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 global submissions.


DA and SON in a car, at the side of a road, waiting.
A news bulletin plays on the radio: ’Today’s covid-19 figures see a rise. . .’
 
DA:
For god sake. . .sick of it.  Do they really need to be ramming it down our throats 24/7.
 
SON:
Here comes the hearse now.
 
DA:  
Turn that radio off.
 
SON:          
Right.
 
DA:  
Wind down the window.
 
SON:          
Why?
 
DA:  
Because I farted, what do ye think ye big eejit, it’s a mark of respect.
 
SON:          
Is it?
 
DA:  
Shhh. Here he is.
 
Father and Son bless themselves as the hearse approaches.
The driver has a mask on him, shocking.
 
SON:          
Is that to stop him from getting it or from passing it on?
 
DA:  
Ask him.
 
SON:
Shut up.
 
DA:  
Probably to keep the smell of your uncles feet out of his nostrils.
 
SON:          
That’s awful Da.
 
DA:  
I’m not joking. He was notorious for it.
 
SON:
Notorious for smelly feet?
 
DA:  
Ah, there’s your mother in the car behind the hearse, wave at her.
 
SON:          
I’m not fucking waving, it’s a funeral not a papa visit.
 
DA:  
Not one person walking behind the hearse. Awful. It’s no way to go.
 
SON:
I know.
 
DA:  
He’d be disgusted. A showman your uncle was, people would hang on just for a sing song with him. Honestly.
 
SON:          
So I’ve heard.
 
DA:  
This is just not right.
 
SON:
They’re slowing up?
 
Son sticks his head out the window.
Some sort of traffic jam.
 
DA:  
This road, a glorified lane, fuckin council, it should be one way traffic and that’s it.
 
SON:          
Yeah alright Da, I haven’t the head for you banging on.
 
DA:  
Where did you put my bag.
 
SON:          
In the back. Your not cracking into them already are ya?
 
DA:  
With this bottleneck traffic. We’ll be hear for a while yet.
 
Da opens the bag.
 
You big eejitt ye, you forgot me glass.
 
SON:          
Oh did I? Sorry.
 
DA:  
Sorry? Is that it. Can’t drink Guinness out of a can.
 
SON:
Ye can, same thing, it’s all a myth that pouring shite.
 
DA:  
Sometimes I wonder about you, your not dealing with the full deck at all.
 
SON:          
Look at poor Ann.
 
DA:  
God help her, she’ll be lost without him.
 
SON:
The drivers getting out of the hearse now.
 
DA:  
Jaysus. Get out and see what’s happening.
 
Son gets out of the car, then returns.
 
SON:
Your not going to believe this, a collision up ahead, nothing is moving either way. Turn on the radio we might get a traffic update.
 
DA:
You’ll do no such thing, that’s a mark of disrespect to the dead.
 
SON:
Don’t know which is worse uncle Derek dying or being stuck in a car with you.
 
DA:  
This isn’t right.
 
SON:          
So you keep saying but there’s nothing we can do about it, this is the new reality for everyone Da.
 
DA:  
Not for me son. Not for your uncle Derek.
 
Da opens the car door, he tries to hoist himself up onto the roof of the car but fails.
 
SON:
Have you completely lost it?
 
DA:
Push me up.
 
SON:
Are you for real?
 
Beat.
 
DA:
Please?
 
Son reluctantly gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger side. Son gives his Da a boost onto the roof.
 
DA:  
(shouting) Right folks, come on, wind down your windows, come on, Ann, you too love, wind down your window while your waiting, that’s it. This is one of Dereks numbers -
 
(singing) ’when no-one else can understand me’
 
Come on son?
 
SON:
(barely audible) O oh oh oh.
 
DA:  
‘When everything I do is wrong’
 
SON:
(embarrassed but audible) O oh oh oh
 
DA:  
'You give me hope and consolation’
 
SON/ANNE/MOTHER:
‘O oh oh oh’
 
DA:
‘You give me strength to carry on.’

 
The End.
 
 
 
 
 
 Eric is an actor who indulges with some writing from time to time.

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 global submissions. 


Night. 
A living room in almost complete darkness.
PHIL, a middle-aged woman, curled up on the couch, the telly on
low. She’s been crying.
The front door opens, and her husband DENNIS enters. He pulls his
coat off.
 
DENNIS:        You’re still up
 
PHIL:              I couldn’t sleep.
 
DENNIS:        I met Mae. She said she called, you didn’t answer. Were you out?
 
PHIL:             No.
 
DENNIS:    I told her to come around tomorrow. She wants to show you those photos. She thought maybe the two of you could go for something to eat or .... into town. Phil.
 
PHIL:             What
 
DENNIS:        ...... I’m going to bed. Are you coming up? Right. Goodnight.
 
(He exits upstairs.
A minute or two passes.
He comes running back down the stairs)
 
DENNIS:        You cleaned out his room. Phil. Look at me. You cleaned out his room!
 
PHIL:              Don’t shout at me.
 
(He turns on the light. In the corner, a pile of boxes – duvets, posters,
a lamp – an entire room)
 
DENNIS:        No. No, that’s not – that’s not staying there, I don’t care, that’s not staying there
 
PHIL:              I couldn’t look at it –
 
DENNIS:        I asked you, I specifically asked you –
 
PHIL:              I couldn’t look at it.
 
DENNIS:        We agreed to leave it as it was, you promised me –
 
PHIL:              I didn’t throw it out.
 
DENNIS:        That’s not the point.
 
PHIL:               You’re not here.
 
DENNIS:         What?
 
PHIL:          You’re never here. You’re always working or running around, carrying on like you haven’t a worry in the world –
 
DENNIS:        You had no right touching his stuff without talking to me first
 
PHIL:               While I’m here, like a thick –
 
DENNIS:        You had no right –
 
PHIL:             Then put it all back! Put it all back but when you do, you better lock that door and throw away the key because if I spend another minute lying on his bed, crying and thinking to myself “what if?”, going over it in my head again and again and again – there’ll be nothing left of me.
 
DENNIS:        I’ve asked you every day, I’m blue in the face asking you to come out with me or to go for coffee with Mae or to the pictures but you don’t budge, you sit here, day in and day out like a zombie, what else can I do, what can I do?
 
PHIL:             Sit with me!
 
(Silence.
After a beat, Dennis takes a breath, puts his coat back on)
 
DENNIS:        You’re not helping yourself. I know you think ...... but you’re not. It’s going back. I’ll do it myself but it’s not sitting there. Ok?
 
(Silence.
Dennis exits. Phil is left alone.
The lights fade.)
 
The End.
 



Jamie is an aspiring playwright from Wicklow. He studied theatre performance and later creative writing in Inchicore College and since, has taught theatre in the US. He was chosen as one of ten from two hundred applicants to join AbbeyBegins, an initiative for new writers run by the Abbey Theatre and more recently, in October, took part in the Fishamble playwriting course where the idea for his piece was born.

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 global submissions.


Two women sit facing the audience in armchairs, two meters apart. THERAPIST sits up straight while CLIENT slouches, feet up. Both are on the phone.

C:   Sorry about that. I don’t know why Zoom makes me so uncomfortable.

T:   No problem. So besides the digital fatigue, how do you think you’re handling it?

C:   (laughs) Which part?

T:   Any part. The change.

C:   Uh it comes in waves. Like sometimes it’s fine, or even kinda nice. My mom and I made bread the other day. That was good. Like there are definitely nice moments. I don’t know maybe it’s just that it’s so constant? Like that I’m always with them?

T:   It’s a really unnatural situation, to be in such close proximity to the same people all the time.

C:   Yeah, no I know. But like…I don’t know. This is dumb but I was listening to this podcast the other day, just like some comedy thing, and this girl was talking about how much she loves her family. Just like gushing about them. “Wow I know this is obvious but I just love my family so much” kinda like that.

T:   Okay and how did that make you feel?

C:   (agitated) I mean I don’t know. Like sad I guess because I started crying.

T:   And why do you think it made you sad?

C:   I love my family. I’m not a psychopath. I guess I just couldn’t picture myself being that enthusiastic about it. At least not right now. (Inhales). I’m just so angry all the time. And I feel bad about it.

T:   You feel bad about being angry?

C:   Yes. Like guilty. I know we’re lucky that we can be together. And I could probably calm down a little more. Let things go, especially the political stuff. Not actively pick fights. The other night I told my dad that I really respected Sean Hannity’s* work as a performance artist. So like that made him pretty mad obviously.

T:   Why do you think you do that?

C:   Probably because I’m angry. It’s like a cycle at this point. (Pause). Our neighborhood is doing this “bear hunt” thing. Have you heard about these?

T:   No.

C:   It’s cute. People put teddy bears in their windows and then when parents take their kids on walks they look for them. It’s like a game. I see them when I’m running. There’s this one little girl, she always wears purple rain boots even when it’s nice out, and she gets so excited when she finds one, pointing it out to her mom and stuff.

T:   That sounds nice.

C:   Yeah it is. Except the other day I go up to my room and I see there’s this thing on the window. It’s like…swinging slightly. So I go look and it’s this teddy bear that my mom put up. But what she did was she wrapped a string around its neck and hung it from the window. So now I’ve got this weird suicidal tableau being broadcast from my fucking window and some cute little girl in purple rain boots is gonna come along and saying “ooh look mommy a teddy bear.”

T:   What did you do?

C:   I took it down. She put one in the attic too. Taped its furry arms to the window. I think that one’s worse, its little nose pressed against the glass. So now when I’m running and I see the teddy bears all I can think is how they’re splayed up against a window. Trapped. Suffocating. Like please, let me out.


*Sean Hannity is a conservative pundit on Fox News



​

Grace graduated from Georgetown University in 2018 and since then has mostly been traveling, working, and writing. She worked as the Marketing Assistant for the 2019 Dublin Theatre Festival. Currently, Grace is back in her native New Jersey where she is quarantined with her parents, three younger brothers, and two dogs for the foreseeable future.

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.