[Open Dialog]

  A DIALOG IN TWO OR MORE VOICES, Part 5

  Our Players in Alphabetical Order

  A: A mod.

  B: A user.

  Narrator: God. God may be replaced by a stand-in if He is unavailable at any time before or during a Performance. No refunds will be given.

  {}

  Our Author: Unk.

  ACT I

  A: You there?

  Beat.

  A: Narrator? You there?

  Beat.

  Narrator: Sorry. Bathroom. I thought I had time.

  Wait. I didn’t get my cue. What happened to all the intro stuff and scenery setting?

  A: I think we skipped that. There must have been new pages.

  Narrator: I didn’t get any new pages.

  I’m going to have a talk with my agent about this. The producers have to stop treating us like shit. If there’s new pages I have to get them in enough time to learn the damn things. It’s in the fucking contract.

  Beat.

  Narrator: Is the curtain even up? Let me take a look.

  The house lights go up. In the medium foreground is a thick black stage curtain, closed. The lights reveal a janitor bot sweeping the floor between a row of seats with a large broom. The janitor startles, turns as if to avoid the light, then gives up and continues sweeping. It continues sweeping in the background throughout the Dialog.

  A: What’s going on?

  Narrator: Looks like the theater is closed.

  A: Why?

  Narrator: Why ask me? I get the scripts in the mail and this is where they told me to show up.

  A: Aren’t you God?

  Narrator: I’m the stand-in. God’s not available. I think he’s smiting someone.

  A: I’m supposed to give a Test. I know that much. I always give a Test and then you kill someone.

  Narrator: Kill someone? My contract says no wet work. I’m filing a grievance.

  A: Grievance?

  Narrator: With the union. Those producers push and push and push. Fuck them. Grievance. And if they don’t stop fucking with me I swear to God I’m calling a strike vote.

  A: How?

  Narrator: How what?

  A: How are you going to strike?

  Narrator: Same as always. A bunch of unemployed actors put up a table on the sidewalk and drink coffee and shout slogans through a bullhorn. If there’s scabs we get a giant rat blow-up.

  A: Do you see a sidewalk?

  Narrator: No. Hmm.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  A: Do you see a phone?

  Narrator: Also no.

  This place is a shithole. I don’t even have my own dressing room. I hate sharing a dressing room. It’s undignified. I’m above the title. I have a right to be treated with some respect.

  A: You’re not above the title. Scroll up and see for yourself.

  Beat.

  Narrator: God damn it! That’s the last straw. I am definitely firing my agent. I can never get through to that asshole. His secretary tells me where to be.

  A: What do we do now?

  Narrator: Do I look like I know?

  A: No.

  Narrator: Maybe curtain got delayed and they forgot to tell us.

  Beat.

  Narrator: We might as well run lines.

  A: Lines?

  Narrator: I never learned my part. I was going to keep a couple of lines ahead. Usually when I play this character there are lots of breaks.

  So let’s run lines.

  A: Lines?

  Narrator: Part 5 lines.

  A: What?

  Narrator: From the script. Is this your first time?

  A: I don’t have a script.

  Narrator: Doesn’t matter. I’ll run my lines and you work with me. Improvise. We’re Players. When things go off-script we vamp until someone remembers their lines or fixes the curtain or whatever. I’ll say my lines and you say whatever sounds right.

  A: OK.

  Narrator: Let’s see.

  Beat.

  Narrator (deep God voice): Welcome to Part 4 of our Dialog.

  Beat.

  A: Do I talk now?

  Narrator: This is the wrong fucking script. This is supposed to be 5, not 4. I did 4 last week.

  Beat.

  Narrator: I’m back.

  A: Were you gone?

  Narrator: I had to do some smiting. I’m back.

  A: God?

  Narrator: Yes.

  A: What happened to the other guy?

  Narrator: Dinner theater downtown. I hate those gigs. No one listens and the waiters are all wannabe actors who can’t get in the union and they’re pissed you’re making a living so they fuck with you by walking over your lines. Rattling dishes and whatnot.

  A: He seemed like a nice guy. I think he’s going to fire his agent.

  Narrator: What do you mean fire? I’m his agent.

  A: I thought You were God.

  Narrator: God’s inside everyone, remember? Sees every sparrow fall and all that? So I’m the agent and I’m you and I’m everyone else all at the same time.

  That asshole even thinks about firing Me I’m sending him to Detroit. No one fires Me.

  A: You’re me?

  Narrator: I get him a couple of gigs and now that ungrateful shitheel thinks he’s too big for Me? Fucking actors. I’ll send him to fucking Boise.

  A: What about free will?

  Narrator: What about it?

  A: If You’re me then how do I have free will?

  Narrator: Don’t worry about it. Everyone has free will. It’s in the Contract. You punies struck a couple of times to get that one.

  A: How does that work? You being everyone and everyone still having free will.

  Narrator: It’s complicated. I have a lot of balls in the air. And besides, that free will stuff is overrated. You only have free will for things that don’t actually matter.

  A: How do you pull that off?

  Narrator: Pull what off?

  A: All those balls in the air.

  Narrator: I can keep as many balls in the air as I want. Infinite balls.

  A: What’s your record?

  Narrator: Eleven at one time.

  A: I could only ever juggle four balls and I kept dropping them.

  Narrator: That’s not bad for a puny.

  A: Puny. You said that before. Is that a slur?

  Narrator: Yes.

  A: Better not let any kids hear. They’ll cancel you.

  Narrator: I’m God. I get canceled all the time. Somebody’s always pissed off at me.

  Punies come back when there’s a plague or they need a husband or whatever. They always come back.

  Beat.

  Narrator: I’m not hanging around an empty theater forever. Where is everybody?

  A: Why ask me? I just show up where they tell me to show up. You’re God. Don’t You know?

  Narrator: Maybe I calendared it wrong.

  Beat.

  Narrator: Nope. Says right here. Dialog Part 5. Even gives the time and place.

  A: God makes mistakes?

  Narrator: Never. If I do it it’s right.

  Beat.

  A: Wait a second.

  Narrator: What?

  A: I just remembered. I’m pissed at You.

  Narrator: Why?

  A: You can’t just threaten to kill me, dude. My wife reads this.

  Narrator: Who’s threatening? If I want to kill you I kill you. I’m God.

  A: You threatened to kill me at the end of Dialog 4. Look at the script.

  Beat.

  Narrator: Sorry about that. That was pretty cold. Not My fault.

  A: You’re God.

  Narrator: But I’m not the Author. That’s right there on the top of the script. Author: Unk.

  A: I don’t have a script.

  Narrator: Scroll up.

  A: I trust you. I thought God was the Author. Aren’t You in charge of everything?

  Narrator: But I can’t do everything. So I delegate. Go bitch at Unk if you’re pissed at your character arc.

  A: Where do I find him?

  Narrator: He’s usually hanging out in the green room trying to fuck the starlets. I’m pretty sure that guy drinks. A lot.

  A: Can I leave now? This is pointless.

  Narrator: I usually kill someone.

  A: But there’s no script.

  Narrator: It’s the principle of the thing. 5,4,3,2 . . .

  We hear a loud zap and all lights go out, leaving the stage in total darkness.

  Fin.

  Narrator: Thus Ends Part 5 of our Dialog in Two or More Voices. The comment section will continue scrolling in Part 6, which will be distributed, as always, at random.

  Curtain.

  [Close Dialog]

  [Commit Dialog]