A Play

A Play
Written by: William
Time : 8 pm on a warm summer evening

Place: The stage is set to look like a middle class living room. Center stage is a brown, micro-fiber, 3-cushion sofa. The front armrests are slightly damaged by what appears to be cat claws. Next to the sofa, stage right is a square end table. Upon the table is a lamp, coasters and half a dozen books. Stage right of the end table is a wicker back chair with a soft, green, one-piece cushion that fits both the seat and the back. The cushion is hanging off at the top seam where the glint of staples can be seen.
Down stage center is a coffee table, which matches the end table. A television remote control and a few Lego blocks are scattered across the shiny wood grained surface.

Entering stage right is a man in his mid thirties. He is of normal build with dark hair and a salt and pepper (more pepper than salt) goatee beard. He is devilishy handsome. He sorts through the books on the end table and decides on a thick tome. He sits on the couch to the far stage right. He props his right elbow on the armrest and sets the book on his lap. He grabs the remote and clicks on the television, which is down center stage, and relaxes back into the comfort of the corner of the couch. The side pillow props him up. He flips through the pages of the book.

Enter stage right is a woman who, although in her early thirties appears no older than 25. Her long brown hair cascades off her shoulders. Her skin is flawless except for a few Sunkist freckles across her nose. She is wearing dark shorts and a yellow tank top. The left strap of the tank top has fallen slightly off her shoulder revealing a well toned, perfectly formed shoulder. She smiles at the man. The smile reaches her eyes, which disappear in the squint of her smile. She has a relaxed way about her. She stretches, relieving all tension in her neck and back. The man’s eyes rise from the book to take in her beauty.

She glances at the man and smiles again, a knowing smile, and she sits in the wicker chair. She sighs. She speaks.

Woman: OH God! My hands smell like the poop from Max’s diaper. Oohh. Gross.

She exits.

THE END.