 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. FOLSOM by DIANE CROTTY
A modern supermarket, very early in the morning. MICHELLE (35) at the door and KAYLEIGH (18) at the cashier's desk, spinning around on her chair. Both women are pregnant and wearing gloves and facemasks. Muzak plays in the background. KAYLEIGH: I’m just saying. If you had to. MICHELLE: I wouldn’t. KAYLEIGH: But if you had to. Like, there’s someone with a gun to your head and there’s an asteroid coming towards Dublin and you’ve no idea if you’ll see tomorrow- MICHELLE: Jesus, KAYLEIGH. And stop swinging on that chair, you’ll break it. KAYLEIGH: No I won’t. MICHELLE: Yes you will. KAYLEIGH: No I won’t. MICHELLE: Yes you- Fine. Jordan. I’d trade Jordan. She steps outside. MICHELLE: Leave that feckin’ bin alone! She re-enters. MICHELLE/KAYLEIGH: Bastards. KAYLEIGH: So you’d trade Jordan? Is he the one with the streaks? MICHELLE: No, that’s my eldest. That’s Ethan. Jordan is the next. He was just starting first year when… KAYLEIGH: Oh. But why would you trade him? MICHELLE: Look… I love my children. I love all my children very, very much and I am very grateful to have them around. KAYLEIGH: But..? MICHELLE: But. Good Christ in heaven, Jordan has been a feckin’ pain in the hoop since they closed the schools down. He keeps trying to scale the back wall of the garden and make a break for it. He keeps calling his room “Folsom,” and telling his little sister that he’s going to the electric chair, and that she will follow him. He will not reveal why. Says it’s, “need to know.” And the music, Christ, the music… KAYLEIGH: Is it, like, heavy metal or something? MICHELLE: God, no. I wouldn’t mind that. Like a bit of Metallica, me. No, the devious little git keeps playing ABBA. He managed to get his hands on my phone and change the feckin ringtone to Dancing Queen . His father’s is now Gimme, Gimme, Gimme. It’s like living in Guantanamo Bay. In the seventies. Trapped in a polyester sack. With a Bond villain. Shower of Scandinavian fuckwits… KAYLEIGH: Feck. MICHELLE: Yeah. Feck. Little git. You’d know he’s mine. KAYLEIGH: So what would you trade him for? MICHELLE: Right now? A bit of peace and bloody quiet. KAYLEIGH: Plenty of that here. MICHELLE: Wait til the old dears wake up. What about you? Would you trade yours? KAYLEIGH: Right now I’d trade anything for having no more sore feet and no more running to the feckin’ jax. And obviously, you know, no more… MICHELLE: That’s very worthy. KAYLEIGH: I know! Ah, I’m only messing. I wouldn’t really. MICHELLE: You say that now, love. You say that now… She looks out, sees something. MICHELLE: Only Organic is on his way over. I can see that mangy mutt of his limping after him. Back to work. KAYLEIGH: Back to work. KAYLEIGH double checks her change. KAYLEIGH: MICHELLE? I know you wouldn’t really do it. MICHELLE: I know, love. But Christ, sometimes you’re tempted… She steps outside. MICHELLE: Jesus wept! You’ll have to tie the dog up before you come in, Mr. Hardy. I’ve told you before. KAYLEIGH presses a kiss to her fingers and places them against her bump. KAYLEIGH: Back to work, baba. She swings around once more on the chair and then puts away her phone. MICHELLE re-enters and laughs. Muzak swells, some Johnny Cash tune. Blackout. Diane Crotty is a Dublin-based playwright, dramaturg, director and performer. She makes work for adults as well as children. Writing credits include RISK (New Theatre as part of the 2016 Dublin Fringe), Absolute Beginners (New Theatre as part of the 2017), Spandex Blues (Smock Alley 2016), Dragonscales (Smock Alley as part of Collaborations 2015) and A Very Zombie Fairytale (The Exchange 2012, revived as part of 10 Days in Dublin 2013). Directing credits include BASH (Out of Time Theatre, 2018), RISK, A Very Zombie Fairytale, Shadowskin (Siteation 2012) and Measure for Measure (La Cathedral Studios 2011). She is a graduate of both TCD and UCD, and a member of TYA Ireland. Last year she was a recipient of the Axis Bursary through Axis, Ballymun, for her play for younger, neurodiverse audiences. It’s called The Silent-Hearted Princess.
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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. I Remember You
By Eileen Gibbons Ellen, aged 11, sits on a high stool on one side of the stage. Her Grandfather, aged 76, sits on a chair on the other side of the stage. They both face the audience. Ellen is peering through a pair of binoculars. She leans forward and dials a number on a phone that we do not see. The phone rings. Grandad answers the call. GRANDAD Ellen. ELLEN Hi Grandad. GRANDAD Any sign? ELLEN (Scanning the horizon) No. Nothing. GRANDAD We’ll have to be patient. How are you? ELLEN Good. How are you Grandad? GRANDAD Good. Doing what I’m told. Keeping out of trouble. Did you talk to your Dad? ELLEN I did. I told him the weed killer was dangerous. I asked him to stop using it. GRANDAD Did he listen? ELLEN Yes. He said he’d look for another way to kill the weeds. His friend is using vinegar and bread soda and something else. So he’s going to ask him. GRANDAD Good man. Ellen continues to scan the horizon. ELLEN I’ve been sitting here for ages, Grandad. GRANDAD When I was young, on a Sunday afternoon, I’d sit out on the wall in the front of the house. Now and again a car would pass. I’d watch it coming and I’d watch it going. Then I’d wander up as far as the garden and steal some sweet fresh peas, all the time watching for my mother. And then I’d head into the orchard for a feed of apples. I’d sit in under a tree and listen to the sounds all round me. And I’d watch the bumble bees. They were like little fat flying cows, buzzing and bumbling around the wild flowers gathering nectar. All I have to do is close my eyes and I’m back there. And whenever I hear the slow steady drone of a bumble bee I remember again what it was like to be young, free from all the worries and cares of the world. Ellen stands up, she has spotted something. ELLEN Oh! GRANDAD What is it? ELLEN Butterflies, Grandad. GRANDAD That’s the business. Did you talk to your mother. ELLEN I did Grandad. She said if you and me keep doing what we’re told then she’ll leave a circle of grass uncut in the middle of the lawn. I’m looking at it now. That’s where the butterflies are. GRANDAD Lovely hurling. We’ll keep doing as we’re told, Ellen. ELLEN We will. I miss you. GRANDAD I know. I miss you too. We hear the sound of a bumble bee buzzing around. ELLEN I see one! I see one, Grandad! Grandad stands up. GRANDAD When I was young, on a Sunday afternoon, I’d sit out on the wall in the front of the house. Now and again a car might pass. I’d watch it coming and I’d watch it going. Then I’d wander up as far as the garden and steal some sweet fresh peas, all the time watching for my mother. And then I’d head into the orchard for a feed of apples....... Ellen stands up and takes up the story. ELLEN ..........I’d sit in under a tree and listen to the sounds all round me. And I’d watch the bumble bees. They were like little fat flying cows, buzzing and bumbling around the wild flowers gathering nectar. All I have to do is close my eyes and I’m back there. And whenever I hear the slow steady drone of a bumble bee I remember again what it was like to be young, free from all the worries and cares of the world. Eileen Gibbons is a theatre practitioner from Galway. She is currently an associate artist with axis, Ballymun working on her new play 'The Common Good' after developing it as part of the Irish Theatre Institute's Age and Opportunity 'Prime' programme. @Gibletti  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. JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE BIRDS
By Maria Popovic (A room with two people. Recording equipment, computers and amplifiers are scattered around) (From outside) BIRDS: chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp ch… DELTA: Ok. The mic is all set. Turn it on. Opens window. BIRDS: CHIRPCHIRPCHIRPCHIRPCHI…. DELTA: (Shouting over the birds) Ah, lovely. ETA: Very good signal. Delta leans over Eta’s shoulder and looks at the computer screen. DELTA: How’s that frequency coming in? ETA: Let’s see… A peak at 4119 Hertz. Two minor peaks at 4002 and 4223 Hertz. Repeated over a period of ten point twelve seconds. Definitely a pattern. DELTA: Good. (Moves over to the window and stares outside) ETA: Delta? What are you looking at? DELTA: I don’t know. ETA: I’m sensing you don’t feel like working today. DELTA: Do you ever think we got it all wrong? ETA: What do you mean? DELTA: That there is no code and that there is no message. That the birds are not trying to say anything. That they’re just birds, and that they’re singing because they’re birds. Silence. ETA: I think you must be mad. DELTA: But think about it for a moment! Don’t you ever ask yourself why would they sing an incredibly complicated and absolutely indecipherable code, if they were singing for us? Why to us? Who are we to them? ETA: Delta, I don’t know what the hell you’re going on about today. DELTA: But you’ve thought about it. ETA: What? DELTA: You’ve asked yourself if the code really exists. ETA: … DELTA: Well? ETA: Well, of course I have. DELTA: And? Do you believe it? ETA: Well, yes, of course I believe it. It’s my work. This is what I do. I listen to the birds and look for patterns. And they’re there, always. Patterns don’t exist for no reason. You know, we might not know yet how these millions of patterns combine with each other, we might not know what the code in them is, or what the message is. But we’re the only ones on the planet with the skills to understand it. This is for us. It must be. Everyone knows the birds sing about the end of the world. DELTA: (Shaking her head) I don’t know if that’s true. ETA: Listen. Remember before? The constant noise before all this? DELTA: God, the endless traffic and the shrieking construction sites. ETA: I will never forget the first morning I went out on the street, and it was all gone. And I could hear them singing so clearly and loudly. Hundreds of them. I could never get out of my head the idea that there was an intention behind it. DELTA: Do you want to know what I think? ETA: You’re going to tell me anyway. DELTA: I think they’re not singing for us. Maybe it’s not our place to know what they’re singing about. Maybe they’re singing about the beginning of the world. Maybe we don’t belong in the new world and that’s why we don’t understand its language. ETA: That’s awful. DELTA: I don’t know. Maybe… Maybe it’s good. You know, for everything else but us. ETA: Then why are you working on the code? If you really think there is none. DELTA: I think I really wanted to believe they were talking to us. Delta starts singing at the window. ETA: Stop that! Jesus, you’re messing up the data! There’s a flapping sound, then silence. The birds start singing again, much louder than before. Maria was born in Belgrade and raised in Italy. She is currently based in Dublin in pursuit of a PhD in physics at Trinity College. Despite her scientific background, Maria has found pleasure in writing. You can find her on Twitter @mariaminuszero.  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. EVERYONE’S SORRY
A tiny play by Colette Cullen A forward slash mark (/) marks the point of interruption in overlapping dialogue. A comma on a separate line (,) indicates a pause, a rest or silence, the length of which should be determined by the context. CHARACTERS TWO ADULT CHARACTERS, ANY AGE, ETHNICITY, GENDER ONE AND TWO SIT OPPOSITE AT A KITCHEN TABLE. ONE TYPES INTO A TABLET. ONE. How did it start? TWO. Start, don’t exactly know. Gradually I suppose. ONE. Gradually? TWO. Yeah, gradually. You know like the grass needed to be cut less and less. Which was handy to be honest. ONE. Handy? TWO. Yeah handy. Less of a hassle. Look we were busy. Had busy lives. Work, the kids, you know, just busy. ONE. And then? TWO. And then it didn’t need to be cut at all. ONE. Didn’t need to be cut at all? TWO. Yeah, like it stopped growing completely, which to be honest was even handier. ONE. And this was... TWO. Can’t remember exactly. Like I said it was gradual. Look we aren’t gardeners. None of us have green fingers. The grass just stopped growing... ONE. And then? TWO. And then it turned into... Well you’ve seen it. ONE. You knew about the warnings? TWO. Sure, who didn’t? They were everywhere. On the radio, TV, social media. We got fed up listening to them. Night, noon and morning. ONE. The seeds and bulbs. What happened to the seeds and bulbs? TWO. I don’t know. ONE. But you got them? They came with the rules. TWO. We must have then. ONE. You must have? TWO. Yeah, you know stuff came in the door all the time then. All the time. You’d pick it up, shove it in a drawer or put it in the recycling. We did do the recycling. ONE. You put the seeds in the recycling? TWO. Like I said I can’t remember exactly I’m just supposing. ONE. Supposing? TWO. Yeah, like I’m trying to be helpful here. ONE. But you knew the rules? You were aware of the rules? TWO. Yes, we were aware of the rules. Like the warnings they were all over the place. You couldn’t switch anything on or even look at your phone without seeing them. ONE. And you followed them? You followed the rules? TWO. Yeah, no, not really I suppose. Well not strictly, that’s what I mean not strictly. Look we aren’t farmers. We were never into nature as such. It was just a pile of dirt to us. Out the back. More an eyesore than anything else. ONE. An eyesore? TWO. Yeah an eyesore. ONE. It was soil. Soil to grow things in. Soil to grow food in. Food to eat. Food to keep us alive. TWO. What happens now? ONE. We’ll do tests. Scientific tests to establish when the neglect started. TWO. Neglect? ONE. Yes, neglect. That’s what the seeds were for to bring the soil back to life again. TWO. Oh? ONE. You said you listened to the warnings. That you knew the rules. TWO. Yeah well in a broad-brush kind of way but not in detail. We didn’t know the detail. ONE. Then there’ll be a determination. TWO. A determination? How long will that take? ONE. Hard to say. There’s quite a backlog. TWO. What do we do until then? ONE PUTS FOUR POUCHES ONTO THE TABLE. ONE. One for breakfast, lunch, dinner and a snack. For each member of the household. They’ll be delivered weekly. TWO. (EXAMINING THEM) What do they taste like? ONE. I’ve no idea. TWO. And liquids. What do we drink? ONE. All your dietary requirement are in the pouches. They’ve been scientifically formulated to supply all the nutrients you need. ONE GETS READY TO LEAVE. TWO. Will you tell them we’re sorry? Please. Write that down that we’re sorry. ONE PUTS THE TABLET AWAY. ONE. Everyone’s sorry. ONE LEAVES. END. FAMILY TREE by Colette Cullen was long-listed for Papatanga’s New Writing Prize. She directed an extract in Scene + Heard 2019. Short plays have been performed at Theatro Technis, Tristan Bates Theatre, Jack Studio Theatre, Southwark Playhouse, Cockpit Theatre, Theatre Deli and Tabard Theatre. She directed her play TENDER MERCIES in Scene + Heard 2017 and Garter Lane; YES in the 2016 Dublin Gay Theatre Festival; BLIND DATE in the 2015 Dublin Gay Theatre Festival and shortlisted RTE’s PJ O’Connor Radio Drama Awards 2015. She directed BEASTS for Collaborations 2015 in Smock Alley, Mill Theatre and Millbank Theatre. Twitter @colcul Instagram @colette.cullen  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. Coping with Cocooning by Breandan O’Broin
Setting: A Cocooned Man and a Cocooned Woman discuss the arrival of Summer while battling the challenges of Covid and a Google Hangout Call. They have been lovers, once upon a time Sean Is that you Sheila? Sheila Who the feck do you think it is? Didn’t you ring me to tell me we were going to Google? Sean I can see you but I can’t hear you Sheila Nothing new in that. This is like our first date all over again … Sean Our second first date; I kind of like the sound of that … Sheila … with you foostering around; fiddling and foostering Sean What’s that you said? I still can’t get the hang of this bloody thing Sheila The Hang Out you mean. Have you tried turning up the sound? Sound FX Click Sean Now I can hear you, 100%, well 80% anyway. Amazing all the same; technology. Am I looking well? Can you see me? Sheila Of course I can. You’ve developed a triple chin Sean Ah Jesus no; that’s one more than yesterday. Sheila I kind of liked your double chins, gave you an air of authority But triplet chins? Not so sure … Sean Must be the lack of exercise; stuck here in a flat; I hate not getting out and about, I wish the bloody dog hadn’t died, he would have been my excuse to go walkies. It’s no fun being told you’re old … Sheila … but you are old Sean, officially old, there’s no getting around it. (Pause) How old are you exactly? (Longer Pause) Sean Same age as you … give or take Sheila No wonder we both look a bit fecked so. Remember the Beatles? (hums) Will you still need me, will you still feed me? Both When we’re sixty-four Sean Remember when we thought sixty-four was old? Jesus, sixty-four is ten years ago. We’ve outlasted the Beatles though; only two of them left Sheila Ringo and Paul. I always preferred John. He was the talented one. Sean BANG! 8th December 1980. Dakota Apartments, New York. Mark Chapman, BANG! He was 5 foot 10 inches you know Sheila Chapman? Sean No, John. Sheila Imagine, what if? Sean He’s be old now; like Paul, like Ringo, like ourselves. Still a legend mind, still be a legend. Sheila I think it might be just the camera angle. Sean the what angle? Sheila Camera angle, I read somewhere, the wrong camera angle makes you look old, gives you extra chins, third one in your case. Try looking up … no … Now down … no … a triple chin it is. Congratulations (pause while Sean digests the unwelcome news) Sean It goes against nature to be cocooned so it does, goes against nature … Sheila Particularly with the coming of summer Sean The longer nights Sheila Strolls on the pier Sean Looking over at Howth in the sunset Sean The Teddy’s Ice Cream Sheila the ninety-nines, with the Cadbury’s Flake. I wonder who first called them that? I mean, why ninety-nine? Where they ninety-nine pence? Sean Can’t remember. But they were worth it if they were. Sheila Priceless Sean the feeling of heat on the bones Sheila the fiddling Sean the foostering Sheila I wouldn’t say no to a bit of foostering Sean the sap rising; losing the run of ourselves … pity … ah never mind Sheila Never mind what? Never mind we never married? Sean You had your mother to look after. She came first. You were right. Sheila She died Sean. She didn’t know who I was. She didn’t know I was there Sean You knew Sheila, you knew. That’s what made it right. (Sheila bursts out crying) Sheila This fucking cocooning, I fucking hate it Sean, I fucking hate it. It’s like being separated, all over again. You’re right; cocooning goes against nature Sean Nature will win out, in the end, always does. Sheila Will it Sean? This time? Will it? Sean Nature always wins out. Breandan O’Broin is a writer, still writing after all these years. One of the best bits was working with Jim & Gavin at the Fishamble Playwriting Workshops in the Pavilion where he came up with PLOT which was later performed in the Axis Theatre Ballymun, one night only, but still … He is not big on Social Media, nor on Covid Cocooning either. ...but there's light at the tunnel's end ... he hopes  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. Isobaby
by Krystal Sweedman 2050. A back garden lined with wild wood trees, deciduous, twisting up to a blue sky. A young boy walks along the grass between them, holding a bundle of what looks like blankets to his chest. GRAN, 60, is planting bulbs nearby. She catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye. GRAN Tom dear, where are you going with your brother? TOM To the back end GRAN Where the foxes den is? TOM yes GRAN Heavens, why are you taking him there? TOM So they can look after him GRAN But that’s your Ma and Pa’s job TOM Yes but it doesn’t have to be. Gran approaches Tom and crouches down to him. She puts her arms out as if to take the baby, but he does not hand it over. TOM Yesterday two fox kits were playing outside the back door. They were having so much fun, I thought they could teach him to have fun too. GRAN Give him a few months and you’ll be able to have fun with him too. TOM I don’t want to GRAN you don’t? TOM No GRAN Why not? TOM Because he’s smelly and loud and - GRAN and would you mind if I held him while you think of the other – TOM NO! GRAN Okay. Slight pause. You know, your dad once felt like you. TOM No GRAN He did, and I did too. We both had moments in our lives when we went from being the most important person in the world, to feeling like we were invisible. For your father it was when I had your uncle, Toby. TOM Isobaby Toby? GRAN Where did you hear that? TOM Dad said I was lucky I wasn’t stuck inside with the baby like he’d been when Uncle Toby was born. That I should go and play in the park with my friends if I was upset. GRAN I see. beat Your dad would have given anything to go out and play with his friends, instead, when Isobaby Toby was born, the whole world was in lockdown because a nasty virus was upsetting things. TOM The Bat Virus. GRAN Yes. The Bat Virus. Aren’t you a clever cookie. TOM It wouldn’t have been that bad. GRAN Imagine only being allowed outside to exercise: no friends, no visits to the playground, no swimming. All you can do is stay in and watch your Ma and Pa look after your brother. TOM Did Dad hate Toby too? She picks up a dried leaf from the ground, fiddles with it.. GRAN He definitely struggled with the change. Like you – he was no longer the centre of attention. Now your grandfather and I loved him just as much as the new baby, as your parents love you, but little Toby was so vulnerable. She rubs the dry leaf between her fingers. It disintegrates. For the first month of his life I was terrified I was going to break him. That one little wrong move would do irreversible damage. Your parents are focusing on your baby brother right now, because he is fragile. Kind of like this leaf. She shows him the fragments and then blows them onto the grass. You wouldn’t want them to have more worries would you? TOM No GRAN and do you think leaving him with the foxes might worry them? TOM I guess. Tom hands her the baby. Grana? GRAN Yes Hunny? TOM What happened to the Bats? GRAN Eventually they went away, and every country where the vulnerable had been protected emerged stronger than the rest. It changed the world as we know it. TOM How? GRAN Now that is a story for an other day. They head back towards the house. Krystal Sweedman is a writer of words; theatre, short stories, songs, and silly little ditties to make her three month old smile. She has had plays presented as part of La Boîte Indie, Scene and Heard Festival, The Provoke Festival, and at the Loft Theatre & Metro Arts Theatre's in Brisbane. Her latest, Black Cherry was due to be presented at La Mama Theatre in Melbourne this August, and be produced as a radio play by Near FM as part of their 2020 New Drama Hour series. |
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