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MASK OF WAR (A short play)

Two mothers have a conversation with War personified...

I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, "Mother, what was war?"
~Eve Merriam

(Two mothers stand center as lights rise on the bare stage.)

Open the play [+/-]


M1:
Come now, Bara’ah! Time for school!

M2:
Hedasaa! Where are your books?

M1:
Bara’ah, hurry! You will be late for school!

M2:
Hedasaa, hurry! I have your lunch! Let’s go!

M1:
Bara’ah!

M2:
Hedasaa!

(The women now cross left and right and then cross downstage edge calling out over the audience.)

M2:
Did you hear your mother?

M1:
I said for you to come now!

(A slow and sad violin solo now begins to play. The women look toward one another but do not acknowledge the other as broken concrete and debris begins to slowly descend around them from above. The women again call out over the audience.)

M1:
I said come on, slow poke!

M2:
You better get a move on! I’m giving you ten seconds, young lady!

M1:
It is time for school, Bara’ah!

M2:
…Five! Four! Three! Two! One!

(The concrete and debris touches the floor and the violin peaks! The women’s cries now turn to desperation as they walk about their respective debris searching for their children.)

M1:
Bara’ah!

M2:
Hedassa!

M1:
Come my child! Where are you?

M2:
Hedassa!

M1:
Where are you? Bara’ah! Mama needs you to come to her!

M2:
Hedassa, please talk to me! Mama needs to hear your voice! Hedassa!

M1:
Bara’ah! My innocent child!

M2:
Hedassa! My shining star!

(The women, standing near different blocks of concrete, are now horrified.)

M1:
BARA’AH!

M2:
HEDASSA!

(As they speak the next lines they cross behind the concrete and pick up colorful blankets [their children]. They weep and hold them dear.)

M1:
My child!

M2:
Oh my baby!

M1:
My beautiful innocence! My Bara’ah!

M2:
Hedassa! My lovely baby! No!

M1:
Oh! My dearest baby!

M2:
Mommy is here! Mommy is here…

(They now weep for a good moment holding their children. Soon, WAR, A man dressed in all black and wearing a haunting all white theatrical mask, enters and crosses to them and takes the children [the colorful blankets] and then crosses to the downstage center edge.)


M1:
Oh! Freshly turning earth! What have you done to my child!

M2:
Finish this! End thy collection of death!

M1:
Why has Dawn collapsed around us? Around our children?

M2:
Our children did nothing to deserve this!

M1:
They were innocents! You should have taken me!

M2:
Why have you forsaken us? Their small wings clamoring for heaven!

WAR:
HEY! …I know nothing of clamoring wings or heaven. I am also not earth.

M1:
Who are you?

WAR:
Who I am matters not.

M2:
Then what are you?

WAR:
I am War.

M1/M2:
War?

WAR:
Yes. You may know me best as death or destruction or any number of trite terms for my reality, but I am war and I have taken your children.

M1:
They were innocent children! Why would you take them?

WAR:
Why matters not.

M2:
Yes! Yes! Why matters most!

M1:
Why children? Why a child?

WAR:
Ladies, I merely collect. I do not ask who or why. Good day. (Exiting.)

M2:
No! Answer our questions! Answer them!

M1:
Yes! You owe us that much!

WAR:
(Turning.) I owe you nothing! I am war! Your questions are for your God! Your questions are of no concern to me! I am mighty war! I am of vital importance to the State!

M2:
Whose?

WAR:
Like I said, lady. Who mat-

M1:
Why do you wear a mask if “who” matters not?

WAR:
For effect…

M2:
Then you needn’t wear it…your effect is great enough.

WAR:
Thank you. I suppose it is.

M1:
I always thought war would be-

WAR:
What? A bloody beast? A deformed monster?

M1:
No. Taller.

WAR:
(An aside to the audience.) I knew I should have gone to Iran or Syria today…

M2:
But the children…Why the children? They haven’t anything to do with you!

WAR:
They’re just collateral damage. If I allowed myself to get all boo-hoo about these sorts of things I’d go bonkers!

M1:
You feel nothing?

WAR:
I am pure courage, strictness, malevolence, sincerity and wisdom. End of story.

M2:
What?

M1:
Wisdom? Sincerity?

M2:
You are not wise or sincere! You are ugly!

WAR:
Like I said everyone has their opinion about what I am, yet it matters not.

M1:
You feel nothing?

WAR:
Nothing. Other than I should not have engaged in this idiotic dialogue.

M1:
You feel no remorse? No sorrow? No guilt?

WAR:
Nothing.

(M2 slams WAR in the back of the head with a large chunk of concrete and he falls to the ground hard and the children (blankets) fall to his side.)

M2:
Did you feel that?

(The women pick up their children and lay them to the side, then, armed with concrete, they proceed to savagely pummel him. They beat him with great anger and sorrow. They scream and lay into WAR as if they had lost all of their humanity, this for some time with their backs to the audience. The beating stopped, the women rise and pick up their children and cross downstage. Blood drips from their faces, hands and body. This sight for a good moment, then...)

M2:
What will you do now War?

M1:
Yes. What, now that you are dead?

M2:
You shall not return for my son.

M1:
Yes. You shall never slaughter again!

M2:
(Removing death's mask.) “Who” certainly matters not now!

(The women hug and soon begin exiting in opposite directions carrying their children. Each spit upon WAR’S body as they pass. M1 is gone. M2 carries her child and the mask off stage. The violin solo has peaked again. After a good moment WAR begins to show signs of life as lights begin to fade to a spot upon him. WAR has made it to his knees, his face, unmasked, reveals a true horror. Thick blood oozes and drips from his limbs and out the holes of his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. He looks straight out at the audience for a long moment. The violin screeches! Sudden blackout!)


The End






Copyright © 2006 mrp thepoetryman

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