(Scene 1- Kayla's room. A computer [or typewriter] is on a desk in a 'room' sectioned off from the rest of the stage. Kayla, 17, blonde and average to tall in height, is sitting at the desk and typing. Steven, also 17, brunette, tall, is lying on the bed reading "Cosmo," and snickering every once in a while.)
Kayla: (mumbling) Surreal…eel…meal…reel…kneel…heal…feel! (she types something, then sits back and reads what she's written) A world of buckling arches, so surreal/I see the bridges crumbling, and yet, can't feel? (her face scrunches up- she's obviously dissatisfied. She sighs) Well, that's complete crap.
Steven: (putting down "Cosmo") No, it's not. (Kayla looks at him dubiously) It's just a little…dry. You need more…emotional depth… (seems uncomfortable with his analytical skills) …or something.
Kayla: (throwing hands up) I don't know why I bother anymore…when Sundry's turning out her images set in print…(she wanders over to sit next to Steven on the bed. He wraps his arms around her and she leans into him.)
Steven: See? "Images set in print." If that's not poetic I don't know what is. Anyway, if we're going into Sundry comparisons, I should tell my story of Shakespearean defeat. (Kayla makes an affirmative noise.) Remember that we were studying the tragedies in Theatre class? She completely humiliated me when I made a point in discussion.
Kayla: What did she say?
Steven: (in a high-pitched voice, obviously mocking Sundry) "Um, I really don't see any parallels between Ophelia and Desdemona, Steven." (he is silent for a beat, then continues in his normal voice) Then she said, kind of bitterly, "Except that they both got screwed over by the men they loved."
Kayla: She's such a drama queen. (Steven nods, but looks uncertain.) That's just Sundry for you…she's a bitch, but an eloquent one. I wish I had just half of that eloquence. (she sighs.)
Steven: Don't worry about comparing yourself to her. Just write what comes to your heart. (he makes a face) Wow. That was corny.
(Kayla laughs. Fade to twilight.)
(Light up on Sundry [pronounced 'Sun-dree']'s room. This room is more disheveled than Kayla's. Angry rock posters wallpaper the walls, and 'Angry Chick Rock' is playing at an impossible volume. Sundry, 17, brunette, average height, is sprawled on a mattress on the floor [her bed] with a dollar-store notebook, writing.)
Sundry: (abruptly sits up, finishes the line she was scribbling. The music recedes as she reads out loud to get the feel of the words) I see red and orange/Every time I close my eyes/I smell dust and wind/I feel the heat of a thousand muscles tensed/I taste blood I bit from my own tongue… (she trails off, frowning) That's not right. (she pencils something in) I see splashes of red and orange/Every time I close my eyes…perfect. (she smiles grimly, satisfied that she got it right but not taking any joy in this accomplishment. The music returns as Sundry turns the page to start another poem. She is startled when there's a loud pounding at the door.)
Sundry's Father: Turn that fucking music down, bitch! I'm trying to watch TV!
Sundry: Go to hell! (she reluctantly turns the music down)
Sundry's Father: You watch your mouth! (he tries the door and finds it locked) Just keep that damn noise turned down!
Sundry: If you'd let me get a job, then I could buy some headphones and there wouldn't be a problem! (she realizes her father has already gone, screams in frustration, and turns the music back up defiantly. She stares at the door for a second, smiling fiercely, but hears footsteps on the stairs and, to her shame, turns the music down again.) Damn it! (mumbling to herself) I can't help being scared, even with the lock. I was scared when I was young and he used to come into my room in the middle of the night and drag me out of bed. I was scared when my dumbass mother left and the judge decided her fucking drug habit made her unfit for custody. I'm scared when people ask about… (she drags up a sleeve, wincing a little, and stares at a large, fresh-looking bruise) And I'm still scared. Maybe I'll always be scared. (she curls up, hugging her knees to her chest, but doesn't cry. Instead, she stares, glaring, at the SL wall, as the lights and music fade)