After the fashion of Rosencranzt and Guildenstern Are Dead—a fantastic play. With the greatest respect to Tom Stoppard
I
(Outside the Capulet tomb. A large crowd has gathered outside the police tape murmuring and trying to get a better view. Towards the back, a Page of Paris—a dreamer, would-be philosopher, and a Servant—totally practical)
PAGE of Paris: That's a shame, isn't it...move a bit, I can't see.
illiterate SERVANT: I don't get what all the fuss is about.
PAGE: Don't you? They killed themselves—for LOVE! How existential. How romantic.
SERVANT: No, they killed themselves because Friar Lawrence has terrible timing.
PAGE: Your such a pragmatist. Why do I put up with you?
SERVANT: Probably because I'm the only one who talks to you.
PAGE: Probably.
SERVANT: No, but in all seriousness. (cranes neck) Are there really dead bodies in there?
PAGE: Well, yes, Pete, that's what's called a graveyard, see, and--
SERVANT: I mean Romeo and Juliet. Or have they been moved?
PAGE: (musing) Yes, they would have to be moved. Funny, isn't it...how after we die, we are no longer capable of moving. Isn't it odd?
SERVANT: ...No?
PAGE: I mean in the philosophical sense.
SERVANT: I wonder if there's any blood.
PAGE: Should be. She daggered herself.
SERVANT: Eew...(steps forward and peers between two massive men's shoulders). I do wish these two would move.
PAGE: No one will ever move for you, Peter. We must forge our own ways through this void called earth.
SERVANT: How's it a void, then, if I can't pass through solid objects.
PAGE (After a moment of silence): I say, Pete, have you heard what the Quantum Mechanicians say about all this?
SERVANT: No
PAGE: They say that most of an atom's just empty space. 90% or something. Really, this (Gestures expansively) is more of a void than we previously believed.
SERVANT: That so? Then there's a chance I'll be able to see through these two linebackers?
PAGE: I-I suppose so.
SERVANT: Good.
PAGE: Well, don't hold your breath for it.
SERVANT: So long as there's a chance.
PAGE: D'you know, I think we've made probability our god. We hold onto chances like we used to believe in miracles. But it's no less absurd to an educated mind, that--
SERVANT: Hey! Did you see that! DID YOU SEE THAT!
PAGE: See what?
SERVANT: I saw through his back! I saw the tomb THROUGH a crowd of people! The molecules parted, as the scientists say they might, or as you said, and I SAW THE BODIES!
PAGE: ...control yourself, Peter.
SERVANT: But that should be impossible! I did the impossible.
YOU ARE READING
Short Stories
Storie breviA collection of my short, comedic fiction. Welcome! Thanks to _daunicorn for the excellent cover!
