by Jeff Wood
Thousands of tiny voices entering. Human voices with inhuman qualities. A mass of the living and the dead. A shapeless horde, speeding up and slowing down, stacked and parallel. Electronic, insect, and familiar.
People. All of them. And finally stabilizing. A crowd of simultaneous conversations. Just voices, congregating invisibly around the empty lawn chair. The masses.
***
The Main Hall of the Convention Center is full, filled with guests. 5000 guests moving to their tables and sitting at their places. Tables and people, for as far as the eye can see. The 360-degree ring of video screens deepens the interior landscape, displaying various live mirror images, or a reality-feed of the room and all the guests entering.
Robert moves through the controlled chaos looking for his table. He marvels at the room like a wonderstruck, well-behaved kid in a fantastic, new world. The lights, the ambient music, the screens, the people, the spectacle of it all.
He finds his table, #260, and takes an empty seat. He nods and smiles reservedly at a few fellow guests. He puts his napkin on his lap and examines his polished spoon, inverting his reflection as he turns it in his fingers. He flips his coffee cup right side up for service.
A dark tone fills the air, droning ominously through the event hall. The lights dim and a fiery sunset fades up on the giant screens, a red sun melting into a black and molten sea.
A red spotlight rises on the stage, revealing a large gospel singer in a choir robe. She moans along with the music. A choir echoes mournfully behind her.
A gospel lamentation the fat lady now will sing.
GOSPEL SINGER
(singing)
Hear my prayer, O Good Lord, hear my prayer. Hear my prayer, to heaven, hear my prayer. O Good Lord, won’t you lead me from this life of despair and hear my prayer, to heaven, hear my prayer—
The sun sets.
The spotlight fades.
The hall is dark.
GOSPEL SINGER
(singing)
I woke up beneath a burning sky!
The hall explodes with light. Mushroom clouds ignite across the screens. The choir launches into a fiery gospel call and response.
GOSPEL SINGER
I stand upon a ground of fire!
CHOIR
And death done sown my field.
The crowd claps to the rhythm of the beat. Robert claps along with his table and the rest of the crowd.
GOSPEL SINGER
Preacher man come to plant the seed!
CHOIR
Death done sown my field.
GOSPEL SINGER
And satisfy my principal need!
CHOIR
Death done sown my field.
Looking down on the hall, round tables are arranged in concentric circles around the circular stage. Circles within circles. The room spins in a carousel of grand spectacle.
CHOIR
Death done sown my field! Death done sown my field! Whoa oh oh oh. Death done sown my field!
The crowd roars!
Then the lights shift and the music changes again. A techno beat pulsates through the hall. Stars fly around the circle of screens and the room is transformed into a giant disco ball.
White-faced waiters file from the wings, carrying service trays. Jonah and Simone branch off to serve plates of food to their respective tables.
Jonah carefully sets his heavy tray down on a tray-stand. He removes shiny silver plate-covers from his stack of meals as he sets them in front of the guests at his table. In his white-face and tuxedo, he’s like a cybernetic mime, the thematic mood of the room transforming around him into a virtual space-scape of silver, black, and white light.
The guests dine beneath swirling galaxies, shooting stars, satellites, and New Age music. An orchestration of soothing and peaceful ambience, cosmic weightlessness, and gently clinking glasses, the transcendental comfort of consuming a civilized meal.
At his table, Robert eats his chicken. This chicken is outstanding. This is the best goddamn chicken that Robert has had in years.
He nods enthusiastically at his neighbor.
ROBERT
(his mouth full)
My god, this chicken is delicious. Good, huh?
Simone approaches the table and pours coffee.
ROBERT
Oh yes, please. Thank you.
Another seated Guest addresses the table.
STEWART
Hello everyone. My name is Stewart. I’m your table liaison and I’d like to welcome everyone. Is this anyone’s first Last Supper? Anyone?
A woman, Helen, raises her hand eagerly.
HELEN
It’s my first time.
STEWART
Would you like to share your name with the table?
HELEN
Helen.
STEWART
And maybe you’d like to tell us what brings you here today.
HELEN
Oh gosh. That’s a big question.
A meteor whizzes by on a nearby screen.
STEWART
That’s okay. It usually is. That’s why we’re all here.
HELEN
Well, everything used to be different, didn’t it?
GUEST 1
Mm hmm.
She gets affirmations from the table.
GUEST 2
Oh, yes, it did.
HELEN
(assertively)
I mean something has happened. Am I right? I mean, am I crazy?
GUEST 3
I guess you could say we’re all a little crazy, Helen.
Robert observes them pensively.
HELEN
I can tell you what I remember. It was morning. I was standing in the kitchen. At the kitchen window. The one above the sink. I had made coffee. And I was making toast. I was standing at the kitchen sink and the toast was toasting. And just as I looked out the window the smell of that fresh toast hit me like a freight train. It was like, BLAMMO! And there was a flash of white light that just whited out everything entirely. Just blind-sided me. So if you can imagine that one minute I’m standing at my own kitchen sink and in the next moment I am completely overtaken and blinded by white light and the smell of fresh toast.
Robert and the table are pretty rapt. Even Simone who had been pouring coffee is listening intently.
HELEN
But it’s the next moment… The flash of light is gone and my eyes readjust to the daylight. And I can see everything so clearly. Everything. The wallpaper is gone. The walls are gone. The kitchen is just plumbing and pipes and wires and all the appliances are like these grotesque robots that have had their skin peeled off. And it was like I had x-ray vision! And then I hear this little clicking sound coming across the linoleum and it’s a sound I recognize but for some reason I can’t quite place it until I look down and realize that it was my little dog that had come clicking his toenails into the kitchen like normal—of course I know that sound!—but now he is just this quivering, shivering mass of nerves and tendons and brains. And that’s just about the limit of it right there, I can tell you, with his disgusting little eyeballs protruding out of his skull sockets. And I wish it were the limit of it. But it’s not, because I rush outside to get some air and just vomit all over the front walk. And when I look up, and I’m wiping my mouth off…
As she speaks, thousands of guests at their tables are manipulating food into their mouths with utensils. Underneath the tables, thousands of legs and feet, chaotically arranged, all unique, yet all somehow of the same animal. And from high above, the tables form a pattern of dots arranged in concentric circles.
HELEN
The whole neighborhood has been peeled away. I am seeing everything as this horrendous massiveness of pipes and cables and wires and the frames of houses and all the stuff inside all the damn houses, excuse me, and the people in there with all of their guts and everything else inside of them. And I look down at myself, finally, and I am the same way, Jesus God. Like a fat cow in a scien
ce diagram or something. And everything within my entire field of vision is sort of moving. Like vibrating. It was like a feeling that I could see. Just the parts of everything together. That was the feeling. Like the way that, if you’ve ever done this, if you look at too many eggs all in the same place. Or swarms of things. Like… bees!
At her table, the guests are all watching her and listening, entranced if not bemused. She slows down, contemplatively, wringing the story.
HELEN
So I turn to run back inside, as if there’s anywhere in the hell to run. Excuse me. And when I get to the front porch, I look back, and everything is normal again. But different. Everything is familiar. But foreign. It’s all become the same again, and, somehow, well… foreign. I don’t know exactly how to explain it. I just don’t know how I can trust it anymore. I try. But I just can’t. It’s like we’re all foreigners.
Robert shifts uneasily in his chair.
STEWART
You are a very brave woman, Helen. Welcome. Any other first-timers here tonight?
Stewart looks around the table.
Reluctantly, Robert raises his hand.
STEWART
Welcome.
ROBERT
Thanks. I, uh… My name is Robert. And honestly I don’t really have any idea how I got here. I—
He furrows his brow and thinks deeply. His life, his memory, his remorse welling up from his gut and into his throat.
ROBERT
Could you pass the butter, please?
He receives the butter.
ROBERT
Thank you.
Robert slowly butters his roll.
The table watches and waits for him to say more, but Robert fills the vacuum of expectation by eating his dinner roll, laboriously chewing and swallowing until he is finished and has nothing more to say.
Simone is staring at the floor with her pitcher of coffee hanging at her side. A few tables away, Jonah sees her staring off into downward space, catatonically.
STEWART
Well we all have to forgive ourselves, don’t we?
ROBERT
I suppose so.
SIMONE
For what?
The guests at the table all turn to look at Simone.
STEWART
I’m sorry?
SIMONE
What do we have to forgive ourselves for?
STEWART
I don’t think this is appropriate.
SIMONE
I just want to know what we have to forgive ourselves for.
Stewart looks around the room for some kind of help.
Robert speaks to Simone.
ROBERT
It’s okay.
SIMONE
No, it’s not okay. Don’t you feel that something is really not okay?
ROBERT
Yes, of course, but… there’s nothing we can do about that.
HELEN
That’s why we’re all here, sweetie. Do you want to sit down?
STEWART
Helen!
SERVER 1
What’s going on here?
Another server in white-face has approached the table.
HELEN
Everything’s okay.
SERVER 2
Was she interrupting your table?
STEWART
Yes, but it’s okay now.
SERVER 3
It’s not okay. Not if she interrupted the Event.
Simone is surrounded by white-faced servers. And more are crowding in. She stares at the table.
SERVER 4
Who interrupted the Event?
SERVER 5
She did.
He points at Simone.
SERVER 6
How could you do that?
SERVER 7
You’ve ruined it.
SERVER 8
Why would you intentionally disrupt the experience for the guest?
SERVER 9
Because she is selfish.
Simone is staring at the table.
The guests are staring at her.
And the lynch mob of servers are staring into the camera.
SIMONE
I don’t feel so good. I think I have to go. I’m sorry. Here’s your coffee.
She sets the coffee pot down on the table and leaves.
From a few tables away, Jonah watches her go as she crosses the room toward an exit, but he is interrupted. The lights in the room fade to a deep red. A deep wave of sound swells around him, servers exit the space and the guests are restless with anticipation.
In a far corner of the hall, a spotlight snaps on, revealing Mr. Stevens’ face, shining and slick, beaming in the light of show business. He wears a microphone headset and sings a devilish melody, a cappella.
MR. STEVENS
(singing)
If I had ever been here before I would probably know just what to do. Don’t you?
A hushed murmur rolls across the tables as the guests turn in their seats.
MR. STEVENS
(singing)
If I had ever been here before on another time around the wheel I would probably know just how to deal.
(speaking)
Ladies and Gentlemen… Welcome to the Last Supper.
The spotlight snaps off.
The crowd applauds excessively.
A droning sitar rises from the sound-system. A throbbing, hypnotic drumbeat. A stream of waiters flows into the room. They wear executioner hoods and carry service trays full of shot glasses. The shot glasses are filled with an orange liquid.
Shot glasses are placed on the tables, one in front of each guest. Robert regards the tiny dessert with a leery eye.
Storm clouds roll across the screens. Thunder and lightning.
Mr. Stevens appears in another part of the room in a brooding, stormy light.
MR. STEVENS
Friends, we have a bad habit. And tonight we’re going to break that habit. We have been infused with a false belief. For centuries we have accepted an erroneous assumption that when Adam and Eve ate of the Tree of Knowledge they were cast out of the Garden, abandoned by God and expelled from paradise. Well, I simply cannot accept this nefarious claim. I don’t believe it!
He walks slowly between the tables, preaching like a post-apocalyptic Willy Wonka. He wears a shiny silver suit.
MR. STEVENS
And I am here to reaffirm what each and every one of you already knows in your hearts. We are home. The Garden is growing right in our own backyard. Divine intelligence is coursing through our veins! The fruit is ours to enjoy! And the mountaintop is where we stand because we belong here! So do not be afraid.
A woman is weeping, quietly. He takes her hand.
MR. STEVENS
Now there is one character in the Garden who has been ignored. This ignorance has been a source of agitation for a great many years and by now he’s a little more than irritated. To get right down to it, he’s just plain mad. He’s all tied in a knot and he’s been causing some problems. Lying, cheating, thieving. They accuse him. If only he’d just quiet down! Oh yes, he’s quite a little trickster. Acting like a fool. Speaking in gibberish and silly rhymes. We can’t understand him! He talks like a child! Ah, but if only they had paid attention. If only they had listened.
He puts his hand to his ear and listens.
The audience is rapt and silent.
Mr. Stevens hears a pin drop.
MR. STEVENS
Well here I am. Ladies and Gentlemen. Say hello to Mr. Snake! Because here I am!
The crowd goes wild.
Mr. Stevens runs to the center of the room and takes the stage, his silver suit sparkling and glistening in full light.
Applause evolves into a rhythmic clapping. Stevens struts around the stage, clapping with the people like a rock star. Then he quiets the crowd again.
MR. STEVENS
And who is Mr. Snake? Who is this big bad serpent and what does he represent? Well. What are we all a
fraid of? Change? Uncertainty? Insecurity? Yes. Of course we are. But what are we really afraid of now? Each other?
He watches them. The room is quiet. All eyes, and rapt bodies. The space is palpable.
MR. STEVENS
(intimately)
Everything? Are we afraid of… everything?
He holds a hand up into the light and searches the air about him with his eyes.
MR. STEVENS
Are we afraid… of this?
He quickly pinches his thumb and index finger into a pin-point as if he’s just captured a fly, or whatever this is.
He lowers it, to have a look at this invisible piece of the cosmos, and then he releases it, freeing it into the room.
MR. STEVENS
(releasing his breath)
Ahhhhh….
A waiter walks across the stage carrying a small tray and a single shot glass of the orange liquid.
MR. STEVENS
Tonight, I invite you to shed your skin. Break your bad habit. And join each other in a new life. Life is a reflection. Death is the Master, but the Master is only a mirror. Let’s stop time, shall we? Let’s be free.
He takes the glass of juice from the waiter’s tray and raises it to the room.
MR. STEVENS
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time…
The screens display a 360-degree reflection of the crowd itself, a documentary mirror, a real-time feed of the Event.
Subtitles of the Shakespearian chant run across the bottom of the screens, prompting the audience to join in the group toast.
CROWD
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death…
Robert reads the words on the screens and joins in.
CROWD
Out, out brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. ’Tis a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
Mr. Stevens throws back his glass.
The crowd throws back with him.
Robert swallows his shot.
And he waits for something to happen.
Then his eyes go wide as something rushes up fast within him. It swells and warps sonically, crinkling like thin sheets of metal. It scratches backward across the surface of the record as the fabric of his reality tears itself in half.
Robert lunges forward and claws at the tablecloth. He seizes back in his chair and then goes limp.