Saturday, August 13, 2005
Posted 11:16 AM by Sean
A play in one act
VLADERIAN, GARRETES, MOLINEUS - Base Ball Players
FINELAEUS - An Old Man
SCIOSCIAMMEMNON - A Manager
RALLY - An Aetherial Being
Here we find a stalwart group
Assembled for one purpose
Let us reveal their honest fates
And from them lessons take
A band of men, as men alone
Seek naturally salvation
Praise and honor, and perchance
An occasional standing ovation.
[Enter VLADERIAN, GARRETES, MOLINEUS, and FINELAEUS, carrying bats]
In this late hour, our enemies
Would seem to have things well in hand
Two tallies up, upon us they close
With fire and nasty breaking stuff
'Twould seem that only the supernatural
Could deliverance secure us
But soft! An alabaster invitation
Recalls me to my purpose!
[he swings, as a crack of thunder is heard. As the thunderclap subsides, a ghostly moaning is heard off-stage]
But what is this? Does memory mock
Or have I heard this sound before?
Upon the tip of my mind it sits
There will be an answer! There must!
Though all the spectral choir howl
I will not shirk to bring them here
I name them not, only summon by
Immolation of this pearly sphere!
[GARRETES swings; another crack of thunder is heard, and the ghostly moan grows louder]
This ghostly being that strives for form
I pray is beneficial
For a baneful touch I certainly know
I could ne'er hope to outrun
But brothers! O! I think I know
The source of yon commotion
Let me advance its incarnation
Despite my locomotion!
[MOLINEUS swings; yet a third crack of thunder is heard. The moaning grows still louder as RALLY, dressed in flowing multicolored robes, enters and moves to center stage]
Blessings to them who summon me!
I, once a thought, a whisper, a dream
Upon the winds; thy skill and thy heart
Have given me form. Command my might!
YOU DIE! YOU DIE NOW!
[he beats RALLY to death with a bat]
VLADERIAN, GARRETES, MOLINEUS
Aye, Finelaeus, perchance linksmanship is in thy future
A mere score or so such bodies and I swear
It will be; test me not, or you will find the proof is in the putting.
Alas, poor Rally! Gone too soon
Now slain upon the well-trimm'd field
Learn from us, ye mighty and wise
Lest unto Lethe thy seasons yield