 Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Larissa Brigatti Ho(m)e Sitting on ropes that cross the entire stage, still. Na : fully covered in black except face Ly: fully covered in grey except face Za:covered in dirt except face Za: So, it has begun? Na: Yes. Ly: We knew it beforehand. Za: And it is coming.. Na: Yes. Ly: It has come, see-- Za: Yes, it has. Na: Ly, (silence) Ly, have you not heard me calling? Ly: Scusa? Na: (stands up and leaves the rope, lies on the floor). Za: Ly? (Pause) Ly: Yes. Za: Did you notice that Na is not functioning anymore? Ly: If you describes like that.. Za: What if Na was-- Ly: This is not allowed to be said. Za: Oh. Ly: Yes. (Silence) Za: Ly? Ly: Yes. Za: I wouldn’t be able to stand even if I could Ly: Would you not? Za: I guess not. Ly: Should we give it a try and act as normal? Za: I guess so… Ly: (Stands up, fierce breath, falls on top of Na) Za: Is it so hard to stay on the ropes? (Silence) I guess so. (Pause. Moves left hand slowly and places beside Za’s body. Breathes) But I can’t sustain this body. How would I sustain this body? With a third-- (Na makes a sound) Za: (Without looking down to keep the balance) Is that Na or Ly? Na: Na. Za: Oh. Haven’t heard of you in a while Na: Tell me more Za: So you survived Na: So far Za: Oh-- Na: There still———ho—pe Za: I guess Na: Do you not agree? Za: (silence) Na: I said: Do you not agree? Za: I guess… Na: There you go Za: I guess we are under different ropes right now… Na: What? Za: I said we are under different ropes… under… different circumstances. Na: So? Everybody is under different ropes, we only share the knots. Ly: (makes a sound) Za: Is that still Na or Ly? Ly: (silence) Na: (kicks Ly) Ly: I am here. Na: we noticed that. Za: So you survived Ly: Couldn’t say the least Za: Oh. Na: well-- Za: even you couldn’t-- Ly: we’re still trying Za: I see… (Pause) Na: You should stand Za, accept the falls and one day we will rise again. Ly: you may rise slowly or with light’s speed we won’t mind. Na: Ly Ly: What? Na: Nothing. (Silence, lights only on Za) Za: For I had hoped something different. If this body falls there will be no chance to come back up here. There is nothing left for this body but— what is invisible to the eyes. Where would this body go once it falls? Around the barricades in the dark. I overheard. Will this body shine a light on the sea of skeletons astray… They are all together now, but this body, this body stays in between the balance of days and nights. After all of this… we still are not the same, for ‘the sameness’ is unapproachable. I shall then stay here waiting for the waves——-- Voices in the dark This will make us stay together, but separate This will make us stay together This will make us be together again All the bodies in this place, together at last Za: Is this a body? In response to:  Larissa Brigatti is a final year Drama student at Trinity College and interested in directing, performing and writing (journalistic and creative). She is the theatre editor for Tn2 magazine and have been writing for Tn2 since 2017. She has mainly worked as assistant director for Jimmy Murphy (The Seamster’s Daughter), Patrick Sutton (Waiting for Godot), Maud Hendricks—with whom she still works with as part of OT Platform, WoW Project. She is passionate about languages and cultural studies, she studied Spanish as TSM with Drama for 2 and half years but she is finishing the course as Single Honors.
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 Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Stay Awhile by Ann Sheehy
(Lights up on Room 220 at Our Lady’s Hospice. Maurice is sitting in a chair next to his hospital bed, looking through binoculars out the window. Julie has just arrived and is disinfecting her hands by the sink.) Maurice: I do believe I see a thrush! Lovely song this time of year. (He regards Julie.) Julie. How is my Sally? Julie: She sends her love, as usual. Maurice: She is the love of my life. Do you think they will let her visit? Julie: Maybe. In a couple of weeks, Maurice, that would probably be best. Maurice: A couple of weeks. Julie: You feeling ok? The pain managed? Maurice: Yes, yes, pretty much so. Julie: (Holding up a bag.) I got those yogurts you like – I’ll put them in the fridge. And look what I found – a dark mint chocolate Easter Egg! Maurice: But it’s not Easter. Julie: Well I didn’t want to chance it… that they’d run out of your favourite. Oh jeez, you still like chocolate, don’t you? Maurice: Sure, sure. You got any of those banana muffins in that bag? Julie: Absolutely. Julie and Maurice: No nuts!! Maurice: It’s not that I don’t like them, it’s my damned teeth! Why don’t you take off your coat, stay for a while. Tell me about Sally, does she miss me? Julie: (Stays standing on the opposite side of the bed.) Well, she really is something else – so beautiful and of course she misses you. Maurice: Are you brushing her hair every day? Julie: Yes, yes, a hundred strokes. We go out three times a day. This morning we went to the park and she rolled in a worm. Maurice: Cheeky girl. Sure she loves a good roll. My sweet Sally. Oh, I wish you would bring her – say she’s my therapy dog … something. How’s she getting along with Clarice? Julie: I found them snuggled up together on the bed. Maurice: No! Julie: Companionship. They miss you, Maurice, but they are being well looked after, I promise. Everyone on the road asks for you and send their love. Winnie still wants that cup of tea. Maurice: I know. I know. I think they must be short-staffed, my breakfast and shower were later than usual and it is past twelve and they haven’t served lunch. Julie: Well then, how about that muffin? Then I will have to go. Maurice: Julie… They told me this morning… Julie: I know. You know I will come see you as soon as I can. Maurice: Yes. Thank you, Julie, thank you for all of it. (Lights fade.) Ann Sheehy is a once and future actor, also a mother, currently teaching Pilates and other body-awareness classes. She took Fishamble's Intensive Weekend Playwriting course last year and has been working on that among other things creative. She is on Facebook as ann.sheehy.58.  Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Homing
By Julia Marks This is intended for six actors--3 male, 3 female. Each line of text indicates a separate line of dialogue. Indented lines are individual thoughts, and un-indented lines are collective thoughts. Lines can be divided as you like between the actors. I. The danger brought the children home. We came crawling back from our separate cities, Heads held high as we reported on The commute to work The weather getting warmer How we’ve been eating oatmeal all week We shelter in the only bar still open in our little town-- Members only, but a fiver for lifetime entry. One of us, we don’t remember who, Paid the fee last year. The bouncer--self-titled--knows us all from school anyway, He remembers, Even if we do not, He’s been here all this time while we left. We pretend to recognize him, For his sake and ours, And after all, We’re back here now, too. Gathered, We point to names we recognize, Landmarks, carved into the table. The streets, out the window, are empty, Even though the streetlights have just come on. They’ve gotten new covers. We’re young enough, still, to have jobs with titles-- Reporter Musician Rocket Scientist But old enough to be thinking of transitioning to something new, Because the management is shit, And we’re starting to think about benefits. (we don’t mention that we can barely afford next month’s rent/ that our job doesn’t offer salary/ that we can’t imagine the luxury of a Kitchen Aid mixer/ and we might not even be sure we want that) Safety in numbers, we press closer together in our booth As more of us return. II. My childhood crush is here, stupid boy, who turned out to be hated by everyone but me My grade-school science partner avoids me as much as I avoid him The girl in the corner has a child at home, what is he, six now? What is she doing alone and drunk by the bathrooms? We take turns with our stories: I remember when we were eight, you let your dog pull your scooter and you fell and broke your arm. I remember when we were fourteen and you jumped out the window of our classroom. I remember when you got so drunk at graduation that you fainted in the sun. When the barman kicks us out, I stop to buy overpriced cigarettes from the vending machine. We spill out into the streets, Still empty. We don’t remember why we’re there, Or gotten too drunk to care. We’ve forgotten why we ever wanted this to end. We know there have never been any cabs here, So we walk, Like we always did, I never noticed that she grew curves. I never heard that he’d been arrested freshman year. In our shifting patterns that can’t be formulated, I wasn’t there when he came out to his parents and they told him to leave. in the road because we know no cars are coming. I never knew that she liked [ Band name] too, And maybe if I’d know we would’ve stayed in touch. As the night sets in, we realize we can see the stars. And you can’t see the stars in my city like this And we realize We thought we might never live in a place where you can always see the stars again And the danger sets in Because we have come home. I bought the cigarettes for myself but I pass them around We’ve all long since abandoned our smoking habits But the ritual comes back to us the same, And here we are. (We don’t admit to anyone but ourselves that we should’ve been more careful with that word) “home.” It’s hard to admit we are happier here. Our town is still singing the same songs. We sit. We smoke. We listen. We are learning to sing with it. Julia Marks is an actor and theatre-maker originally from South Carolina. She graduated from the Gaiety School of Acting in 2019, and previously received a BA in Theatre from the College of Charleston. She is a founding member of iii States Collective, a producing company focused on challenging theatrical form and expectations. They recently staged their first original work, Cove Creek Boys and Summer Girls, at the Scene and Heard Festival 2020, which was her professional writing and acting debut. You can find her on Instagram at @iiistates or @theconfessionrooms.  Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Twenty Twenty Vision
A Tiny play Bridgid Galvin SCENE – LADIES BOUTIQUE. EMER (20’s) holds up a dress on a hanger signalling to shop assistant JOAN(50’s). EMER Sorry… do you have this in a twenty? JOAN Did you check the rail? EMER Well… I did…yes. JOAN Hang on so ‘til we’ve a look. JOAN flicks through the rail Six, eight, eight, eight…ten, twelve, ten, ten, ten…Oh look, a sixteen…(looks at Emer) What was it again? EMER Twenty…or maybe an eighteen would do? JOAN Naw, I’d stick to the twenty…Hold on, I think we’re in luck…(pause) Naw…a twelve…just saw the two there…must be blind. EMER No panic… thanks anyhow. JOAN Always the same. The big wans go first. EMER Yeah?. JOAN Yeah like…I dunno. They’re always snapped up…La? We’re always left with loads of eights and tens… racks of them. EMER Might that not be telling ye something? JOAN I know! Don’t I be saying it all the time? An’ there’d be others like yourself... EMER (mock conspiratorially) So there are others? JOAN Loads girl…loads…an’ the big sizes fly out the door! EMER So what day does new stock come in? JOAN Tuesdays. But you’ve to get here early like… EMER …to avoid the plus size stampede? JOAN Ha you’re gas! (pause) Sure God love us. Listen…would ya give the sixteen a go? EMER A go? This isn’t a funfair ride we’re talking about…that dress is a full two sizes smaller. JOAN I know like…but they’re very generous. Our Jenny here is an eight an’ she got into a six. EMER A six…that’s very generous alright. Did Jenny have a go at the size four? JOAN How do ya mean? EMER Just following on from your two sizes down theory. JOAN Do you know what? Now that you mention it, they don’t come in a size four…that’s more of it now for ya! EMER Yeah…tough break for the size fours alright and there was I giving out. At least they make it in a size twenty, even if it does mean camping out overnight to get one. JOAN Ah sure God love us will ya stop! Listen, do you know what you can’t go wrong with? EMER A millionaire coated in Hagan Daz? JOAN You’re gas!....No…really…look. JOAN holds up a black pants EMER Black pants? JOAN Exactly. The best friend of a lady of size… EMER …along with her cat. JOAN Gas! Listen… I’m telling ya…ya can’t go wrong with a black pants. EMER But maybe I want to go wrong. JOAN A fine girl like you would cut a dash in a well cut black trousers…a vision! Play it safe on the bottom an’ ya’ can go mad on top. EMER Sounds promising…I’ve always wanted to go mad on top. JOAN It’s all about disguising the faults and flashing the assets. EMER Disguising and flashing..? It all sounds a bit illegal. JOAN Ha! Accentuate and depreciate…draw the eye upwards. EMER To where? JOAN Up up and away… EMER Away..? From… the body? JOAN Exactly! Up is the key. Your eyes are your asset. EMER Ok…so basically a giant cut out arrow should do the job. JOAN Gas!…No, no…listen…the large girls’ secret weapon… Pause for revelation A scarf! (JOAN nods knowingly throughout the following) EMER A scarf? (pause)Right so…I think I’ve got this. Disguise and flash…Accentuate and depreciate… Black pants…(mimes drawing a circle round her face) Keep it all going on up round here with a scarf acting as border crossing to the troubled southern territory. Yeah? JOAN Exactly! EMER Right…thanks. JOAN My pleasure love…ya see we women must support each other, right? EMER Yeah. I see. End Bridgid Galvin is a secondary teacher from Cork. She writes for pleasure and has had a number of one act plays produced in Cork Arts Theatre. She was selected for mentoring as part of Scripts Playwriting Festival 2017. In 2018 she was selected as one of thirty playwrights for Fishamble Theatre Company’s ‘A Play for Ireland’ process, in conjunction with The Everyman Theatre Cork. In 2019, She won the Billy Roche International Short Play Competition.  Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens? Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions. Kiss of Death
Thursday 12th of March, 2020. A woman in her early twenties is making a half-hearted attempt at cleaning up the kitchen at a house party. She collects glasses, perhaps taking occasional swigs out of unfinished drinks. It is very late, and things have clearly begun to wind down, although she is visibly still a little drunk. A man enters, catching her. She chokes a little at the sight of him. The tension between them is visible from the outset. She attempts to pass by him and exit, actively avoiding eye contact. (A ‘/’ indicates any lines that run into each other). M: Going somewhere? She stops about three feet away from him. W: Living Room. M: I was just seeing if you needed some help. W: No, no. M: Sure? W: I wasn’t doing much. M: Yeah. You shouldn’t be drinking out of other people’s glasses right now. W: Don’t preach. M: I’m not preaching. W: Good. M: I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Pause. W: Speaking of. She takes a few measured steps back from him. W: That’s more like a metre I’d say. M: Is it one metre or two? W: If it’s two, that living room is host to some serious safety breaches right now. M: The measures don’t come into place until tomorrow, technically. W: I guess. Pause. M: I know tonight probably wasn’t the best idea, just… might not get to do it again for a while. W: Probably not. M: Shame. They catch each other’s gaze for the first time. He takes an instinctive step forward. She takes a step back. W: We shouldn’t. M: I know. W: We can’t. M: You’re right. W: It’s just because we’re alone right now. M: Yeah. W: That’s why/ M: Yeah/ W: The pull is there/ M: Probably. Pause. W: I was making a point of not being alone with you tonight. M: I’ve noticed. W: Have you? M: Well, you made it quite obvious. W: I did not. He gives her a knowing look. W: Well, what was I supposed to do? It’s not easy. M: I know. W: You don’t think I want to? Pause. M: Do you? W: You know I do. M: You’ve never said it. W: Neither have you. M: But you always knew I felt it. W: Well, I thought the same. M: So why didn’t anything happen? W: It would have. Pause. W: Now it’s just, well, it’s complicated, isn’t it? M: It is. W: Messy. M: I agree. W: We can’t be reckless. M: No. W: Think of the children. M: Well, actually, statistically children are far less likely to contract it. W: Then think of your grandmother. M: Already dead. W: We’re not doing this. M: Okay. W: Good. M: Good. W: Thank God. M: Amen. W: So, how are you coping? M: Not bad, you? W: Could be worse. M: Glad to hear it. Pause. W We can’t kiss. M: I know. They kiss. A second man stumbles into the kitchen cluelessly. He freezes at the door, his eyes widening animatedly at the passionate display in front of him. His initial shock subsiding, he fist pumps the air triumphantly, doing a small victory dance out the door and shutting it quietly behind him. Laura Hartin is a third year Drama student in Trinity College. She is mainly interested in writing and performance. Twitter: @lorajhartin Instagram: @lorahartin |
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