Category Archives: Scriptic Collective

Ode to Popcorn

Posted on by July 12, 2023

Terms of an engagement: An ode to popcorn

I think I’ll make the popcorn on the stove
and melt a little Cabot on the side.
And if then through our pantry I do rove
I might grate us some dry jack to divide.

Though maybe the air popper is enough
for those who do not like my stinky cheese;
the butter will melt smoothly in the trough
that sits above the greatest blast of heat.

But understand this now my love. I’ll give
up Roquefort, Camembert, and even Brie.
But pop  me no corn in that monster. Dine
alone if you engage that dread machine.… Read the rest

Malaise

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Renee woke from a dream about a bee swarm to find the temperature had gone up in the night and the kitten had become embedded in her left arm. “Get off, Tabby. I hate these pills,” she muttered. But she didn’t. Although they put her into such a deep sleep that she had twice now slept through kitty claws, the pills made it possible to get out of bed at all by the light of day. Groggy, she could manage.

As soon as she had peeled the little cat away from her forearm, she lumbered off to the bathroom. A series of pathetic and increasingly louder mewls followed her when she shut the door with the feline on the other side.… Read the rest

Bad Break

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Michael and Aura shacked up for six weeks in the seventies, but after a month of constant bickering, they made it to splitsville well before the altar. Michael was a poet. Aura was an accountant. Nobody was surprised.

After that, they were off-again-on-again during the eighties, until Aura married a guitar player and Michael tried to kill himself. They hardly spoke for twenty years. Then, they met at a New Year’s party and Aura reignited Michael’s flame with a drunken mistletoe kiss. Michael had been taking Prozac to cool the burning in his chest that was slowly drying up his heart.… Read the rest

Elbow Grease

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

Mom and Dad were physical people. They changed their own oil, fixed up all our furniture a thousand times, and plumbed like they were born to the sewers. Dad even learned some basic wiring to avoid calling in an electrician.

Which made it that much harder to see Dad in his hospital gown, prepped for surgery. Mom held his hand, the one that wasn’t poked full of IVs, and I sat a little behind him. The nurse said, “Now, I need you to confirm that you understand the procedure we’re going to perform.”

Dad interrupted her. “You’re going to pull out some of the old wiring, plunge the line, and patch me up with what passes for electrical tape if you’re a surgeon.”… Read the rest

Scriptic 24 hour challenge: Potted Plants

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Potted Plants: A Play In One Scene

CHARACTERS

NATALIE SMITH (NATTY): 80 year old woman

GINA SCHULER: Natty’s 25 year old granddaughter.

MARLENE SCHULER: Gina’s 50 year old mother. Natty’s daughter.

FRANCINE DRAKE: Natty’s next door neighbor and attorney

LESLIE: Natty’s Neighbor

JEAN: Leslie’s teenage daughter

LESLIE and JEAN’S DOG

TIME

Late afternoon

SCENE

 

(A pair of rocking chairs flank the door on the back porch.

 There is a porch swing hanging at one end, and

a small table with four chairs are halfway between the

door and the other end of the porch. Three stairs lead

down, and the sidewalk runs the length of the stage.… Read the rest

Where It’s At

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

Club Aqua burned on a Tuesday, and by Wednesday morning, the DJ and bartender were celebrities. Val, the DJ, wasn’t pleased. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested.

But Larry the bartender disagreed. “Listen, that whole fucking ceiling was coming in, and you was standing out on the floor directing traffic just like you was calling a square dance or something. If you hadn’t had your shit together, those people would have flipped out and stampeded. We’d all be dead.”

“OK, I wasn’t the one carrying people out on my goddamned shoulders,” Val snapped. “All I did was tell people where to find the doors.… Read the rest

Ghost Camp

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Carly Groban bounded into the kitchen on lanky legs. “Oh, look!” she cried, reaching for the mail.

“Don’t touch it! It’s evil!” Her mother Sharon snatched the collection of brochures and ads out of the way before Carly’s hand made contact with the flyer on top.

“I just want the camp catalogue.”

“You ordered that?” Sharon drank from her steaming mug then put it down and rested her temple against her fingertips.

“Dad said he’d pay for it, Mom. You don’t have to worry about…”

“This has nothing to do with the finances!”

Again, Carly reached for the mail; again, her mother moved it.… Read the rest