Daily Cerealisation: dirty creatures – Ep. 2

1.

… A loud screeching noise and the lights get very bright in the cell, waking the Playwright from his all ready disturbed sleep, he tries to muffle the noise. Guard A and Guard B are outside the cell with bedding, an empty basin, soft towels and books. The guards pull what little bedding there is, off him and throw the Playwright off the mattress.

Guard A: Up you get 228.

Guard B: Do it properly.

Guard A: It’s not like any one is here.

Guard B: How are you going to learn if you don’t do it properly.

Guard A: Ok, I’ll do it right next time.

Guard B: Every opportunity is a good opportunity.

Guard A: Fine. Number 228 you will stand at the front of your Residence with your hands raised, palms open, facing outwards.

The Playwright, drowsy with exhaustion can barely respond.

Guard A: I think my way works better.

Guard B: Number 228 you will stand at the front of your Residence with your hands raised, palms open, facing outwards.

Playwright: I only just closed my eyes.

Guard B: Enemy of the State Number 228 you will stand at the front of your Residence with your hands raised, palms open, facing outwards.

The guards lift him off the floor and push his face up against the wire/bars of his cell using plastic cable ties to secure him there. The Playwright leans his head against the bars and tries to sleep standing. The guards clean the cell and bring in the new bedding and fresh clothes. The cell starts to lose it’s Spartan feel as they decorate … as a finishing touch they make a small display of books. Guard B cuts the cable ties off the Playwright.

Guard B: Stand still. Arms out.

Playwright: What’s going on?

Guard B: Eyes front.

Playwright: What are you doing?

Guard B: Eyes front and silent.

She undresses him and puts him into a clean shirt, trousers and socks. She spends a bit of time out of the sight of the audience fiddling with the shirt once it is on the Playwright. She sits the Playwright on the bed and keeps one hand on him. She nods to the other guard, he leaves.

© Sonal Patel, 2007

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