My Little Shop - Chapter 1

"Listen," I whisper, "It won't take longer than we anticipated."

The object in my hand is cool to the touch. It's metal, and has a sharp edge. I notice it's an ice pick. It has a light wood colored handle. In fact, it is wood. The handle is wood. It is a wooden handle. In my hand is a wooden handle attached to a long cold metal spike. It isn't damp. It's not wet. But it is cold. Freezing even. It's hard for me to keep my grasp as tight as I'd like it. But it is tight. My hand is tense around the wooden handle.

Then there is the direction of which the fine, sharp tip of the metal spike is pointed: Directly towards the person in front of me. Directly towards her ear. More exactly: Directly in her ear and a thrust away from poking through her skull. She trembles a bit. It's only natural. Her breath is labored, staccato even. Her eyes are so pretty. A piercing blue which seem to match the temperature of this freezing cold wooden handle in my hands.

Through her lips, "Will it hurt?"

Contacts and Eye Glasses.

I walked into the bathroom and set the contact solution next to the sink. I opened the bathroom mirror and pulled out the contact case. It was plastic. One side was blue, and the other an opaque clear. With my fingers pinched, I reached into my left eye and gently closed the tips of my thumb and pointer finger around the plastic in my eye. I pulled. My contact came out. I placed it in the blue side of the contact case. Then I repeated this sequence with my right eye, the only difference was that I placed the contact in the opaque clear side of the case. I picked up the solution and gave the bottle a squeeze. At first only air, and a tiny spittling of liquid came out. I tilted the bottle completely over on itself and gave it another try. The solution sprayed into the blue side of the case. Next I sprayed it into the opaque clear side. I set the bottle back down, snapped the cap back on and proceeded to screw the contact case caps on the case. I twisted the blue cap on its rightful side. Then the opaque clear cap on the opaque clear side. I turned the faucet on. I gave both the hot and cold knobs a fair little twist. The water came out warm. I placed my hands underneath the rush of water. I cupped my hands and pulled the water up to my face. I splashed the water on my face. I wanted it to be colder, so I pulled the hot knob back a bit. I placed my hands underneath the water again. This time it was cold. Frigid. I splashed the water on my face and it felt crisp. It was cleansing and refreshing and I did it over and over again. After a long time I stopped. The water continued to rush out of the metal faucet. The water splashed out of the basin and made a mess of the mirror and surrounding sink areas. The water on my face slowly dripped off. I reached for a towel and patted my face dry. I stretched my face and my mouth opened wide. I placed the towel back on the small hook which was on the bathroom door. I turned both of the sink's knobs to off. The sound of water stopped. A small drip remained. I reached inside the sink drawer and pulled out my eye glass case. The case had a backstage pass sticker stuck on the outside. It was from a concert I had went to almost two years ago. I opened the case. It made a familiar popping sound. I scooped my gold metal rimmed glasses from out of the case. I lodged the glasses on my nose and positioned the ear pieces tucked behind my ears. My face looked small through the glasses. My prescription was intense. Negative seven in both eyes. This made for large pieces of glass inside the rims. There was no helping this. I placed the case back in the drawer and shut the drawer. I studied my reflection in the mirror for one last moment. I reached for the light switch and hit it. The overhead heater fan turned on instead. I chose the wrong switch. I corrected my mistake and turned off the fan. Then I flipped the switch next to the fan switch. The room went dark. I exited and closed the door behind me.

Dinner Table: A Short Play

A small table is set with two plates, two drinking glasses, and utensils. Clementine, 28, sits on one end. Opposite her, on the other end of the small square table, sits Roger, 28. They begin to help themselves to the food in front of them.

Clementine: I so wanted to tell that bitch to f**k off. All day I sat there, practically begging for work to do - It was the most boring day ever - then, at two minutes to six she calls me into her office.

Roger: You need to stick up for yourself.

Clementine: Just wait. I go into her office and she starts asking me about the reports. Where are the reports, she says. You didn't ask me about any reports, I say. You never told me to do the reports.

Roger: And did she?

Clementine: Did she? Of course she didn't! She didn't ask me to do any reports, and here she is, two minutes before six asking me where they are. So, I tell her that she didn't ask for them, but I'd be happy to do them for her in the morning.

Roger: What a bitch.

Clementine: Me?

Roger: You? No, of course not. Her.

Clementine: I know! So, she goes ahead and proceeds to inform me how my performance levels aren't up to speed. How I need to start thinking like a team player. This bitch takes 2 hour lunches and normally leaves an hour before six. At five f**king o' clock she's out the door. And she has the nerve to tell me I need to stay late and do reports that she didn't even ask me for!

Roger: And today she's there 'til six.

Clementine: And... what? What did you say?

Roger: You said she leaves at five. But today, the bitch stays 'til six.

Clementine: At five fifty eight PM she asked me for reports. Haven't you been listening? No, She didn't stay until six. She left at five fifty eight. Twenty seconds after she demanded I stay late and finish her reports. She just loves to f**k with me. I swear to god, that bitch loves to f**k with me. She makes me so angry.

Roger: Why don't you tell her that?!

Clementine: Roger, I can't just tell my boss that.

Roger: Yes. You can. You need to, for crying out loud. You're just going to be pushed around over and over again. And for what? Some stupid f**king meaningless job.

Clementine: Are you f**king kidding me?

Roger: I didn't mean...

Clementine: Some stupid f**king... mean-ing-less job?

Roger: Oh stop it. I'm just saying you need to stick up for yourself.

Clementine: No. You're saying more than that. I hear what you're saying. God damn it, you don't need to fix everything Roger. Sometimes you can just f**king listen to me. I don't need you to be a f**king hero. I sure as hell don't need you to tell me what to do! Most of all I don't need you telling me I'm meaningless. God damn it, you're worse than she is!

Clementine stands up, furiously she storms out of the room.

Roger's mouth hangs open. He drops his fork on the plate in front of him and draws in a deep breath.

Finis.