January 31 Play: A SCISSORING

31: A SCISSORING - by Ed Valentine
© January 31, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

LIGHTS LOW:
A room.
HE sneaks in the door.
Knocks over a plant.
Sets it back on the table quietly.
He’s gotten away with it.
-
Then SHE switches on the light. She’s standing silhouetted in the bedroom doorway.
We do not see her face.

HE:
-
Did I wake you?

SHE: I was awake.
-
The scissors.
You left the scissors out.
-

HE: Look, I –

SHE: I asked you not to do that.
You left them out and I could hear them
scissoring away.

HE: I –

SHE: Don’t.

HE: Honey, I –

SHE: Don’t.
-
I’m going to bed.
(Turns light out. In darkness:)
It’s up to you to find them.
They’re somewhere in the house.

(Silence.)

HE: Honey? Honey, are you –
?
(He can’t tell if she’s there or not. Decides ‘no.’ Shakes it off.)
Scissors: ridiculous.

(Then, a scissoring noise.
It rises all around him.
He is isolated in hot circle of light, nowhere to turn.
Noise: unbearable.
Lights snap out.)


END OF PLAY.