KISS OF DEATH by Lora Hartin #TinyPlayChallenge

Keep your creativity flowing with Fishamble's #TinyPlayChallenge
In these challenging times, Fishamble - along with many of our colleagues in the wider Irish artistic community - is working hard to keep imaginations lively, communities engaged - and most of all offer people the opportunity of creative expression. We asked our audiences: Would you welcome the challenge of exploring your thoughts and feelings through drama? Do you have a dramatic story that you feel the urge to work out for yourself, and maybe share with your fellow citizens?
​Below is one of the chosen plays from our weekly submissions.

Kiss of Death

Thursday 12th of March, 2020.

A woman in her early twenties is making a half-hearted attempt at cleaning up the kitchen at a house party. She collects glasses, perhaps taking occasional swigs out of unfinished drinks.

It is very late, and things have clearly begun to wind down, although she is visibly still a little drunk.

A man enters, catching her. She chokes a little at the sight of him. The tension between them is visible from the outset.

She attempts to pass by him and exit, actively avoiding eye contact.

(A ‘/’ indicates any lines that run into each other).

M: Going somewhere?

She stops about three feet away from him.

W: Living Room.

M: I was just seeing if you needed some help.

W: No, no.

M: Sure?

W: I wasn’t doing much.

M: Yeah. You shouldn’t be drinking out of other people’s glasses right now.

W: Don’t preach.

M: I’m not preaching.

W: Good.

M: I just don’t want anything to happen to you.

Pause.

W: Speaking of.

She takes a few measured steps back from him.

W: That’s more like a metre I’d say.

M: Is it one metre or two?

W: If it’s two, that living room is host to some serious safety breaches right now.

M: The measures don’t come into place until tomorrow, technically.

W: I guess.

Pause.

M: I know tonight probably wasn’t the best idea, just… might not get to do it again for a while.

W: Probably not.

M: Shame.

They catch each other’s gaze for the first time. He takes an instinctive step forward. She takes a step back.

W: We shouldn’t.

M: I know.

W: We can’t.

M: You’re right.

W: It’s just because we’re alone right now.

M: Yeah.

W: That’s why/

M: Yeah/

W: The pull is there/

M: Probably.

Pause.

W: I was making a point of not being alone with you tonight.

M: I’ve noticed.

W: Have you?

M: Well, you made it quite obvious.

W: I did not.

He gives her a knowing look.

W: Well, what was I supposed to do? It’s not easy.

M: I know.

W: You don’t think I want to?

Pause.

M: Do you?

W: You know I do.

M: You’ve never said it.

W: Neither have you.

M: But you always knew I felt it.

W: Well, I thought the same.

M: So why didn’t anything happen?

W: It would have.

Pause.

W: Now it’s just, well, it’s complicated, isn’t it?

M: It is.

W: Messy.

M: I agree.

W: We can’t be reckless.

M: No.

W: Think of the children.

M: Well, actually, statistically children are far less likely to contract it.

W: Then think of your grandmother.

M: Already dead.

W: We’re not doing this. 

M: Okay.

W: Good.

M: Good.

W: Thank God.

M: Amen.

W: So, how are you coping?

M: Not bad, you?

W: Could be worse.

M: Glad to hear it.

Pause.

W We can’t kiss.

M: I know.

They kiss.

A second man stumbles into the kitchen cluelessly. He freezes at the door, his eyes widening animatedly at the passionate display in front of him.​

His initial shock subsiding, he fist pumps the air triumphantly, doing a small victory dance out the door and shutting it quietly behind him.



Laura Hartin is a third year Drama student in Trinity College.  She is mainly interested in writing and performance.
Twitter: @lorajhartin
Instagram: @lorahartin

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