed it over firmly and pulled away.

There was a moment of long silence as each of their breathing steadied. The numbing salve worked its way into Rooster's skin and nerves, judging by the way his breathing became less labored and he relaxed a bit against the bag.

Mav stared blankly down, chest heaving. Radyn curled her fists into her robe and closed her eyes for a moment.

The sound of Castor's heartbeat— a pounding he had only just noticed— gradually faded to its normal quiet.

The heavy air broke as Radyn opened her eyes and spoke, “They're back.”

Despite the warning, Castor startled a bit as Jona called out from across the camp as they entered the clearing with Keia at their side.

“Gods above, what happened? Are you all okay?”

They raced over towards where the other four were huddled, letting out a small gasp as they caught sight of Rooster and the bloodied corpse of the beast nearby. Rooster grunted and sat up a bit. His eyes looked tired still, but he shakily smiled and lifted his arm to give a reassuring thumbs-up.

“Gh, I'm good... Thanks to these fools, anyway.” He relaxed again. “I could really use some kind of proper healing, though...”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jona replied quickly.

“Good job, you all,” Keia spoke from over their shoulder, “Good to hear that no one died.”

“What's the biggest animal?”
His small hand gripped his mother's long fingers. Rock back and forth on the chair, the wooden chair with the knit blanket on the back.
“Hmm, I think it's the Blue Whale.”
She said, and she rubbed his hair, rocking back and forth.
This made sense to him. Whales were big, he knew, and the blue was as big and open as their sky. A blue whale must be the size of his father. A blue whale must be the size of their home. A blue whale must be the size of five cars. A blue whale must be the size of two planes.
He knew the blue whale could be just over 100 feet. His brain could never picture that size.
His grown hand was dwarfed by the thing's eye. Rock back and forth on the boat, the wooden boat in deep blue sea.
The whale was as big as the sky, sky reflected in the wide expanse of the ocean, all surrounding.
The air was stagnant, and he let himself be swallowed whole into blue nothing.

When you agree to have a child, you might be in love
You might have a ring on your finger and a hand in your hand
You might have a house and a yard and a white picket fence
You might have neighbors and a dog and grandparents down the road

When you agree to have a child, you might be too fast
You might have your head on a shoulder and a grasp on the sheets
You might have an apartment and a couch and a kitchen with an ant trap
You might have housemates and a wood table and a landlord downstairs

When you agree to have a child, you might be afraid
You might have anxieties of years in your future and discomforts in your back
You might have budgets and a car and names all picked out
You might have nightmares and chest pains and a smile up tight

When you agree to have a child, you might be overjoyed
You might have dreams of performances and graduations and weddings you'll see
You might build a nursery and throw a shower for the life yet to come
You might have a photo album and all the people you've told, waiting

When you agree to have a child, you might be in pain
You might have sweats and aches and stress pimples on your forehead
You might take leave off your job and run back and forth from the grocery store
You might rush out of your bed to the hospital room and cry against the storm of it all

When you agree to have a child, you might be prepared
You might think of all the things to do in those first precious months
You might know how to change a diaper and feed the fragile gut
You might sing lullabies and buy books and cradle it close

When you agree to have a child, you will be surprised
You might have to stay up at night in the kitchen crying
You might have to say things you never thought you'd say
You might have to care for this growing life that you agreed to

And as the years go by, the world is steps in front of you
And your child will grow teeth and fangs
And your child will bite you where it hurts the most
And your child will tell you things that you never knew
And your child will not be your life

When you agree to have a child, you might deeply care
And step forward with precaution and an open mouth
And you might live with a person that crumbles in on themself and admits to you that they're not what you saw them becoming
And you might have to rebuild them with the pieces you don't know how to fit together
And you might realize that none of it was your doing, but your hands are responsible
For agreeing to granting this world
To a person you'll never fully know

When you agree to have a child, you might be unaware
And you can roll with the punches or punch back and hit hard
And knock your promise to the ground with a broken nose
And you wanted to raise a child just like yourself
And the bloody-faced child will leave you.

I am
beating.
Expanding,
collapsing,
unmoving.
I am fast
and I am
like uncontrolled joints
I am small and
I hurt
trembling.
There is something wrong with me —
The organ in my heavy skull is like a short circuit sparking and gasping in and out,
my outer layer is red and beaded,
my central organs are in flight,
see the forest for the leaves,
something on top of me shaking me
hold fast and curl up and
dribble
all the
way
down.

NIKOLAS ELLINGTON-- Young-looking, raven-haired vampire with a bulky frame and deceivingly kind eyes. Owner of the house.

BAILEY WOODROW-- Semi-corporeal ghost with a rough exterior and burly personality. Haunting the house.

WILLIAM MOORE— Stocky, plain-looking son of a businessman who takes most things at face-value. Guest in the house.

Dark evening in late autumn, many decades in our past.

An elaborate dining room in a mansion as old as anyone can remember. A golden chandelier hangs above the round dining table, set with a velvet tablecloth and silver platters full of rich-man's food. Wine glasses sit in front of the seats for three attendants. The area is dimly lit, and feels alive, despite the house being largely empty.

(Three characters enter from stage right and take their seats at the table. Lights are dim, and murmuring can be heard from the three. Lights come up as they sit, and their conversation comes into audibility.)

NIKOLAS: Your father is a great man, you know. I've never seen someone take such ludicrous control over a market so quickly!

WILLIAM: Oh, yes, believe me I know it! (Laughs.) The future for the ink industry has never looked so bright. Or, dark, and permanent, and easy to write with. (He smiles at his own joke.)

BAILEY, rolling her eyes: You sound as if you're about ready to become a walking advertisement, Nick.

NIKOLAS: Well, I'm not fully sold quite yet, Bailey. (Shooting her a pointed glance.) That is why he's here, right? I need to make sure I'm representing an ethical company! One run by good people. (He smiles toward William.)

WILLIAM: I can assure you of that! Our ink is harvested from only the finest-- er, healthiest, ah, ethically farmed plant charcoal! Yes, that's it. Smoothest inks this side of the valley!

NIKOLAS: A wonder to use, I'm sure.

BAILEY: (Butting in quickly.) Now, William, tell me-- What do you plan to do after our dinner? Surely you cannot expect to stay the full night.

NIKOLAS: (Interrupting her.) Though we do have plenty of room!

WILLIAM: Oh, I'm not quite sure, yet. Your house seems lovely and you two seem like very bright people, but if business is taken care of, I have no reason to stay...

NIKOLAS: Oh, but you must!

BAILEY: (Quickly.) Yet we should take care of business as soon as possible.

(A pause.)

(William picks up his fork to poke at his food.)

WILLIAM: This meal looks wonderful, who are your cooks? Was there a kitchen I never saw?

(Nikolas and Bailey look at each other briefly with wry expressions.)

NIKOLAS: No, er, yes. Our cooks have gone out for the day, you see-- they only work part time.

(William sticks a bite of the food into his mouth and savors it for a moment, before swallowing.)

WILLIAM: Well, tell them they did a fantastic job.

(A pause.)

BAILEY: So, about the business...?

NIKOLAS: Yes, about the business.

WILLIAM: Oh! About the business. My father would like you to represent our company, Mr. Ellington. You are a very wealthy and respectable man. A man with your taste endorsing our product would do wonders for our sales! And perhaps an investment could be in order as well?

NIKOLAS: Perhaps, perhaps. My money is very old, you see, I do not have a lot of expenses in my life. It would be such a process going all the way down to the bank, and I'm not quite sure yet if it's worth it!

(William looks ready to respond, but Bailey jumps in.)
BAILEY: Oh, please, is it too much trouble? Our wonderful guest here has given you plenty of fantastic reasons to support this venture!

NIKOLAS: Well, yes, but--

BAILEY: (Interrupting.) Besides, it's getting quite dark out. The days are getting shorter again, he should really get going before all the light is gone. Who knows what may happen if he stays any longer?

(William looks up at her, startled, a bite of food halfway in his mouth. It should be noted that he is the only one eating.)

WILLIAM: What ever could you mean?

NIKOLAS: Yes, Bailey, what are you insinuating? Surely, he could stay till morning if the dangers truly are so great. There is a nice guest room just next to mine-- cleaned out and everything!

BAILEY: Haven't you two heard? They're saying there are evils about, around this time of year.

(William suddenly begins to look a bit frightened.)

WILLIAM: Yes! Yes, I have heard! Thank you for reminding me! Oh, what are they saying? Vampires and lycanthropes and spirits and such!

NIKOLAS: (Glaring at Bailey.) Please, those are just tales. You have nothing to fear, now. You should stay, you are perfectly safe here.

BAILEY: We have been known to get rats.

WILLIAM: Rats?!

BAILEY: (Grinning.) Rats.

NIKOLAS: No, we do not have rats! Nor roaches, nor flies, nor snakes! And that's that! You are fine here!

(William shudders.)

BAILEY: You can never be sure! I found a spider in my window just a few days ago!

NIKOLAS: You did not! It was a simple trick of the eye! You know the lighting can be dim...

BAILEY: And, the night is getting colder by the minute. There could be a storm! Shaking the whole house!

(As if on cue, there is a loud rattle from somewhere upstairs. William yelps.)

NIKOLAS: (Nudging Bailey harshly with his knee.) Cut that out! There is nothing to be afraid of!

BAILEY: You have no way to prove that, you know. Why don't we finish up our business here and help William move along. I'm sure you've made up your mind about this business deal already.

NIKOLAS: Perhaps I have, but it is much too dark already. The dangers outside are much greater than the potential ones in this house. He should stay!

BAILEY: No! Time is of the essence! He needs to--

(William stands up abruptly, causing the table to rattle loudly.)

WILLIAM: I need to go! To the restroom!

(Bailey and Nikolas snap to look at him.)

NIKOLAS: (Takes a breath and points down the hall.) It's just down there.

WILLIAM: (Smiles politely.) Thank you.

(William exits stage left.)

(Beat of silence.)

BAILEY: (Snapping at Nikolas.) Why are you so determined to ruin this for me?

NIKOLAS: I could ask you the very same thing!

BAILEY: Oh, please! I know you haven't been as starved as I am. You can go out and feed on any townspeople you like, I must wait for someone here!

NIKOLAS: You have no idea what you're talking about! I do not feed on the townspeople; I've been just as hungry as you!

BAILEY: At least you have the choice!

NIKOLAS: I do not! They would poach me if I was ever found!

BAILEY: And they would exorcise me! Let me have this, Nick! I haven't terrified a man in so long, I grow less physical by the day!

NIKOLAS: Spare me the details, Bailey.

BAILEY: Did you see his expression? He would have died of fright before he left the courtyard! Oh, it would be so delicious...

NIKOLAS: And what about that white shirt? Can you imagine it, speckled with blood, unbuttoned to reveal his neck...

(Beat.)

BAILEY: Anyways--

NIKOLAS: Yes, anyways...

BAILEY: Perhaps there is something we could come to.

NIKOLAS: Yes, a compromise. I was just thinking that.

BAILEY: You do not need to kill him, yes? You could leave him bloodied and dizzy, stumbling through the house where I could step in?

NIKOLAS:(Now excited.) Ooh, very smart! He would be much easier to scare, as well! Rattle the windows and flicker the lights-

BAILEY: He'll be running for town in such a panic!

NIKOLAS: But he won't make it, of course.

BAILEY: No, of course, we can't have that. He'll pass out in the yard, and we can say he had a terrible accident.

(They each smile wistfully for a beat.)

NIKOLAS: He has been gone quite a while, hasn't he? How long does a restroom break last?

BAILEY: Shouldn't be this long. Maybe he's having... trouble...?

NIKOLAS: (After a pause.) We should check on him.

BAILEY: Yes, let's.

(Lights dim, Nikolas and Bailey exit stage left. The scenery changes, now depicting the ground-floor bathroom.)

NIKOLAS: (Calling from offstage, lights still down.) Mister Moore? William?

(No reply.)

BAILEY: (Knocking on the door.) Are you alright in there? You've been gone awfully long...

(Silence.)

NIKOLAS: (To Bailey.) Should we check on him...? He may be...

BAILEY: What other choice do we have?

(Lights rise a Nikolas and Bailey enter the stage. William looks just as how he did before, but is laying on the floor of the restroom, unmoving.)

NIKOLAS: (Shocked, putting a hand on Bailey's arm.) Oh my God...

BAILEY: (Wide eyes, equally shocked.) Is he...?!

(William does not move.)

(Nikolas crouches to put a hand over his chest, checking for a pulse.)

NIKOLAS: He is... He's dead...!

BAILEY: How...?!

(Nikolas shifts and William's body moves, his jaw falling open as his eyes stare vacant towards the ceiling.)

BAILEY: (Pointing.) Look! Nick! In his throat!

(Nikolas looks in, and his hand flutters to his mouth.)

NIKOLAS: Red and swollen, his cheeks look puffy... Could he have--?

BAILEY: An allergic reaction. It must be.

(A long beat of silence. Nikolas and Bailey look at each other.)

NIKOLAS: There goes a perfectly good meal.

(Blackout.)

down by the subway station,
the rats skitter through shadows,
into their holes across from the tracks,
chewing things,
red eyes, bloodshot,
the man next to you sneers,
he laughs bitterly and turns to you,
“where i'm from, our subways don't have pests”
you smile politely,
but don't respond

up by the train tracks,
where you take your evening walks,
you see the group of crust punks huddled together,
laughing tiredly,
hair frizzy, dirty,
you force a smile to yourself,
and you keep walking,
you tell yourself that you wish them well,
hope that they find a destination,
or stay safe while hopping trains

in your apartment's kitchen,
under the sink by the trash,
you catch a glance of a rat,
in the shadow,
in the back,
its eyes are wide and dark,
you think briefly about calling an exterminator,
but no, it's just one rat,
and the landlord might think,
you have a rat problem

when you were in gradeschool,
back in the town you were raised in,
one of your friends wanted a pet rat,
you were confused,
as was anyone she told,
“aren't rats dirty and gross?” you asked,
but she explained, calmly,
that rats are just like other rodents as pets,
when they're domesticated and clean,
and you supposed you could understand

your neighbor comes up to see what the fuss is,
you shouted when you saw the rat,
you didn't mean to, it was just surprise,
she's tall, pointed nose,
with round glasses,
she smiles at you when you open the door,
“do you need any help?” she asks kindly,
you shake your head, “no, it's just one rat”,
she nods understandingly and leaves,
once she knows that you don't need her help

your landlord calls pest control,
you don't know how he found out about the rat,
but the next day, while you're at work,
they come to your apartment,
and turn the place upside-down,
towels strewn about the kitchen floor,
trashcan set out of its cabinet,
and you're charged a fee for the service,
and have to clean up after the crew,
but at least the rat is definitely gone

you see it on the news one day,
a face you recognize from up by the train tracks,
you remember him huddled up against his friends,
frizzy hair,
patched-up and stained pants,
he'd fallen on the tracks and died two days ago,
slammed into the ground by the oncoming train,
only on the news because he'd been chased by police,
you feel a pang in your heart for his friends,
but it was just one loss

your landlord catches you in the hallway,
he smiles and you avoid his gaze,
he doesn't waver, and sidles up next to you,
his hair is too sleek,
and his walk too practiced,
“say, are you still having that rat problem?” he asks,
you shake your head, too subtle for him to tell,
“i've decided to allow pets under 45 pounds,”
he continues, “for a fee, of course,”
“maybe you should get a cat!”