Monday, March 25, 2019

Station (Radio Short)




AMBIENCE: WE HEAR THE SOUND OF VENTILATION, OF MACHINES
HUMMING IN THE BACKGROUND.


WOMAN:                  It looks the same.

MAN:                         Yes, the same.

WOMAN:                  The same as
(a beat)
before.

MAN:                         Yes, the same.


A LONG PAUSE.


WOMAN:                  Will anyone think of us?

MAN:                         No. I don’t think they will think of us. We will just
watch them from here.

WOMAN:                  Watch them and see nothing.

MAN:                         Yes, see nothing. But the sky.

WOMAN:                  And the sea.

MAN:                         But no people.

WOMAN:                  No people.


A PAUSE.


WOMAN:                  But when they look up, will someone not think of us?

MAN:                         No one will look up.

WOMAN (matter-of-factly):  Someone will think of us.

MAN:                         No one who can help.

WOMAN:                  We’re beyond help but –

MAN:                         What else matters now?

WOMAN:                  For someone to look up and –

MAN:                         Feel pity? No. There is no pity left. Too much used up
already.

WOMAN:                  Not pity. I didn’t mean pity. (A beat) What about: with
sorrow?

MAN:                         There is no sorrow left either. It is used up.
 
WOMAN:                  There is always sorrow. It is infinite.

MAN:                         If you think so.

WOMAN:                  Like space.

MAN:                         Perhaps.


A PAUSE.


WOMAN:                  Despite everything, there is love also. Someone will
look up and feel –

MAN:                         Perhaps for you. Not for me.

WOMAN:                  But they will look up –

MAN:                         And see just another point of light in the sky.

WOMAN:                  A point of light that looks back at them.

MAN (resigned):        No one looks up now.

WOMAN:                  Somewhere, in a field of ruined corn or in a boat that sails the ocean, someone will light a cigarette maybe, and look up.

MAN:                         But no one who cares.

WOMAN:                  For that moment maybe, they will care. They will look
up and remember that we are here.

MAN:                         I doubt it. With everything that’s happened who would
remember us circling above.

WOMAN:                  Another point of light in the sky.

MAN:                         Yes.
(A beat)
Another point of light above the ruined world.


A PAUSE


WOMAN:                  When I was a child my mother took me in her arms and lifted me up. We were standing by the cherry blossom tree in the garden. Beside the pond where gold-fish swam, and water-lilies…

MAN:                         Was this where you grew up? Your home?

WOMAN:                  Yes, my home. And she lifted me in her arms and pointed to
the sky. She showed me the belt of Orion and told me he was a great warrior who lived in the sky. And the Pleiades. She called them the seven sisters, lost up there forever, wandering among the stars hand-in-hand, trying to find a way home.

MAN:                         Yes, the stars.

WOMAN:                  I looked up and told my mother I wanted to live there. She laughed and said nobody lived there except the gods. That all we could do was look up with awe.

MAN:                         Then maybe; not now.


A PAUSE


WOMAN:                  I would do anything for the sound of a voice.

MAN:                         Am I not a voice?

WOMAN:                  Yes, but…

MAN:                         You grow tired of me. I understand.

WOMAN:                  Forgive me. Not any voice. But my mother’s voice.

MAN:                         She is dead, your mother?

WOMAN:                  Yes. But does it matter what we long for? Whether it is
from the living or the dead?

MAN:                         I suppose it doesn’t matter. There is only silence now. If
we were to scream out no one would hear us.

WOMAN:                  Why would you scream out?

MAN:                         I said if.

WOMAN:                  Yes. If. But who would you want to hear it?

MAN:                         I don’t know.


A BEAT


WOMAN (quietly):    I would hear it.


WE HEAR THE SOUND OF VENTILATION, OF MACHINES HUMMING AND WHIRRING IN THE BACKGROUND FOR A LONG TIME.



WOMAN:                  Look, the sun rises again.

MAN:                         I am weary of these sudden dawns and sunsets; these
succession of days and nights. I want…

WOMAN:                  Tell me what you want?

MAN:                         What’s the point?

WOMAN:                  Telling me.

MAN:                         Okay. I want… I want to sit by a pool on a beautiful
summer morning with a cold drink. A rum and Coke. To know that the sun will shine all day as it’s supposed to. All day, as I drink my rum and Coke. And when I’ve finished drinking as evening comes, maybe I will jump into the pool – from the diving board mind, not from the poolside. And when I jump, I will feel a light breeze on my body as I fall through the air, then hit the water with a shock of cold on my skin.

WOMAN:                  This is what you want?

MAN:                         Yes. That’s all. For the day to last all day. Not like these
sudden dawns and sunsets. That if I shouted someone
would hear me.

WOMAN:                  I would hear you.


A PAUSE.


WOMAN (hopeful):  Maybe they will come for us.

MAN:                         They will not come for us.

WOMAN:                  Maybe they will.


WE HEAR THE SOUND OF VENTILATION, OF MACHINES HUMMING IN THE BACKGROUND FOR A LONG TIME. THEN:


MAN:                         It looks the same.

WOMAN:                  Yes, the same.

MAN:                         The same as
(a beat)
before.

WOMAN:                  Yes, the same.



FADE AMBIENCE SLOWLY TO SILENCE.










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