Ben, 11 years old
Louie, 6 years old

Two brothers are in their sitting room. They are home alone and playing with a marble contraption. It looks precarious and unsteady. They are rifling through the tub of parts looking for a particular piece. Or really Ben is looking for it and Louie is lolling around impatiently.
​
LOUIE   When will mam be home?

BEN   Soon.

LOUIE   How long is soon?

BEN   About as long as it takes to finish building this.

LOUIE   Do you think she’ll bring us a treat?

BEN   I hope so. She always does.

LOUIE   Do you think she’ll bring us jelly tots?

BEN   Dunno. Depends if they still have them. She said there’s not much left in the shop, remember?

LOUIE   Like toilet paper.

BEN   Yeah.

LOUIE   Are we almost finished?

BEN   Almost. We’re looking for a small piece. It’s yellow. C’mon, help me find it.

LOUIE   (picking a random one) Is this it?

BEN   No.

LOUIE   But it’s yellow?

BEN   I know, but it’s not the right one.

LOUIE   Why can’t we use this one?

BEN   Because we just can’t.

LOUIE   Why not?

BEN   (agitated) Because we just can’t. It has to to be the right piece. That one doesn’t fit. See? (He demonstrates) When we find the right piece this marble will start here and roll the whole way down. Through this bit, and that, and even over the little bridge you built! See? Isn’t that cool?

LOUIE   Yeah!

(They root.)

LOUIE   I’m hungry.

BEN   Have another biscuit.

LOUIE   I want pasta.

BEN   We’re not allowed to use the cooker. Remember?

LOUIE   When will mam be home?

BEN   Soon, I said.

LOUIE   Can we ring her?

BEN   No.

LOUIE   Why not?

BEN   Because she’s busy. She’s working.

LOUIE   At the shop?

BEN   Yeah.

(They keep rooting)

LOUIE   Can I put the marble in when we’re done?

BEN   Of course you can.

LOUIE   Ok!

(They keep looking.)

LOUIE   (frustrated) Why is the part so small?

BEN   Well, it’s like your jigsaws. Sometimes the most important part is the smallest one. The one that looks like it’s not gonna do anything. But then when you put it in, it completes everything, gets the whole thing moving. The entire contraption won’t work without it. It’ll be like magic when we find it, I promise.

LOUIE   And when we find it, it’ll be finished and then mam will be home?

BEN   Exactly.

(The rifle for another few moments)

BEN   Aha! I found it!

LOUIE   Can I put it in?

BEN   Yes, but be gentle. Here, let me help you.

(They slot the piece in and give the contraption a gentle push to test its balance.)

BEN   It’s ready. Finally! Ok, here’s the marble. You put it in there, are you ready?

LOUIE   Yeah!

BEN   Ok, here we go, 3-2-1…

(Louie releases the marble and it runs the whole way through the contraption. They squeal excitedly and do it a couple more times.)

BEN   See? I told you it was cool!

LOUIE   Yeah. (Pause. He looks out the window) Where’s mam? You said she
would be home when we were done.

(Pause. When Louie isn’t looking Ben removes a piece of the contraption so a segment breaks off)

BEN   Oh no! You know what? This isn’t the right piece after all. We need a different one.

LOUIE   Really?

BEN   Yeah, just one more piece!

LOUIE Just one more piece and then she’ll be home? Do you promise?

(Pause. Ben hesitates.)

BEN C’mon, let’s keep looking.

​CURTAIN.



A native of Co.Clare, Claudia is a theatre-maker and scholar based in Chicago. She is currently working as a dramaturg on 'The Battlefields of Clara Barton', a new musical by Suzan Zeder and Jenn Hartmann Luck, and as a playwriting mentor for ASSITEJ's 'In the Works' festival in South Africa. Her first play 'The Wendy House' was staged at Smock Alley Boys' School in 2018. She has directed for numerous Irish stages including Smock Alley, The Complex and The Samuel Beckett Theatre. Claudia is a PhD student at Northwestern University where she explores the relationship between performance and artificially-intelligent machines.

A bedroom, surrounded by storage boxes and black bin bags. A woman, mid twenties sits centre stage, packing a box. She is flicking through old photographs when she stumbles on one, and examines it before putting it back in the box.
 
She moves upstage and starts rifling through old clothes.
Keep or bin.
She picks up a black hoodie. She smells it, lost in a memory.
 
She picks up her phone and dials.
 
A male voice answers. He’s not expecting the call.
 
Hi Brian. It’s Esther.
 
Right yeah, of course you have my number saved- I thought you might have a new phone or- anyway it’s me. Hi.
 
Sorry to ring you, but I’m packing up my room and I’m after finding a load of your stuff-
 
Eh well I found a hoodies.
 
It’s black, from H&M, and actually quite nice quality if you still- sure, yeah I’ll just throw it out with the rest of my stuff.
 
I’m moving out- finally. Found a room in Cabra with some relatively sound people and its only 60% of my pay check each month so you know a steal really.
 
Cabra’s not too far from Stoneybatter, might run into you in the shops sometime- or maybe for a coffee or- Oh I didn’t realise you’d moved. Wow, look at you property ladder- I’ve heard great things about Clongriffen. It’s like the new…. Swords. Congratulations you and- Kate, right, I was going to say Lorna, I don’t know where I got Lorna- home owners!
 
Painful pause. Why did she call him? She’s contemplating hanging up when-
 
You’re right, it is the end of an era. I’m being forced out really- Mam sold the house.  After dad the house just had too many- you know- and Conor’s in Canada so it was just a bit big for- Ah don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t have expected you to- what with the house and everything.
 
Things were just so crazy when it happened. No one had a clue how to handle to it- I didn’t. We facetimed him from ICU the night he died. It wasn’t really him though. He was hooked up to a ventilator and was barely conscious. You remember we’d be up in my room and we’d hear him down the back of the garden, roaring his head off at something funny he’d heard or thought of, we never knew what but we’d be in bits just listening to him. It was strange to see him breathless, for once.
There were only 10 of us allowed at the funeral- my mam and Conor, few of the aunties and uncles and a couple of cousin’s. I kept thinking it was all a big joke and any minute the doors would fling open and the church would fill with all of the people who knew and loved him, just as dad would jump up in the coffin and say “April Fools”.
 
It would have been nice to have you there. Dad was always asking how you were getting on.
 
A year. Yeah. I feel I’ve seen more of the inside of this room in the past year than I have all my friends together. Even after the restrictions lifted- I just came seem to find the energy. Things won’t be the same.
 
Pause.
 
Sure of course, sorry for unloading- I’ll let you get on with your evening.
 
Bye Brian- tell Lorna I said hi.
 
Hangs up.
 
She flings the hoody she’s still holding into the binbag.
 
She sits down, picks up the photo from the box and holds it close.
 
Blackout.




​Rosa Bowden is an actor, director and theatre maker from Dublin, usually based in London (but currently locked down in Glasnevin). Rosa has an MA in Theatre Practice from the Gaiety School of Acting and UCD. My theatre credits include Free EU Roaming at DFF/ Bewley's Cafe Theatre (director) Bump at Smock Alley/ Tara Theatre London (co-writer and director) and Get RREEL at Summerhall/ The Vaults (co-director). Most recently, Rosa wrote and performed in Frigid at the Smock Alley Scene and Heard Festival and is looking forward to developing it further this year. Find Rosa on twitter @rosabow_ and on instagram @rosabow.

In Loving Memory of Margaret Maher

12.30pm Thursday 12th of March 2020.

Littleton, Co. Tipperary.

Geraldine and Margaret sit on a cushioned bench inside the window of “Margaret’s Unisex Hair Salon” facing each other, each resting an arm on the windowsill. RTÉ Radio One on a low volume in the background. They sip at the remains of their mugs of tea.

Margaret:   Will you have another?

Geraldine:   No no I’ll head off now, I only popped in for a quick hello…

Margaret gives a slow nod in knowing satisfaction. Geraldine has been sitting in her coat clutching her keys since half nine, saying she's leaving since she arrived

Beat

Geraldine:   Ah go on so, only if you're not busy. 

Margaret:   Do I look busy?

Beat

Margaret angles herself off the bench and over to the tea and coffee station. She fills up the kettle and sets it to boil then lets out a sigh of comfort as she sits in the nearby salon chair. She swivels it around to face the window.

Margaret:   10 years ago now you wouldn't be able to hear yourself think with the trucks roaring past on that road. Now look out, not even a bicycle. 

Geraldine:   I know sure. Did any of them ever stop off?

Margaret:   In here?

Geraldine:   Ya. Truck drivers need hair cuts too. ​ 

Margaret:   Now that I think of it one fella did, ya. Years ago now. Polish fella I think he was. Was he? No. Cork. 

Beat

Geraldine:   You should put up one of them signs on the motorway the way the Horse and Jockey did. Half their crowd above is coming in off it for a bite to eat. 

Margaret:   Ya. Maybe.

Beat

The kettle clicks. Margaret makes two fresh mugs of tea and settles back down on the bench at the window. She looks out and across the road at the boarded up newsagents and post office.

Beat

Geraldine:   Kay was in good form I thought.

Margaret:   She was, faith. Despite everything.

Geraldine:   Oh I know sure. Desperate.

Margaret:   Desperate.

Beat

Geraldine:   You gave her a lovely set Margaret. She skips out that door every time after you've spruced her up. A real lift, you can see it in her.

Margaret:   Ah sure, all part of the job, faith.

Geraldine:   I mean it now Margaret. Essential for her head, not just her hair. Same as myself...

Margaret:   Oh sure who are you tellin'?

They each give a light hearted scoff and take another sip of tea with a smile

Beat

Geraldine:   Jesus she was all talk about Varadkar's announcement later. 

Margaret:   Well it must be more than whispers she's heard, Sinead text me there a while ago about it oo. 

Geraldine:   Did she? You never told me.

Margaret:   I didn't want to get you worked up.

Geraldine:   Jesus, Mary and Holy Saint Joseph! All the schools and... what else did she say?

Margaret:   I don't know now we'll have to tune in. Sinead's already asking me about minding the kids while she's on call. 

Geraldine:   You can't sure. Sure you're here.

Margaret:   I'm here, faith.

They sip at their tea and exhale in contemplation.

Beat

Geraldine:   It's hardly as serious as that, is it? I read in the Independent that it's just like a flu. They're hardly going to send all the kids in the country home over a feckin' flu!

Margaret:   Flus can kill too Geraldine. I think what it is, is that it's more contagious than they realized. 

Geraldine:   Right. 

Beat

Geraldine:   Bit much though if you ask me...

Margaret:   I don't know Geraldine. If they locked us all into our houses I wouldn't be surprised.

Beat

Geraldine:   Jesus I'll have nowhere to go for my mug of tea!

Margaret:   Now! You'll have to get used to the taste of your own tea!

They raise their mugs with a nod and a laugh to each other. The mugs and laughter lower as they both turn their heads to look out the window. 

Beat

Margaret:   Whisht!

Margaret cocks an ear towards the radio

Margaret: That's him now!

Margaret springs off the bench and rushes to turn up the volume on RTÉ Radio One as Geraldine straightens herself up, spilling some tea on her lap and trying to dampen it down with her hand.

We hear Leo Varadkar addressing the nation:

"Yesterday, the World Health Organization formally described it as pandemic and the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control (ECDC) updated its guidelines advising us all to act early to be effective. Our own National Public Health Emergency Team met last night and has issued new advice to Government. We are acting on that advice today. There will be many more cases. More people will get sick and unfortunately, we must face the tragic reality that some people will die." 

Geraldine listens intently, staring at the floow and concentrating hard on what she is hearing. Margaret stands with one hand on her hip, the other on the radio. She looks around at her salon; her livelihood and a place of connection for so many in her community. 

Beat

Margaret makes her way back to the bench and finds Geraldine's gaze.

Margaret: We'll be fine Geraldine. We'll be fine, faith.

Geraldine nods with a sigh of relief at her life long friend's reassurance. They give each other's hand a squeeze of solidarity. Geraldine and Margaret continue to listen to Leo's advice and they turn to loock back out at Littleton.  



Roseanna Purcell is an actor and writer from Co. Tipperary based in Dublin. Performance credits include Signatories at Kilmainhaim Gaol, Midsummer at Project Arts Centre and A Holy Show on recent Nationwide Tour. Writing credits include Test Copy. Twitter handle is @RoseannaPurcell

A large bench sits in the middle of an empty stage. The location could be a park/open area.
It’s quiet except for some distant outdoor sounds. Character A enters and sits on one end of the bench. Character B follows and sits on the opposite end. Characters are not gender/age
specific and do not make eye contact at any point.

A.   They say you only get one. I’m not sure if that’s true.
But, if you really only get one

B.   That one is definitely you.

A.   Someone who just .. gets it.

B.   No regrets it

A.   Always there to see the best yet. Builds that confidence inside, that .. sense of pride.

B.   Fills up the heart.

A.   Not been that way since the start, but acquired over time

B.   Aged like a fine wine

A.   This life of mine. Still, it’s that same someone who’s pushing you, rushing you

B.   Doubt building like it’s crushing you

A.   Mounting pressure like a kettle on the boil

B.   Makes you recoil

A.   Causes a situation to spoil ... And you just want to scream and tell them to stop, to .. stay on top

B.   Your head above water.

A.   And you can tell them, they’re always listening

B.   They know if you’re being true

A.   Because that who

B.   Is you.

A.   You. The cause of

B.   And solution to.

Short silence

A.   A lone ranger fighting off the danger

B.   This, stranger within.

A.   Trying to beat that repetition of the everyday condition, eating at the soul as it slowly

B.   Swallows it whole.

A.   Dark days

B.   Trapped in this maze

A.   This haze that clouds you

B.   Surrounds you

A.   With a need to break free

B.   To finally see.

A.   And this struggle leaves you lost in the rubble, buried deep down in trouble, trapped
in that bubble seeing only ‘no’ .. can’t find the ‘hello’ you so desperately need

B.   To plant that one seed

A.   And just let something good grow. You know it, feel it, too familiar to conceal it. Locked
in that dark room, nothing but gloom letting everything just billow

B.   Can’t lift a head off the pillow.

A.   And the worst part, for most there’s no second start, walking this dark path alone when
they are not alone

B.   Not on their own

A.   Seeing only an end, not a beginning, keep losing

B.   Not winning

A.   Head spinning

B.   Stop the record, change the tune

A.   Out of the ruin

B.   Feel the ebb and flow of the waves

A.   Look at the moon ... But they can’t see that brightness, can’t breathe just tightness

B.   In the chest, too much thinking, not as good as the rest

A.   Not taking chances, finding romances, exploring life's awkward dances

B.   To that song where you know all the lyrics but not the author

A.   Just want to be that son be that daughter, whoever it is you need to be to feel the free,
happy alone or in company, that husband or that wife

B.   But instead

A.   They’re taking their own life.

Short silence

B.   This life is fragile, fleeting

A.   Feel that heart beating

B.   Enjoy the mistake

A.   Or that chance meeting. We need to do better

B.   Help people. Talk

A.   Listen

B.   Listen.

A.   You may not feel it but there’s time to heal it, you can break through the rough .. you’re
tough.

B.   You are enough.

A.   You have potential, you are influential

B.   You, are, essential.

A.   You

B.   Are

A.   Essential




Keith Hanna is a Dublin based actor/DJ/voiceover artist and spoken word performer. He’s taken a step back from acting recently and is currently working with an entertainment company (7 Entertainment) creating bespoke entertainment for various events. He has a huge interest in spoken word poetry fused with music/hip-hop beats and performance. His tiny play is written in a form of rhyme/spoken word style.
Twitter  @KeithHanna_
IG   @keithhanna_

ALAN (40s) and MARGARET (70s) enter MARGARET’s house. MARGARET is holding two reusable shopping bags conspicuously. ALAN leads the way. 


ALAN. I’m not the one telling you what to do, Mam. It’s the government telling you what to do.

MARGARET. Ah you’re enjoying it all the same.

ALAN. Waiting on you hand and foot? Sure every day is a spa day now.

MARGARET. Lording it over me.

ALAN. So you were in the supermarket out of spite?

MARGARET. No

ALAN. I did your shop for you on Tuesday. One shop a week, they’re the rules, I didn’t make them.

MARGARET. Well what were you doing in the supermarket then?

ALAN. Doing my shop. Yours on Tuesday mine on Thursday.

MARGARET. Well you should just do them together. 

ALAN. Well I’ll be going a third time now by the looks of things. Since I didn’t even get in the bloody building today.

MARGARET. I could have walked home.

ALAN. You shouldn’t have left home in the first place.

MARGARET. I had messages.

ALAN. I did your messages. What messages?

MARGARET. I can run out of things, Alan. I might need other things.

ALAN. I’m sure you can but I’m just a phone call away when you need them.

MARGARET. Hmmm...

ALAN. Give me your bags anyway. I’ll put them away for you.

MARGARET. No.

ALAN. What do you mean ‘no’?

MARGARET. I’ll do it myself. I’m 72, Alan, I’m not dead.

ALAN. I’m not saying you are. Here, give them to me.

MARGARET. No. 

ALAN. Mam, give me the bags.

MARGARET. No, I don’t want to.

ALAN goes to take the bags MARGARET pulls them into her dramatically.

ALAN. What’s in the bags, Mam?

MARGARET. It’s none of your business.

ALAN. Mam 

MARGARET. Just head off, Alan. I’ll talk to you later.

ALAN. If there’s something else you need?

MARGARET. No, there’s nothing.

A tense pause

ALAN. I bought you three bottles on Tuesday. I didn’t even want to do that much but I did it.

MARGARET. I know.

ALAN. So what did you buy?

MARGARET. Some.

ALAN. Mam

MARGARET. I bought some, Alan. Will you leave me alone.

ALAN goes to take the bags off MARGARET again, she doesn’t put up a fight.
Partly making a point and partly out of shock, ALAN, begins to unpack 9 bottles of wine out of MARGARET’s two shopping bags onto the living room table.

ALAN. Plus three makes twelve.

MARGARET. I’m going to the toilet.

ALAN. I thought we’d come to an agreement.

MARGARET. Leave me. I’m going...

ALAN. I can’t enable this.

MARGARET. (sharply) I wasn’t asking you to.

ALAN. You’re not allowed to leave the house.

MARGARET. So buy it for me then.

ALAN. I bought you three bottles. Three bottles on Tuesday.

MARGARET lets out a sigh of disgust.

ALAN. They’re gone I assume. 

MARGARET. That’s my business.

ALAN. And how long will these last?

MARGARET. It is none of your concern. Now would you ever go and leave me be. Like a little Nancy boy clinging on to his Mammy, have you no life no? Nothing going on so you have to go snooping around in my own.

This hurts ALAN deeply.

ALAN. If you want the wine just ask.

MARGARET. Why so you can lecture me? My own son.

ALAN. Just put it on the list. I’ll get it.

MARGARET. Oh they’ll make a martyr out of you yet, Alan. 

ALAN. A martyr out of me? By the looks of things you’re the only one around here that’s dying for a cause, Mam. 

ALAN goes to the front door.

ALAN. Just put it on the list.

MARGARET watches ALAN leave. In upset, she takes one of the bottles of wine that’s been put on the table and swigs from it. She sits down and cries.



Caitríona Daly is a playwright from Dublin.

I’m Off by Chloe O’ Reilly

A simple living room set up - perhaps just a circular rug under an armchair. The armchair has decorative arm and back covers and there is a small table beside it, on the table is a lace overlay and an old fashioned lamp with a floral shade.

Woman sits on arm chair, she is in her late 60s early 70s and is reading a book. Perhaps she has a rug over her lap.

Man enters, he is about the same age if not a bit older. However, he is spritely in his nature.

He is carrying a small reusable shopping bag. Maybe he is holding a hat in his hand inpreparation to leave.


Man : Right so love I’m off.

Woman : Right so.

Man turns to leave

Woman : Do you have the list?

Man rushes back

Man: What?

Woman: The list love.

Man: Oh yes, Man takes out list. Tea, milk, eggs, newspaper, and biscuits Man delights in saying the last item, he loves biscuits.

Woman: We need sugar as well love. Oh, and maybe some more butter before we run out.

Man: How are we for bread?

Woman : Yes, bread as well sure.

Man writes down the extra items on the list.

Man: Right so, I’ll tell them you were asking for them.

Woman: Do, I’m just not up for it today.

Man: No, well I’m off so, I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Man turns and exits. Brief pause

Woman: Hello?

Man returns in a rush

Woman: Do you have the list?

Man patiently takes out list

Man : I do love, Tea, milk, eggs, newspaper, biscuits, sugar, butter and bread. Alright?

Woman: Hang on so I’m not ready to go yet.

Woman attempts to get up, she is flustered.

Man : No no love you’re alright, you’re here with your book yes?

Woman: Oh yes, yes. My book that’s right. And you’re going to the shop to get some bits for us.

Man : Yes that’s right, I won’t be long.

Woman: Yes that’s right.

Man: Right, I’m off so.

Woman : Right so.

Man leaves, brief pause, Woman returns to her book. Man returns again a bit rushed.

Man : I love you.

Woman : I love you too.

Small beat

Man: (Laughing) Right! Right! I’m off so I’m off so.

Man exits.

Pause. Woman returns to read her book.

Woman: Not looking up from her book. Love? Any chance you could run to the shop for me? Love?



End of play.


​

Chloe O'Reilly is a 24 year old actor from Cork. Currently training at the Lir Academy on their BA Acting degree. Her instagram handle is chloe_oreilly. Currently taking this time out to catch up on all the books on her shelf that she's been meaning to read. Right now she is nearly finished One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Ar Scáth a Chéile
Le Conall Ó Beoláin
 
Sa Siopa Poitigéara.  Tá Nóra toabh thiar den cuntar, ag obair ar an ríomhaire.  Tagann a fear chéíle Ambrose isteach ón cúl agus bosca mór aige.  Cuireann sé ar an cúntar é.  Fear réchúiseach é.
 
Ambrose:            Tá an Hand Sanitiser tar éis landáíl.

Nóra:                     Buíochas le Dia. Cé mhéad ar thug sé duit?

Ambrose:            Míle buidéil, fair play dó.  Dúirt sé go bhfuil an-éileamh ar.

Nóra:                     Tá gan dabht. Agus beidh. 

Ambrose:            Bhuel, táimid ag obair le UniMed le fada an lá – bhí Jack ag coimead súil amach dom.

Stopann Nóra an obair. Ag smaoineamh.

Nóra:                     Cé mhéad a chuirfimid ar an mbuidéil?

Ambrose:            Bhuel, ceithre euro ochtó a bhionn ar an mbuidéil sin, two-fifty-mil.

Nóra:                     Ach tá said chomh gann sin……………tá sé sin ró-íseal.

Ambrose:            Ceithre caoga a bhí orthu an bhliain seo chaite.  Níor mhaith liom é a árdú arís.

Nóra:                     Éist a Ambrose, beidh daoine sásta níos mó ná sin a íocadh – tá gearchéim ann agus is é an Hand Sanitiser an bealach is fearr do chuid sláinte, agus sláinte do chlann, a chaomhnú.  Nó sin a cheapann daoine ar aon nós.  Bhéadh said sásta deich Euro a thabhairt gan smaoineamh ar. Cúig Euro! (tut)

Gan aon deifir air, féachann Ambrose isteach sa bhosca go dtí go bhfaigheann sé an duillín.

Ambrose:            Fan go bhfeicfimid………..No, níl aon athrú ar an bpraghas ag UniMed. Eist, níor mhaith liom é a ardú…

Nóra:                     A! Níor mhaith leat é a ardú!  Cén sort fear-gnó thú ar chor ar bith?

Ambrose:            Tóg go bog é a Nóra…

Nóra:                     Tóg go bog é? Cen chaoi gur féídir liom ?  Tá mé ag féachaint ar na cúntaisí seo le uair a chloig anuas.  An bfhuil ‘fhios agat, tá rudaí a dul ó olc go holc ?!

Ambrose:            Níl siad chomh dona sin…
​
Nóra:                     Tá agus níos measa!  Ón lá a d’oscail an Boots nua thuas ar an gcearnóg, tá muid ag streachailt.

Ambrose:            Tá gearrchéim ann.  Ní bheadh sé ceart ………ní bhéadh mé compórdach…..

Nóra:                     Eist leat!  Tá sé in am duit ciall a bheith agat!

Ambrose:            Ní bheadh sé ceart!  Smaoinaigh, tá Aoife thall i Nua Eabhrach……….. dá mbeadh uirthí praghas árdaithe a íoch  ar gach ní ansin, agus gearchéim ann?  Sa drugstore nó sa siopa bia? Bhéadh muid ag tabhairt amach faoi sin…

Nóra:                     Ara!  Má bhí siopa ceart agat anseo bheadh sí le do thaobh anois, seachas ‘bheith amach ansin. Ach níl tú sásta aon rud a athrú.  Fiú amháin an sean-fhógra ar an siopa!. Fiú amháin praghas an flippin hand-sanitiser!

Ambrose:            (Go ciúin)  Níl sé sin fairáilte.

Leis sin buaileann cloigín an doras, agus isteach le bean óg.  Féachann sí go cúramach ar gach seilf sular druideann sí go dtí an cúntar – níl ach rud amháin de dhith uirthí.
​
Ambrose:            Dia duit.

Ciara:                     Dia is Muire duit – an mbeadh hand-sanitiser agat?

Ambrose:            Ta an t-ádh leat, tá sé díreach tar éis teacht isteach. (Ag tabhairt buidéal amach…)

Ciara:                     O, Buíochas le Dia! Bhí mé i ngach siopa sa bhaile, níl sé le fail áit ar bith.

Ambrose:            Creidim é.  Tusa Ciara, nach ea? Bhí tú ar scoil le Aoife s’againnse.

Ciara:                     Bhí!  Cén chaoi a bhfuil ag éirí léi i Nua Eabhrach?

Ambrose:            Tá sí A O K buíochas le Dia, bhí mé ag caint léi inné.  An bhuil do mháthair go maith?

Ciara:                     Tá, agus beidh sí níos fearr arís leis an stuff seo sa teach. (Ag tabhairt an mála ó Ambrose) Cé mhéad ar sin?

Ambrose:            Fan go bhfeicfidh mé ……..(féachann sé i dtreo Nóra, atá ag teacht chun an cúntar)

Nóra:                     Beidh sé sin saor in aisce, a Chiara.

Ciara:                     Dáiríre?

Nóra:                     Caithfaimid seasamh le chéile na laethanta seo.  Shocraíomar é seo a dhéanamh chun seasamh leis an bpobal.

Ciara:                     Bhuel ní dheanfaidh mé dearmad ar seo. Ní go deimhin. (Ag fágáil) Bail ó Dhia oraibh.

A & N:                   Slán a Chiara.

Féachann Ambrose agus Nóra ar a chéile.  Tosnaíonn said ag gáire le chéile. Beidh siad togha.
 


​Is ball de Dalkey Players é Conall Ó Beoláin, agus bíonn sé ag aisteóireacht leo le cúpla bliain anuas. Ba bhreá leis dul ar an árdán sa Tabhdhearc lá éigéan, no seal a chaitheamh i measc pobal Rós na Rún. Bíonn sé ag cumadh a lán drámaí, go léir foilsithe isteach sa cheann aige.

OXYGEN
By James Ireland
 

RAY. A man, 60s. He’s wearing a huge ring around his waist, like a hula hoop, 2 metres radius around him. He carries an oxygen tank - not using it. Stands far stage left.

CARA. A woman, 30s. She wears a huge ring too. She carries a bag of pasta. Stands far stage right.

[CARA waves at RAY. RAY waves back.]

CARA. Alright, dad?
 
RAY. How’s my princess?
 
CARA. Good to see you dad. It’s good to see you in person, dad.
 
RAY. It’s nice to see you too.
 
CARA. How are... things with you?
 
RAY. We’re doing better.
 
CARA. Better, that’s encouraging...?
 
RAY. I didn’t say that much better.
 
CARA. Dad, I didn’t know that Carlos had it.
 
RAY. You don’t look like you’re sorry.
 
CARA. We didn’t know it could jump to animals. No-one knew anything, and it could have been anyone. Listen, if I did something to offend you I didn’t mean it I was just
 
RAY. He was already coughing when you showed up. She’s devastated. Shadow was her favourite. My favourite too.
 
CARA. I never get to see you or mam, and I miss you, I miss you.
 
RAY. I asked you not to come.
 
CARA. Dad, Carlos might be dying from it too.

Dad. Say something.
 
RAY. Is that why I’ve got this for you, princess? [The oxygen tank.]
 
CARA. Dad, I need your help dad.

I brought you this to say thank you or say sorry, I don’t think I know which one. [The pasta.]
 
RAY. I’m sorry.
Put it down in the centre.
 
CARA. I need a hug from you dad.
 
RAY. I know.
 
CARA. [Moves to the centre and places the pasta down.]
Can we take these off and can I have a hug, dad?
 
RAY. No, pet, we can’t.
 
CARA. Please.
 
RAY. Go back over there and I’ll place this down. We need to follow the rules this time, pet.

[CARA retreats. RAY to the centre.
Places oxygen tank down.
Bends to pick up the pasta - the ring he’s wearing is in the way and he can’t reach the floor.]
 
RAY. Oh.

[He tries again.
Tries again.]
 
CARA. You need to-
 
RAY. I’m fine.

[He tries again.
Tries again.]
 
CARA. Try - [She mimes bending at the knees instead of the hips.]
 
RAY. Yes, okay, I got it.

[RAY bends at the knees. He picks it up.
He retreats - and the edge of the ring knocks over the oxygen tank.
It rolls in a circle.
He chases it and every time he bends down to pick it up he knocks it away. It stops against the back wall of the stage.
He goes to it. He bounces off the wall and falls over.]
 
CARA. Dad-
 
RAY. Don’t I’m alright.
I’m alright.

[He slowly gets himself up. He tries to get near the oxygen tank. He can’t.]
 
RAY. Sorry.

I - can’t

Maybe you...

[He gives up and retreats to SR.]
 
CARA. It’s okay, dad. Don’t worry.

[CARA goes to the oxygen tank. She can’t get near it.]

Dad, I can’t -

What do we do? Carlos-
 
RAY. I know, darling. I -
 
CARA. If Carlos-
Me and Guiherme-

[RAY goes over to the oxygen tank. Before he gets there he bounces off CARA. Neither of them can get near anything.]
 
RAY. Sorry, if you-
 
CARA. I’m trying to.
 
RAY. No, see, what we need to do is

[They bounce off each other and the wall. They fall over. It’s hopeless. Somewhere in the middle they’re laughing. They roll around on the floor. World forgotten for just a moment, they’re laughing.]
 
 

James is a non-binary writer (they/them) from London and Dublin. They are about to graduate from the Writing MA programme at the Royal College of Art. Recent writing includes Rajesh and Naresh, a romantic comedy created from workshops with members of the queer South Asian community in London (Theatre Deli, London, 2019), and Show Me Your Wallets, an anticapitalist comedy for the climate crisis (Scene + Heard Festival, 2020). James is interested in grounded historical research, de-centred culture, and marrying investigative stories with surrealism, sharply cutting comedy, and entertainment.
@chickenfilletrollmemes
​www.jamesirelandplaywright.com

Clowns for Sale

(Three clowns with red noses — Ando, Bando and Cando — enter, creeping backwards towards and through the centre, magically without bumping into one another; facing each other in a triangle, they relax and greet each other effusively.)

(Merch enters. Merch’s physicality is distinct from the clowns, made of more naturalistic stuff. Merch speaks in gibberish; lines below suggest what they should convey.)

MERCH  (gibberish) Greetings! You are all very welcome to today’s Great Clown Sell-off! (Ando realises almost immediately what this means, Bando slowly cops on, and Cando remains blissfully unaware.) Let’s get right down to business! We have three items today for your consideration.’ (Possible further fill.)
 
(Merch notices the clowns are not cooperating and tries to herd them; by now they are conferring about what to do: Ando favours physical attack, Bando thinks they should negotiate, Cando is crying. Merch commands them to stand in a triangle facing outward. The clowns refuse. As Merch continues to address the audience in gibberish, Ando makes to attack Merch, realises s/he might do better with a weapon, scans the front row for something to use and ‘borrows’ a phone from an audience member, attempting then to use it as a remote control to mute Merch. Merch realises after a few seconds that s/he is not making sound, then snatches the phone.)

(The clowns make a collective decision to take action—as Ando goes for Merch, Bando for a seat in the audience, Cando for the exit, Merch taps the borrowed (or planted) phone to trigger a sound cue: CIRCUS CALLIOPE MUSIC; the clowns snap involuntarily into performance mode, walking jauntily to their previously instructed positions, until Ando realises what’s happened and interrupts Bando, both ganging up to stop Cando.)

(Merch taps the phone again, sound cue: AUDIENCE BOOING. The clowns are taken aback momentarily, turning to the audience with a sense of accusation, hurt, etc. They then become more resolved to subdue Merch and prepare to rush her/him. Ando begins a countdown to attack. Merch quickly chooses another sound cue: CRICKETS AMID DESOLATE QUIET. A vacuum of audience response is kryptonite for clowns. They lose any will to resist and move centre, forming a triangle facing outward. They even inch around in a circle with little side steps, as if on a music box.)

(Merch restarts the sales pitch; the clowns can’t help trying to present themselves favourably. Merch has begun in gibberish, becomes slightly frustrated, and then taps a radio button on the phone which changes her/his speaking language to English.)

MERCH  As I was saying, these three are each a guaranteed investment, ready and eager to entertain you, your friends, and, more importantly, your prospective customers. Laughter is money, as you know, and they’re already used to not getting paid much.
So. Let me introduce them. (Clowns react to descriptions as Merch continues.) Ando, here, is hard-working, showers regularly, not the best at distinguishing right from left. Bando is a good sport, has never voted —and usually asks to go home early. Cando looks after neighbours, is quite good at making fart noises, and has had a secret crush for a very, very, very, very, very, very long time on …’

(Cando has rushed Merch; Ando and Bando try to intervene.)
 
MERCH  Wait, I’m on your side, I’m … (whips out a red nose, revealing herself/himself)

ANDO, BANDO and CANDO  Dando! (Rejoicing. Deep sentiment. Then clown fury. Chase round the stage and off. A few seconds later Dando runs back on, others in pursuit, to return phone to audience member. Further chasing, including fleeting bows, and off.)


​
​Eric Weitz is Associate Director for the Gaiety School of Acting and Adjunct Associate Professor of Drama and Theatre Studies at Trinity College Dublin. He also serves on the board and directs for Smashing Times Theatre and Film Company and its International Centre for the Arts & Equality.
​Twitter: @ericweitz2; Instagram: ewtrickster

Roundabouts in the Afternoon
W. G. Silke
 
 
Lights:
 
THE FATHER taps on a keyboard to a table; while his 9 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER sits over on the couch playing  on her tablet. The father mutters to himself as he reads back over his paper; typing.
 
Jasmine: Dada?
 
Father: (pausing) Yes, my little munchkin?
 
Jasmine: What’s a pillager?
 
Father: It’s a person who robs people, usually as part of a group.
 
Jasmine: Like pillagers?
 
Father: Exactly. How’d you know that?
 
Jasmine: They’re in Minecraft.
 
Father: Oh yeah. I forgot I got you that. (Returning to his report) Now, let’s see. Where were we.. Oh yeah (typing)..
 
Jasmine: Dada?
 
Father: (Still typing) Yes buddy?
 
Jasmine: Are wolves a bit like dogs?
 
Father: Yes, they are very like dogs. In fact, they’re part of the same family - canines. But you wouldn’t have one as a pet.
 
Jasmine: Is that cause they eat people?
 
Father: (Pausing) They don’t eat people..I mean, not naturally. But they’re wild and hunt in packs. So, like, they wouldn’t be happy being alone in a home this this. (Back to work) Final quarter..final quarter? There you are. (Typing again) Happy now?  
 
Jasmine: Yes dada.
 
Father: (pauses; sotto) Last quarter..last quarter. Aha..(typing)
 
Jasmine: Dada?
 
Father: (slight irritation) Eh, yes Jasmine.
 
Jasmine: What’s a virus?
 
Father: (All stop; needing to address this) It’s, eh, a really small organism that needs a body, called a host, to create other copies of itself.
 
Jasmine: So, why does it want to hurt us?
 
Father: Well, it’s doesn’t really want to hurt us buddy, but it can create many copies of itself in our bodies, and sometimes our bodies can’t always fight these off. Imagine a boxer walked into your lungs, and cloned other boxers, and then, they all started punching you from the inside? Well, that’s how a person can feel when they’re sick with one.
 
Jasmine: And do they go away?
 
Father: Eventually, yes they do. Okay?
 
Jasmine: Yes.
 
Father: Any more questions buddy?
 
Jasmine: No. Thanks, dada.
 
Father: Okay. Great. I’ll just get back to my work then. (Checking where he was; sotto) Below-the-line..residuals..(typing)
 
His phone buzzes in his pants.
 
Father: (Answering) Yes John? I’m nearly there. Yes, I know the time. Understood. Okay, thanks.
 
He puts aside his phone on the table.
 
Father: (Sotto) Man.. (typing and clicking intensely throughout).
 
Jasmine: Dada?
 
Father: Yes Jasmine..
 
Jasmine: Is mommy still working?
 
Father: Eh, yes, she is.
 
Jasmine: So why can’t she come home?
 
Father: Remember buddy, she’s out helping sick people, and..she needs to be there day and night..
 
Jasmine: But doesn’t she have a cell phone?
 
Father: She does.. She sends you messages on Messenger doesn’t she?
 
Jasmine: But why can’t we call her?
 
Father: (Clicking) Cause..we just can’t, okay? She’s too busy and she’s not allowed home right now (huffs).
 
Jasmine: So can she not call?
 
Father: Eh..she did. Yesterday, remember? But I guess she must be really busy today..
 
Jasmine sniffs..
 
Father: (A pause; realizing) Heeeey..
 
He moves swiftly from his desk; sits beside her on the couch; tears streaming down her face.
 
Father: (Hugging her) Hey.. It’s okay.
 
Jasmine: (Crying) I w - want m – mommy..
 
Father: I know. I know buddy.. She’ll be back soon, okay. I promise.
 
Bzzzzzzz..bzzzzzz..
 
Father: See? That’s probably her now? Let me get it. Okay?
 
Father: (Going over; taking up his phone) Heeey! We were just talking about how much Jasmine is soooo missing you here..
 
Female Voice: (urgent) I’m sorry Mr. Driscoll to use your wife’s phone like this, but this Dr. Hines at the Mater..
 
 
Black.
 

​
Award-winning documentary film producer & screenwriter. Previously had a short plays produced at Trinity Players Theatre; and won the RTÉ-Galway Film Centre Short Script Awards. Currently lecturing in English in Saudi Arabia.
​IMDB Profile.