The Moonchild
Micro-Play
Author’s Note: This very short dramatic work was originally published by The Hooghly Review. Additionally, in their rejection of the piece, The New Critique said they “admired the pace and the stichomythic energy,” of this piece.
An apartment in Paris. Nighttime.
JOHN and KATHY are drinking champagne cocktails.
JOHN: Here’s to spontaneous possibilities.
KATHY: Quite right.
JOHN: If you don’t take chances, then you will have even less of a chance at happiness.
KATHY: What did you make of it?
JOHN: What? The book?
KATHY nods.
JOHN: I wish him all the best as I know how crummy people become at these things. It’s all starlight follies and glass laughs, but there is a looming cloud that follows you around.
JOHN scoops out the maraschino cherry from his glass with his fingers and eats it.
KATHY: I wasn’t supposed to be here actually. Another girl was scheduled to come, but she had a family emergency so I was sent instead.
JOHN smiles.
JOHN: Well, I’m glad.
JOHN shakes his head from side to side.
JOHN: Not at her family emergency, of course.
KATHY walks to the window that overlooks the Seine. The moon hangs low.
KATHY: The moon is beautiful tonight. Its yellowness makes me think of ice cream.
JOHN joins her at the window, resting his head on her shoulder.
JOHN: When I was a child, I used to be deathly afraid of the moon. My mother used to tell me it was taking care of the stars, but I could never be subdued. I would cry until the sun came up.
KATHY: That’s sad.
JOHN: Is it? I’ve always thought it kind of beautiful. How funny to fear something so arresting.
KATHY: You’re a strange man.
JOHN: Is that bad?
KATHY: No, it’s just as you said. Opportunities. Grand opportunities.
JOHN knocks back the rest of his drink.
JOHN: I take them whenever they appear. They are what push me along the river of life.
KATHY watches the cherry float at the bottom of her glass.
KATHY: Oh, what little pleasures we crave.
JOHN kisses KATHY on the cheek, watching the moon morph into a different state per minute.
JOHN: Imagine if—
KATHY: How twisty! Oh. Go on.
JOHN: Imagine if we could change like that. So quick. Perfected.
KATHY: Who says we can’t?
JOHN raises an eyebrow at KATHY.
JOHN: We’re writers, darling. We turn men into frogs.
KATHY: I prefer to turn them into trees. Then they can’t talk.
JOHN: Trees can talk.
KATHY: In our world, yes.
JOHN: The real world too.
KATHY knocks back the last dregs of her drink and sets it down.
KATHY: The fizz has ruined you. You’re a thing.
JOHN: Well, if I was a thing, then I wouldn’t be able to do this.
JOHN performs a forward roll, albeit clumsily.
KATHY: (Laughing.) Oh John.
JOHN leans on KATHY as he regains an upright position.
JOHN: If I was a thing, then I—
KATHY: I think you’ve proved yourself enough for one night.
JOHN: I was going to say I would make a handsome thing, and handsome things need their beauty sleep.
KATHY: I suppose I should call myself a cab.
JOHN grabs KATHY’S hand.
JOHN: Stay. Please.
JOHN lets go.
KATHY: (Chuckling.) John, we hardly know each other.
JOHN: Don’t laugh. Anything but that.
KATHY: Even if I was to, there isn’t anywhere—
JOHN: I’ll sleep on the floor. You can have the bed.
KATHY: As you wish.
JOHN: You’ll stay?
KATHY: I expect breakfast in bed.
JOHN: Anything.
KATHY sits on the bed and begins to strip down to a slip dress. She begins to take her earrings out. JOHN gets down on the floor and begins to unbutton his shirt.
KATHY: John?
JOHN: Yes.
KATHY: I promise not to turn you into a tree.
I don't usually go for reading plays, but wow, this is really a fun read! So much energy, so much packed into a short scene. I love the dialogue, the clumsy somersault, all of it!