ACT I:

SCENE I: Pleasant Valley Middle School classroom

Enter; Davey minus a finger, Mustachioed Teacher, classmates, and a talking math book.

Davey tries to move the pencil on his desk with his missing limb. . . nothing. The teacher blabs, the pencil doesn't move. A minute of life passes. The mouth in the sky groans. He cannot escape the jet stream. "Maybe I'm crazy," he thinks as he attempts to move his severed finger, "Maybe it was only a dream I ever had a finger." He stops. The mustachioed teacher talks to the five kids listening. "You can't loose something like that without blood everywhere, right?" The whirs of the easterlies stops.

"Hey Davey!" a cry from an unknown origin.

Davey looks around the room. White cinder blocks with an assortment of cork-boards. Mustachioed Teacher writing on the chalk-board. Classmates attentive towards diversions. Caden Shepp is drawing a funny caricature of Mustachioed Teacher. Rachel McAdams is busy eating her pencil. Rob Fost wipes mucus all over his desk. Ophelia Brown is texting. Four others listen to the teacher. "Yo, fart for brains, down here!"

Davey looks at the open math text. "This ain't rocket science it's basic algebra." Davey squints. "What, you think you can disrespect algebra?" The top of the number 5 is moving, "I'll solve for your Y- if you know what I mean."

"You tell him Five!" the bottom ring of an 8 bounces.

"Look at what you are doing to poor X," exasperated huff, "being all unsolved," exclaims the indignant 5. "X may as well be Zero-cause that's how you're making him feel!"

"Aw, man..." laments 0.

"Listen," 5 takes a conciliatory tone, "You're no Fibonacci. You're more of an Einstein, but far less, very less, intelligent." A hesitant pause. "What I'm trying to say here is maybe school isn't the best thing for you." Recovering, "I mean, uh—you got a nice bike, you know, go travel the world or something." The recess bell rings amongst the whirs of airplanes.

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Fumie skips school to wander the wooded trail of a local park. She leans against an static gray trunk under the umbrella of budding branches. Rotten decay covers the floor with nourishment for plants considered to be weeds. Birds yell. The background a hum of distant roads. She hears the sound of turning gears. A boy on a bmx. He flies past shooting a wake of wood chips. He disappears through trees. She enjoys the desolate trail till the huffing-puffing-gear-turning boy zips by again. "Hey!" The boy skids along the trail sending a bombardment of mulch into the brush. "You gonna apologize for spraying wood chips at me? You used tampon!" Blankly the boy looks at her. "Little shit boy, does your mouth make words?"

"Sorry," he looks down pensively.

AWKWARD TRANSITION: A distracted man is. . .

Whirling turbines gasp clouds cough contrails into the stratosphere. "You have no leg," a shiver through Davey's flesh.

"No shit, you little idiot!" Fumie kicks wood chips at him with her prosthetic leg. "Aren't you a bit young to be skipping school?"

Scene III: Interior, television studio.

Enter; Mary minus one knuckle, livid pundit, outraged talking head.

"Normal! normal is having all fingers."

Mary's face portrays rage, "Body modifications have been a part of society since society first arose." She changes her demeanor upright, "We own our own flesh, and though we might make alterations, we are as we are the owner's of these suits."

"Typical liberal nonsense." The pundit sits straight with a self-righteous grin, "the government has one job, and that job is to keep its citizens safe. If we let people mutilate themselves what's going to stop them from mutilating others?"

"What?" Mary questions softly.

OUTRAGED TALKING HEAD: That's a great point. We let people do this, then these liberal feminazis will demand your hard earned money tax payer dollars for these demonstrative "body modifications."

The pundit emphatically agrees. "We let Mary Poppins over here do whatever she wants with her body, next thing you'll be paying for her abortion."

"Now you're just being juvenile. This is-"

OUTRAGED TALKING HEAD: If I may interject. Mary Shelly's Frankenstein is just trying to get her fifteen minutes of fame here, pure and simple.

I never denied that it was a publicity stunt," she says with haste, "but now I see that I have an opportunity-"

"An opportunity to be an attention whore." The pundit changes position, "Next up, why secularists are ruining the nation." The pundit's demeanor changes to a comfortable slouch, "Great job out there Mary." He offers his hand to shake.

Mary leans back arms folded.

PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE: I'm a man. I'm a man's man, but more manly than that. That's why I use Hatchet Body Wash. You're a man, but are you a man's man more manly than that? (Exit; Professional athlete being chased by a bear.)

"My math book told me I'm not a school person," Davey proclaims with confidence.

Fumie giggles, "You're a silly stupid little boy." She smiles for a brief second, "But then again, what boy isn't. Come with me I have something to show you." Fumie walks away firm but with a slight hobble. Davey jumps off his bike and carries it along side of him as he follows her. The wooded trail ends into a vast field of golden tall grass with no paths. Fumie walks confidently into the field. She beacons Davey in with a wave.

He obliges, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Davey follows her path of matted grass. They come to a desolate road at the end of the field. Across the road is a densely wooded area with a small path inside. A sign in the middle of the path says, "Private property. No trespassing," in big red letters. They cross the road. Fumie walks into the path.

Davey hesitates, "Hey, what about the sign."

"It's only a sign. It can't hurt you."

He shrugs and continues to follow. The path is narrow with many intrusive branches and an occasional downed tree. The children navigate the path ducking and jumping till they come to an opening.

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