nightflower

1 Artist v 1000 Gangsters

(We raise the curtain without warning, catching the audience off-guard. A councillor is there behind a podium. Some other councillors are behind them, along with two police officers.)

Councillor: If we could have silence please. I know you're all concerned with what's happening right now, but we're going to get nowhere like this. Silence, please. Silence.

(They wait for the audience to settle.)

Councillor: Now I'm going to pass you over to Sergeant Lowe right away, who'll brief you on the situation, and then take queries. Thank you.

(They step away. A police sergeant moves behind the podium.)

Lowe: Thank you all for coming on such short notice. If you don't mind, we're going to skip the introduction, moving right onto the details. Lowe: The opening in Market Square has a diameter of roughly nine metres, swallowing a portion of our fishmongers, post office, and the homes above. The depth is unknown since we're unable to measure beyond three hundred feet. And as you're all aware there are voices coming from inside, unexplained for now.

Lowe: Since the appearance of the opening a number of people have gone missing, presumed to have thrown themselves in. One was seen doing so by an officer. He'd been acting oddly the previous night, whistling to himself and so on. He spoke of hearing voices, despite being far from the hole.

(A councillor leaves the stage.)

Lowe: We've cordoned off the neighbourhood, have sentries on the boundary; yet the guards near the opening always disappear, leaving the surrounding area a dead zone. Obviously then avoid there at all costs. Everyone keep an eye on each other, especially the most vulnerable. Now, do we have any queries?

(The cast in the front rows of the audience raise their hands, ask questions. Occasionally Lowe may select a random audience member who raises their hand, responding to their query in character.)

A: Is there an update on the phone lines? Television?

Lowe: Well we're assuming they're down because of the opening. Either that, or it's a huge coincidence. There's nothing we can do about the phones, but there's an immense collection of videotapes in the library for those needing entertainment.

B: Have you made contact with our government yet?

Lowe: Our men have since returned, but we're receiving no help. With the gang war raging through the country our government have their hands full. Stories of an evil hole appearing in some remote village seem both unimportant and ridiculous in comparison. In short, we were laughed at and are having our jobs reviewed.

C: What about the media?

Lowe: The national media are focusing on what they consider more important matters, the gang war being one of them. And as you're aware local journalists who investigate the opening go missing, now assumed to be in there.

D: How many people have disappeared so far?

Lowe: We've counted forty-nine so far, with one death confirmed. We're expecting this number to climb in the coming weeks.

E: Have you tried covering the hole up?

Lowe: We tried with tarpaulin, plastic, mesh, solid metal. On each occasion the covering disappeared overnight, likely into the opening.

F: What precisely do the voices say?

Lowe: Anyone nearby having heard them was entirely changed, often driven mad, so what they're saying remains a mystery. Those who hear from a distance report male voices, rhythmic, authoritarian-sounding. Reminiscent of our dreams.

G: Have you tried having guards with their hearing muffled?

Lowe: Yes but they always go missing anyway. We now assume that proximity alone is enough to pull someone in. Even if we had a safer idea, there's no one willing to remain nearby anymore.

H: A number of others and I have been having nightmares as of late, which seem related. Do you have any more information on this?

Lowe: There are very few in the village not experiencing nightmares and the images are indeed similar. They often involve enormous holes. Holes in the centre of villages, cities, fields, valleys, rivers, oceans, sky. Voices are heard too, always male. May I remind everyone all dreams are to be reported, especially when they're giving instructions.

I: When will you lift the quarantine on the village? Why is it even in place?

Lowe: It's here as a precautionary measure and we're uncertain as to when we'll remove it. Though I imagine we'll have our freedom back soon.

Lowe: I think that's enough questions. I'll now be passing you onto the chair, Simone Reich. Simone?

(Lowe moves aside, yet Simone's not there. Slowly everyone becomes alarmed. A councillor appears from offstage, whispers something to Lowe. After a moment they approach the podium again.)

Lowe: Ladies and gentlemen, we'll have to bring this meeting to an early end. We ask you again to keep your eye on each other and report anything necessary to the authorities. And please stay away from the cordoned-off area. We'll be in touch regarding a follow-up meeting. Thank you.

(The officers and councillors move from the stage at once, to protests from the audience. The curtains drop for a while.)

*

(We raise the curtain again. The councillor from earlier, now disheveled, speaks from behind the podium again. There's another councillor behind them, along with Lowe and a second officer.)

Councillor: Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know you're all concerned with what's going on, but I assure you we have everything under control. I'm going to pass you onto Sergeant Lowe again, who'll update you on the situation, and then take queries. Thank you.

(They move away. Lowe takes the podium, now dark-eyed, their demeanour having changed.)

Lowe: We've called this meeting for a variety of reasons. First of all, an update on the opening in Market Square. We'll also be going into the various laws we've brought in.

Lowe: You may have realised that the size of the cordoned-off area has increased on account of the hole having expanded. As a result many of the nearby residents were moved from their homes and business relocated. There has also been somewhat of a fuss regarding the fungi growing from the opening, which we'll go into later.

Lowe: Now despite the warnings we've had reports of residents near the opening, putting themselves and others at risk. Security now has orders to arrest anyone seen within the cordon or loitering outside. A nine o'clock curfew is also in operation as of tonight. Do we have any queries on this? (A pause.) Good.

Lowe: You should know by now the voices from the opening are becoming louder, emanating further from the source. Being without hearing protection is therefore illegal from this evening onward. Muffs and plugs will be given at the end of the meeting, which you're expected to wear when outside. Any questions?

A: What if we lose them?

Lowe: Anyone losing them should hang something red on the window. Men patrolling the area will see this and bring you more.

Lowe: We'll now discuss the unusual fungi. First, possession of the fungi is illegal. Anyone found with an iota will face jail time. Anyone caught selling will say goodbye to their future. We're very aware that the fungi saturate the black market, and we assure you the people involved will be dealt with. Now are there any questions on this or anything else?

A: Is there an update on the phonelines or television?

Lowe: As you all know our phones and televisions are acting bizarrely, from the voices coming from the receiver, to the programmes suggesting we should eat the fungi. As such, our phones and aerials will be confiscated throughout the week. Anyone hiding either will face prosecution. Videotapes are yet available for borrowing, although many have been returned in horrible conditions. Fines have and will be issued.

B: Have you any luck with the government?

Lowe: Two cars have failed to return, but a third managed to gather information. There are now reports of openings throughout the whole country, along with the West and other parts of the world. The focus of our government has thus been on towns and cities, as with the media; so we're still dealing with our problems alone.

C: And what of the gang war that had their attention before?

Lowe: The war has come to an end. Rumour has it the men have gone missing, and that's all the information I have there.

D: How many residents from our village have disappeared so far? We've heard it's near to a thousand.

Lowe: Sadly we're unable to reveal that figure on this occasion.

D: Can you tell us how many officers have gone missing?

Lowe: Again we can't reveal this.

E: What of the increasing numbers of adolescents in the force? I hear of constables as young as fourteen.

Lowe: A temporary measure to make up for our missing officers, which again I won't elaborate on further. However, I will say we're expecting reinforcements.

F: Can you go into the recent endeavours to investigate the hole?

Lowe: A man was eased in a few days ago with the proper safeguards, but sawed through his rope after reaching a certain depth. Another was lowered in without a sharp edge, and instead gnawed through. As such, all investigations have been postponed.

G: Our nightmares are worsening. What do you recommend we do?

Lowe: It's now an offense to avoid reporting one's nightmares to the proper authorities. Anyone doing so will receive a fine or prison time. Sleeping aids are available through the medical centre and I assure you they work.

H: There's rumours going around that someone snuck in through the cordon, heard beautiful music from the opening. Will you confirm this?

Lowe: Such rumours are entirely wrong and they responsible are going to be found. Rewards are being offered to anyone with information leading to their arrest.

I: When will the quarantine be removed? Should this be in place when holes are appearing elsewhere?

Lowe: Again the quarantine is only a precautionary measure that we aim to have removed as soon as possible. You'll be free in no time.

Lowe: Now I think that's enough questions for one day. We'll ask you all again to keep your eye on each another and report everything necessary. Do not leave your home without hearing protection. If you remain seated, they'll be handed out. We'll be in touch regarding a follow-up meeting. Thank you.

(Sergeant Lowe leaves the stage, as do the others. The curtain drops.)

(A flat furnished with eastern tapestry. 'A' is lighting incense on a table by the couch. The door knocks. They move over and open it, allowing in 'B', who seems rather glum.)

A: Come in, come in. How are you?

B: Good thanks.

A: Another referral then.

B: I suppose so.

A: Shall I roll up?

B: No thank you.

A: Are you anti-marijuana?

B: No, I'm looking for something a bit more exotic.

A: Of course. You wouldn't have been referred here otherwise. Though I had someone once who found his way up here and were only after a twenty bag. He didn't even care about the strain! I said I'll sell you some from my own stash, but there must have been a mix-up. It's not something I do.

B: I see.

A: So what are you after? I have the exotic as well as the novelty. Collector's items I mean. This for instance.

(They move to the other side of the flat, return with what seems to be an old oxygen tank.)

A: One of William James' nitrous oxide tanks. You can still smell his breath on the mask. And see here... (they go into their pocket, producing a small bundle) Nazi methamphetamine. Still in the original wrapping. But I know you're not a collector, you don't seem the type. I were only showing off.

B: I'm looking for something for myself. For consumption I mean.

A: Then, what would you like? I've almost everything there is: Owsley acid, kykeon, a vast range of Shulgin analogues.

B: Something a bit more modern I think. Genesis, they call it.

A: Oh my. Life's not going well then?

B: You could say that.

A: I suppose you'll only be looking for one then.

B: Naturally.

A: They aren't cheap of course, as no one comes back for more. Though they did once by a strange coincidence. You do know what you're getting yourself into, yes?

B: I do.

A: Well I'm going to explain anyway, because as were said before there's no coming back. And when they say there's no coming back, they don't mean as in psychedelics. They mean there's no coming back to this world. You'll swap bodies with you from another reality, assume their life.

B: I understand.

A: It could be a better one, or much worse. You might wake up as a millionaire, or on desomorphine. You could arrive in utopia, or a dystopia worse than ours. There were once a man who swapped with someone on death row. An unlucky purchase, but the warnings were known. Though his replacement were very fortunate.

B: I see.

A: The ethics then are grey, since you're dealing with yourself in both bodies. Which is only why I agree to sell the stuff. Dig?

B: Yes.

A: I've only sold five over my entire career. That's five pills in seven years. And you know the penalty for selling the stuff. The government doesn't understand that souls have swapped places. All they know is that people have Genesis, then become entirely different, often highly confused or upset. Many of them end up in mental homes and there have been deaths. Sellers appear like monsters in such a context.

B: I have the money.

(They show a roll of notes.)

A: One moment.

(A wanders over to the other side of the flat. Rifles through a cupboard.)

A: You know they say we're always switching lives anyway and never realise it. I mean, have you ever awakened unable to remember your dream, though you still felt the people from it? Or have you ever woken up in love with someone you dreamed of?

B: Yes.

A: Well what if they were the remnants of lives we left behind? What if the memories of the world we wake up in - those which sometimes take a moment before they come back - what if they came from the previous you? Memories tied to this body, yet also the soul you swapped with? What if we're also swapping memories?

(A finds what they're looking for, returns to the buyer. Swaps a capsule for the notes.)

B: Thank you.

A: What if we change every time we make a big decision? Bad ones sending us one way, good ones the other? What if we only switch when we sleep?

B: Food for thought, I suppose.

(A goes to swallow the pill.)

A: Please, not here. I'd rather not have to explain what's happened to your replacement. I mean, it's fun to learn where they came from - yet they can also be rather violent.

B: I'll do it later then.

A; Maybe leave them a note or something.

B: Good idea. Alright, thank you.

(They go to leave.)

A: Before you go.

B: Yes.

A: If you don't mind me asking, what sort of life are you leaving behind?

B: I'm wanted by evil men and they're everywhere. Each hour of the day is unsafe now. They've poisoned everything.

A: And there's no running away?

B: They'll follow my journey. I'd rather move on without them, somewhere they can't follow.

A: I see. Well, good luck. Perhaps you'll wake up safe in the arms of someone you love.

B: Maybe. Thank you.

A: Bon voyage.

(They leave.)

(A remains there thinking for a while. They sit on the couch.)

A: What if when they kill us, we wake up from a nap? Elsewhere and happy, out of harm's reach?

A: I knew this weren't a shower. There were something unholy about the place. Something Satanic. The men who led us here had the eyes of reptiles or they were grey, lifeless. And the man who gave us our instructions, who reassured us, was only a performer reciting a speech. He'll return and recite it throughout the day, every day, until there are nothing left of our people. Reassuring us, charming us. A leader with terrible eyes.

(Slowly, another person stands up.)

B: I were much taken by his uniform. He seemed confident, professional. As though he knew what he were doing. And now what? Will they bury us? Burn us? Recycle what they can of our bodies? They already took our clothes, our possessions. Perhaps they have plans even for our bones.

A: Their children will sleep in ivory cots, with toys filled with the hair from our heads. A grey civilization coated in our ashes. They'll trail it through their hallways, spend their lives beating it from their rugs.

(Another stands up.)

C: We'll rise from these ashes, from the rugs and their curtains. We'll tower above their cities in clouds. Clouds from which an immense mouth will open and more ash will pour. It will race through their streets as though buildings were collapsing, chasing men through rooms and alleyways.

A: We'll jam their weapons when they go to war. We'll ruin their instruments and leave them blind. We'll stall their tanks, have them defenseless while hellfire rains down.

(Another stands up.)

D: "The war shall be won with our ashes. We'll roll over their battalions like gas. We'll blot out the sun, be a final overcast - killing the crops, the trees, the grass.

A: We'll fill the lungs of their leaders, leave them gasping for breath. We'll clog their veins, their organs, their entire bodies. We'll have them drop dead as they make their speeches to immense fields of dying men."

(Another stands up.)

E: The survivors will flee and we'll find them. Wherever they sleep, we'll squeeze through the gaps. They'll dream of smoke, gas and cities collapsing; spend their days without rest until their bodies give way."

(Another stands up.)

F: We'll cling to their souls as they move between lives and begin our vengeance afresh. Death will be no escape for them. For one life of pain is not enough for their debt, and we mean to come for all of it."

(The stage is divided in two. To the right: a small room filled with mountains of documents, a table and chair in the centre of them. On the table sits a bottle of juice, an empty glass and telephone. A pen and some paper. A door connects the right side of the stage to the left.)

(The left of the stage: a run-down part of the city. A few dishevelled working-class women stand there smoking, drinking. 'A' is nearby. Two brutes approach, watching the women with terrible eyes, a way that makes them feel uncomfortable. They come to rest by a stop sign.)

A: Observe machine-man, a mechanical organ powered by alcohol, eyes set on domination of all before him. Some will fuse to a vehicle, have petrol running through them, polluting the aether wherever they move. Between them they monitor the world.

A: Others find their way into government. Hiding behind man and missile, they release their field of foul wavelengths, corrupting the masses beneath them.

(One of the men belches. A addresses the women.)

A: See what they've done to you my flowers. See what they've done to us all. They think you subordinate, wish to subordinate you further; to have you the slave of slaves. Are you not subordinate enough? Have you not been drained of almost everything you have? Then these men of your own class are traitors, their dominance nothing but vampirism.

A: Yet why? Why do these men think themselves superior? Because they have bigger arms? A larger chest? Their system is so paper-thin, so ridiculous, that any man can enter the scene wearing a large jumper and bluff their way into being an alpha. Now hear my mantra: I will not subordinate myself to the inferior sex, and especially not the violent kind. One does not pay the monkeys when visiting a zoo.

(The men begin pulling at the stop sign, wrenching it back and forth, until it comes up from the ground. They look proudly over what they've done. One of them takes notice of the speaker. He nudges the other.)

A: We have a surplus of machine-men. Hence the rise of fascism, hence the threat of war. Hence why we have mesomorphs filling shelves, dwarfing the register. Machine-man is threatened by the very machines he created, by machine civilization, by machine labour. He takes his fear out on women, on smaller men, on minority groups, on the environment itself.

A: Much of male behaviour, consciously or not, forms an immense psychological wall around women, patrolled by the violent. A fortress they've been facing in earnest for less than two hundred years, always opposed by men.

(The men seem annoyed by this. They begin approaching. A, now addressing them, slowly backs off toward the doorway on the right.)

A: Woman is our rightful leader, oppressed by man. She'll only bring peace and happiness. Yet he's forever draining her, converting her to fuel, for himself and for patriarchy. Society beneath him will always be rather primitive, always violent. It's the twenty-first century, the 'developed world'; every city yet dangerous, bigger nations invading small ones. Such is the behaviour of predators. Such is the behaviour of primates. Such are the consequences of male domination.

(A enters the right side of the stage then locks the door. They sit down, pour a glass of juice, have a sip, lift the pen. The men knock, press their ears against the wood, listening.)

A: This can't be a dream, the audience aren't gasping for breath. Am I a doomed writer then, or one who finds salvation? Or perhaps I'll have salvation through death. Mother Kombucha, you know I love you! Lend me your strength!

(They drain the glass, pour another. Begin writing.)

A: The machine-men came, carrying the process with them. We're now fairly conditioned, free to analyse from within. A castle of solid flesh with I in the very centre; observing the shrunken heart, the vulnerabilities. (Pause for a moment.) We'll destroy this monster from inside, at the cost of my own life. Maybe even following the final word we're supposed to write. We'll refrain from turning on women, smaller males, or minority groups; as the other conditioned men often do.

(They lower their pen, have another drink. Another man enters the left side of the stage, joining the others.)

A: Patriarchy. An unholy process as driven by wrath. Nearly all of its heroes, if not all of them, reduced to antiheroes at the very least, when we factor in the oppression of women.

(The telephone rings. They rise, unplug it.)

A: Always after my attention. My energy. My élan vitale. Always disagreeing with these ideas and think I should know. I used to answer them, yet they only ever shouted, played games. Vied for control. We never had anything done.

(They sit again. Another man enters from the left, joining the others.)

A: The alleged truths of our universe are held within their mythology, explaining the cycles; mythology as written by man in bygone environments, as moderated by himself. Yet many of these cycles are in fact those of patriarchy, of conditioning; and others will take their place when we evolve beyond them. The word stands in the way and so we change it, and also the order of things.

(They have a drink.)

A: A doctrine pushed by armies of men all frightened of each another, frightened of their own fathers. Roving the countryside, taking their fear out on whoever they encounter: a farm, village, town, another army, passers-by...

(The telephone somehow rings again. They answer, listen for a second.)

A: Then why are you always masculine? Why never let up, even for a second?

(They put the receiver down.)

A: They somehow got through again, as they always do. They were disagreeing with the idea of them all being afraid. Yet they came in mass and brought their fathers, in flesh, and as phantom.

(A has another drink, sits for a while thinking. Another man joins the others outside. A then stands, begins pacing back and forth.)

A: The hard man is renowned by his fellow male for alleged strength and fearlessness, yet our studies say otherwise. He displays a full body of Reichian armour, a level of tension showing extreme emotional avoidance. He squeezes the muscle with all his power to avoid fear, sadness, even love; an ongoing process from the Stone Age, as passed among generations, often by household.

(Another drink.)

A: Tension ongoing for so long as to be wholly removed from consciousness. He does so unwittingly, without noticing, having forgotten how it all began. He became mechanical one day, automatic. The birth of machine-man! Lumbering away from a conveyor belt, half-mad with rationalisation.

(Pause for a moment in thought. Another man joins his friends outside.)

A: That or he dulls himself with alcohol, bypassing courage and the pains of growth. Or even a bit of both. Having only friends devoid of empathy or none whatsoever worsens the process; as does an aversion to one's feminine side, being the spirit, the creative, where love comes from. Such aversion often births a misogynist, whether conscious or not.

(The phone rings again. Rings out.)

A: And so they came for me, and so they come. And so we endure as always. Mother Kombucha, you know I love you! Send me your blessings!

(Another drink. A long sigh. They go on.)

A: Tensions throughout the body hamper soft movement; depressors on the face prevent whole-hearted smiling, often wearing away at the cheeks. There may be excessive frowning, a deeper voice. Awareness in general will diminish. (Pause.) Mechanical exercise furthers the process, enhancing machine-like motion. Yoga and certain forms of dancing, on the other hand, may free the muscles, encouraging natural movement...

(A pause, in thought. Another man joins their friends.)

A: Conditioning may occur in dangerous environments: the home, a neighbourhood, anywhere a person remains for enough time, reluctant or unable to escape. They become stuck a hair's breadth from a fight response, often having disassociated from its source. Some are overwhelmed by anger, or take refuge in evil, places where fear and pain are blocked out. Others flip the anger toward themselves, only to experience depression. They may even move between such states depending on circumstance. Before we know it we have a machine-region, mass-producing robots; accelerating in winter, during rough times, when the male urge to flee intensifies. As it does when hearing this writer. Yet machine-man listens anyway, frightening himself in the process. And so they mobilise, and so they come. And so again we're waiting.

(The phone rings, going unanswered for a while. Another man joins the crowd from offstage. The lights dim, curtains fall. The phone rings out.)