Exhibit 'A'
Page 12
BRENT I got the Mild—it’s all they had.
BRIAN Ok. (Beat.) I like the other one, but …
BRENT I know, dude! It’s all they had. It’s a market, ok, not like Safeway or that kind of deal. (Beat.) We’re out in the woods …
BRIAN I know.
BRENT They have, like, two selections. You like French Onion? Huh?
BRIAN No. That shit’s gay …
BRENT Ok then. I got “Mild.” It’s still cheese.
BRIAN Right. (Smiles.) Or whatever they put in there …
They laugh at this, gradually getting into some shoving which leads to a bout of boyish wrestling. All smiles.
BRENT Exactly! I don’t even know why you like that shit.
BRIAN ’Cause it tastes good. The spicy one is bettter, but …
BRENT Faggot, stop! They-didn’t-have-it. Okay? I got this one instead.
BRIAN I’m just kidding you …
BRENT Fine, then.
BRIAN I like either one. Cheese is cheese …
BRENT Pretty much. Except when it’s plastic, like this shit …
BRIAN Ha! Right. (Beat.) Else you get?
BRENT You know, just supplies. Meats and a few rolls and stuff. For sandwiches. More of the drinks we both like, shit like that.
BRIAN Cool.
BRENT Enough for the weekend.
BRIAN Nice. Red Bull, too?
BRENT Oh yeah … (Holds something up.) Oh, and this. Look at this.
BRIAN Mmmmmm. Pie.
BRENT Yep. (Turns to look at the tarp.) Hey, hey! Shut up!!
BRENT goes to the tarp and uncovers a naked and bloody GIRL. In her teens. Her mouth is covered and she is tied. He puts a finger to his lips, then removes her gag.
(For the rest of the play, the GIRL should cry and moan and beg. Stuff like “please” and “help me” and that kind of thing. It should continue to escalate throughout.)
BRIAN You’re gonna be sorry …
BRENT I know, but …
BRIAN She’s not gonna shut up. I promise. Tried it already.
BRENT What’s the use of having her here if we can’t look at her? I mean … (To her.) You take it easy, ok? Shhhhh!
BRIAN Yeah, that oughta do it …
BRENT Fuck off, bitch! (Laughs.) Let’s just try.
BRIAN I’m telling you … I ended up kicking her in the ribs about sixty times. That did it finally.
BRENT Ha! It oughta. (Simulates kicking a bunch of times.) Yeah, that should work!
This makes them both giggle. The GIRL continues to moan.
BRIAN Kind?
BRENT What?
BRIAN Of pie? Kind you get?
BRENT Oh. Mixed berry or some crap.
BRIAN Yum.
BRENT Blueberries and raspberries, but the big ones, too. What’re they called?
BRIAN I dunno.
BRENT Of course you don’t … dumb shit.
BRIAN Hey, that’s not …
BRENT Kidding. Fucker. (Thinks.) You know the ones …
BRIAN … no …
BRENT stops and thinks, sucking on his bottom lip as he does.
BRENT With the … fucking … you know! (Making a gesture.) Blackberries! That’s what they are. They’re blackberries.
BRIAN Oh, yeah. ’Course. Blackberries.
BRENT Ha! You didn’t know …
BRIAN I thought it was something hard. Not so obvious like that. “Blackberries.”
BRENT Whatever.
BRIAN Seriously! Those are local …
BRENT Anyway, it’s got ’em in there. For later.
BRIAN That rocks, dude. Should be tasty …
BRENT Yep.
BRIAN Nice.
BRENT That’s the way we roll … getting us the good stuff! Oh yeah.
BRENT puts the pie on the table along with all the other items that he’s purchased. BRIAN goes back to his laptop.
BRENT What’re you watching?
BRIAN Yesterday’s.
BRENT How is it?
BRIAN It’s cool. I added a few little touches.
BRENT What?
BRIAN Not much, don’t worry. Just a few bits of sound and stuff, nothing major—that one email asked for more horror so I just …
BRENT Without me?
BRIAN No—I mean, yeah, I did it while you were outside, not technically “here” but it’s not like I was gonna download it or like that until you took a look … or …
BRENT “Took a look,” huh?
BRIAN You know what I mean! Approved it or … you know.
BRENT Yeah, I do, I know, but do you? Hmmm? Do you understand that I need to see all of it before we put it out there? I thought I was pretty clear about that before …
BRIAN Dude, chill.
BRENT No, you chill, dude! Fuck that.
BRIAN It’s a couple sounds … a little creak here or there. That kind of thing.
BRENT Fine.
BRIAN Some water-dripping.
BRENT Good.
BRIAN Same sort of shit we’ve done before—to the other episodes, so I didn’t think …
BRENT I’m just saying … not-without-me. It’s my idea, my business, ok, so what I say goes or else. Right? (Beat.) RIGHT?
BRIAN Fine.
BRENT Alright. It’s important.
BRIAN Got it.
BRENT Great.
BRIAN I-get-it.
BRENT Cool, then let’s drop it. Then.
BRIAN Ok by me.
BRENT People want it to be real—they’re not gonna pay us for fake shit. ’Kay? It’s got to be real. They will pay out the nose for anything extra, anything they can’t get off TV or the movies or by going in a chat room. Sneaking off to some massage parlor. You know how many times a guy has wanted to strangle the bitch who just gave him head? Probably three outa five. Seriously. But do they do it? No, they do not, ’cause they don’t wanna go to prison … but they still want to. That’s a fact. So if they can watch it, I mean, really see it happen, that’s the next best thing. That’s us. And that is what we’re doing here. Making dreams come true … (Beat.) They want fake, all they gotta do is turn on Cinemax.
BRIAN Dude, ok, I get it! Jesus …
BRENT Ok, fine, so then don’t be doing any …
BRIAN We did it before!
BRENT When you couldn’t hear that one chick’s voice! So we added some screams … that’s all. Screams. They were hers, anyways …
BRIAN Fine.
BRENT Right?
BRIAN Yeah.
BRENT Good then. (Beat.) Look, I’m just saying that the guys who come to us for this shit want a good, clean show is all … not any old stuff you can find over on YouTube. Right? We’re not doing one of those fucking what’re-they-called? You know … webisodes or whatever. They want it to be nasty and they want it to be real. Private and real. That’s all … (Beat.) Guy doesn’t wanna go through, like, three hundred security questions just to watch some chick go “Ohh, Ohh, Ohh …” (Acting it out.) Man’s paying for hard-core entertainment he wants, like, “Awww! Awwwww! AWWWWWWWW!!!! YOU FUCKING CUNT, AWWWWWW!!!!” (Acting it out again, this time in manical fashion.) You know? We want that cash stacking up in our PayPal account we need to know what the fuck we’re doing. Ok? At all times.
BRIAN Got it.
BRENT ’Kay?
BRIAN Sorry. Fuck.
BRENT Not a problem. I know you were trying to do something positive, but I can’t have you messing around with the reality of the thing … (Points.) Let’s have some of that pie, dude. I’m starved.
BRIAN Yeah.
They sit down at the table and stare at the pie. BRENT looks around, then reaches into his pocket for a knife. He starts in on the dessert, cutting it carefully with the small blade.
The GIRL has reached her begging climax, crying out and reaching toward the boys. Pathetic and annoying.
BRENT AHHHHHH! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!
Suddenly and without warning, BRENT jumps up and flies across the room. Lan
ding hard on the GIRL. Screaming as he plunges the blade through the tarp, over and over and over again.
Blood pours out as she dies. Screaming. BRENT does not stop for some time after this. BRIAN stands, watching this. Wide-eyed.
Silence.
BRIAN … dude.
BRENT Sorry. Fuck!
BRIAN Whoa.
BRENT I know. That wasn’t cool …
BRIAN … I mean …
BRENT stands, wiping the bloody blade onto his jeans.
BRENT … but I was trying to have my pie and … you know … she just wouldn’t stop! Shit.
BRIAN Yeah. (Beat.) … I didn’t even get to film it, though. You coulda warned me …
BRENT I know! Damn it!
BRIAN You were, like, all, bam! Fucking Bourne Identity on her ass …
BRENT Ok, shut up! I-get-it. (Beat.) Alright, so think, think. Think.
BRIAN You wanna do it again? You can’t really tell if she’s alive, anyway. Not with all that blood ’n shit on her …
BRENT crouches down and touches the body. Lifts one of her lifeless arms.
BRENT No, people can tell. They’ll know. Frame by frame and all that shit …
BRIAN Right …
BRENT Pisses me off …
BRIAN … I did say something …
BRENT I KNOW! (Beat.) I heard you, man. It’s my fault … mine. It’s just … (Thinks.) Wait. What about pissing on her or something of that nature? Taking a dump, maybe …
BRIAN No, we did that already …
BRENT What? When?
BRIAN Not her, but that other one. The redhead.
BRENT Oh, fuck. Right. Yeah.
BRENT thinks for a minute. Goes over to a wire basket that’s near a computer. Digs through it.
BRENT Didn’t we … (Looking.) I thought I …? We’ve had requests for watching someone do it with a dead girl, right? I’d swear we have!
BRIAN Ummm, yeah, I think.
BRENT I know we have. Right?
BRIAN Probably. People are weird.
BRENT So then …
BRIAN Not me, dude. You go ahead …
BRENT Why?
BRIAN That’s not …
BRENT What?
BRIAN … I don’t wanna get blood all over my dick and stuff. That’s gross.
BRENT Oh, you don’t mind us killing somebody but now it’s like, what? A moral thing with you … or some sanitary deal?
BRIAN I dunno. Maybe. I mean, she’s … all …
BRENT You pussy! She’s dead … not like she’s gonna feel anything. (Beat.) Every girl I ever dated, at some point I wished she was fucking dead—it’ll be just like that!
BRIAN No, man, I don’t care about the religion of it or whatever, I just don’t wanna be up in some … cold … you know. That’s all.
BRENT Fuck! Fine. I’m a better camera operator than you are, but fine …
BRIAN Still … come on, man … that’s nasty.
BRENT Whatever! Nice friend …
BRIAN Sorry!
BRENT Fine! Just get the digi-cam and point it at us, can you do that much?
BRIAN ’Course. I am sorry, but I’m not …
BRENT Just grab it and hurry! Go!!
BRIAN runs and grabs up a video camera as BRENT drops his jeans around his shoes. Kneels.
BRENT From the front?
BRIAN Nah, go for it from behind. Gonna see more of her face that way … could look pretty cool.
BRENT That’s true. Good one … (On his knees.) Ok, and ready? DEAD GIRL GETTING FUCKED. Take one. (Enters her.) She’s still warm, dude. You’re missing out.
BRENT laughs at this, shakes the camera.
BRIAN Sorry. Fuck! I wrecked that one … don’t make me laugh! Start over.
BRENT Douchebag! Come on! (Smiles.) This is very serious, you prick. It’s money … (Trying to be serious.) DEAD GIRL GETTING FUCKED. REAR ENTRY. Take one …
BRIAN laughs again, dropping to the floor with the camera in his hands.
BRIAN BITCH! Don’t add “rear entry” or I will keep laughing!
BRENT Stop! (Laughing.) Come on, this isn’t fun.
BRIAN Ok, go. Just do it and stop adding shit.
BRENT Ok, fine. DEAD GIRL GETTING FUCKED. FROM BEHIND.
BRIAN Dude!
BRENT Stop!
BRIAN You stop!! Asshole! (Filming.) Now go!!
BRIAN kneels down, filming the GIRL’S face. BRENT begins to fuck her from behind. Some blood spills out her mouth.
BRENT Is it good? How’s it look, fucker?
BRIAN Ohhh! You just, like, pumped blood out of her mouth! No way!! Awesome …
BRENT You get it?
BRIAN ’Course! Do it again!!
BRENT stops, out of breath. Leans over, pulling some of her hair away from her face. Studies her face. Glances over at his friend.
BRENT … hey, look. I think she likes me!
They laugh together at this. Like boys do. Loud and hard. After a moment, BRENT starts pumping her body again. His friend keeps filming.
BRIAN It looks great! Keep going!
BRENT (Grabbing her hand.) Wave to the folks at home, sweetie! (Waving her hand.) That’s it, yeah! Wave to the nice people, bitch … that’s it, yeah, that’s it! Wave! Wave!! WAVE, YOU CUNT!!! (Waving her hand.) WAVE!!!!
BRENT keeps fucking her and waving her hand. BRIAN keeps laughing and filming.
Sudden burst of ear-shattering music.
Silence. Darkness.
THE UNIMAGINABLE
THE UNIMAGINABLE had its world premiere as part of the “TERROR!” festival at Southwark Playhouse in London, England, in October 2010. It was directed by Jason Lawson.
VOICE Scott Christie
Silence. Darkness.
A hint of light reveals a pile of dolls lying on the floor. Left in a heap. Garish faces. Blood slowly drips on them from above.
A whisper somewhere in the room. Nearby. Amplified.
VOICE … I don’t know how you do it. I really don’t. I mean, look at ’em. Take a long look at them faces and I’ll say it again. I-do-not-know-how-you-do-it. Leave ’em alone, go out at night. Dinner. To the theater. Here. With me. Listening. Sure they’re alright, locked up in your safe little houses or your fancy flats high up in the sky—but you know they’re not. In your guts, deep deep in those fat bellies of yours, you know they’re not. Every day that you send them off to school, down to the shops or to a friend’s house so that you can run out and get your hair done … you know inside that you’ve opened up the door for someone like me. For the likes of me. (A tiny laugh.) That’s beautiful, that kind of trust—it’s not anything a person can win over or gain or whatever. It just gets handed out, you simply put them into our hands and that’s that. You don’t think twice about it—and you are surrounded by us. That’s what you don’t seem to understand, as many times as it happens, every instance you read of it in the papers and yet you turn around and send the little dears off with the nanny or out to the park or on a plane to meet their grandparents at Disney World—and one by one, we pick them off. Separate ’em from the herd and then we strike … we swoop in and grab them and off we go. With your loved ones. Your little little gorgeous bundles of joy. And when we do, when that moment happens—I want you to know something. That second, that instant when they become ours—hidden away in our lorries or basements or an old irrigation ditch somewhere until we decide what to do with ’em—from that minute on, they will never know love again. Or kindness. Or the warm touch of a parent’s embrace. Not ever. So remember that as you read the ransom note or stare at the telly waiting for news as the police and your neighbors bravely walk through the fields and back alleys surrounding your homes, just know that. Your terrified little children are in our clutches and will feel nothing but pain and sadness and terror for the last hours of their lives. Because of you. It was you that signed the permission slip for the school trip or said “Yes” to that pizza party they walked over to and were never seen again. It was only two doors
down! I know. I know it was, but in those fifty feet from your house to the store, we grabbed them up, snatched them away to a place you’ve never even imagined until today, this moment—and now it’s here. It has happened, the unimaginable, and that is all you’ve got left: is to imagine it. Well, imagine this: what you’ve done, by trusting me. Someone like me. For letting them out-of-doors at just the wrong time, at that moment when we were passing by. Or waiting. Waiting just for them. And now we’ve done it … ruined their little life and so it’s into a bag or a suitcase or just the dirty ground itself; we hide ’em away and off we go, out on the prowl one more time because we can’t stop, no, we don’t want to stop and we won’t stop, no we won’t. (A little laugh.) Why should we? It’s your fault, you gave ’em up, let them go and now they’re ours, ours to do with as we please and pleased we are at what they’ll do for us. Such awful things then on we go to the next one. And the next. And the next. Maybe yours this time—no, never, it’s always someone else’s problem, isn’t it? Isn’t it?—Don’t make me laugh. Who are you kidding now? We’ll get yours. We will.
And when we do? Imagine the very worst. Don’t worry, it will be. The very most horrific shit you could ever imagine in those pretty little heads of yours. But occasionally one gets away, you say, one may slip through our fingers or a broken window and they make it back home to you and their family. It happens. They survive and that is true. But do know this: they will never be the same again. Their life will be filled with nightmares and bad, bad love and faces looming at them out of the crowd and maybe even killing themselves because that’s all there is left, it’s the only way out, the only way, the only way to get out of their very own heads. So one way or the other, we’ll get them. We take them from you and there’s nothing you can do. Just watch. And wait. Knowing they’ll be dug up or pulled from a pond today or next week or when you’re fifty, but until then you won’t know, you can’t know and you will fear the worst, hope for the best but in your heart, that hard hard little suburban heart of yours you will know the truth: they’re gone but not gone, dead but not yet dead. They are truly the undead. (A tiny laugh.) Isn’t it silly that we grow up afraid of the dark? The dark is safe, no one can find you in the dark, you can hide and run and get away—it’s the light that always ruins it for us. It catches us out or gives up our position or, yes, exposes us in the end. Not darkness. No, never that. But our parents tell us to be afraid of silly things like zombies & dragons & negroes & the boogeyman but all the while they are surrounded by monsters, real live monsters like me and him and him and her and they send their children out in our midst and one by one, off they go. Lost. Missing. Abducted. That’s what is happening to them, so teach your children, you teach ’em that, why don’t you? The truth. Teach them about what is truly unimaginable. Imagine it now or soon it may be too late. In fact, for someone tonight, maybe even someone here, watching this, it already is. Can you imagine that? (A little laugh.) Well, I can. Every stinking inch of it. You’re already reaching for your phones, aren’t you? Just to be safe. One tiny call to the sitter and all will be well. So you think. So you know. So says your mum and dad and all that you believe in. But if you call, if you do, if you give in to your fear right now—and the phone keeps ringing, no one picks up, for whatever reason, what then? Tell me that, you pretty lady or handsome man, tell me what will you do then? In that moment when you start to panic and your eyes widen, that is what I live to see. That is the moment that I love. So do it, give in, go for it and make that call. Try and squelch your fears right now. I beg you. Go on, I do. I-beg-you-to. Who knows? Maybe that’ll work. Maybe everything is fine. (Beat.) Or maybe … (A tiny laugh.) Go on. I dare you to …