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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Opening Monologue

An apartment in an unnamed city, with police sirens blazing in the background

The Traveler: I think everybody gets this feeling once in awhile. That you need some other situation, any situation, other than the one you are stuck in now. Most people let it pass, rather than taking their chances. They come up with sayings to help them get over it like “Things will look better in the morning” and “Look before you leap”. Me on the other hand, well, I guess I felt like I needed to take the risk. (throwing a dart at a map of the U.S, it lands on Seed, Texas).

So I got on a bus, and left.

Act 1, Scene 1

A quiet motel lobby, sometime at night. There is a woman at the front desk, lazily paging through a magazine. The Traveler enters the lobby, carrying a worn leather suitcase. He walks over to the front desk, sets down his suitcase, and stands there for a second, hoping to get the attention of the receptionist. After a moment, the woman looks up from her magazine, finally acknowledging The Traveler’s presence.

Receptionist: Hey hon, whatcha need?

The Traveler: I’d like a room, please.

(The receptionist stares at him for a moment, mildly annoyed at having been disturbed by this stranger. At last, she tosses her magazine onto the counter and goes to grab a key from the shelves.)

Receptionist: You got room six. It’s that way.

(She hands him the key. He picks up his bag to leave, when the receptionist is suddenly stricken with a slight pang of curiosity.)

Receptionist: Hey, you got some sort of business here in Seed, or what?

The Traveler: (setting his suitcase back down) Oh! Well… not really. I’ve come here to live.

Receptionist: To live? There’s not much to live for here.

The Traveler: I’m not worried. I’ll make my own living.

Receptionist: Yeah? And what do you do?

The Traveler: Well, I’m a writer. A journalist, really.

Receptionist: A journalist, huh? Well, we already got a newspaper ‘round here.

The Traveler: Oh really? What’s it called?

Receptionist: It’s called the Seed Times, or the Seed Herald or something… I don’t read it, I just keep it for the customers. I think I got the most recent issue back here somewhere.

The Traveler: Well, I’d like to see it.

(The receptionist stares at him again as she did before, again annoyed at getting up from her post. She walks into the back room and reappears shortly, with a small newspaper in hand. She drops the newspaper onto the counter.)

Receptionist: Here.

The Traveler: Thank you.

(The Traveler picks up the paper from the counter and opens it, reading the headlines. He sees something and is puzzled.)

The Traveler: Are you sure this is the most recent issue?

Receptionist: It’s the last one they gave me…

The Traveler: It’s just that, this is five months old.

Receptionist: Yeah, what did you expect in a tiny town like this?

The Traveler: Well, we get the newspaper everyday where I come from.

Receptionist: Yeah, well, no one ‘round here has the time to read a newspaper everyday. They barely read the one we have now.

The Traveler: Perhaps if it were a bit more professional… do you mind if I take this up to my room?

Receptionist: Go ahead. You can keep it, for all I care. Nobody else wants it.

The Traveler: Well, thank you very much.

(The Traveler picks up his suitcase and smiles once more at the receptionist, who has already gone back to her magazine and is no longer paying attention. He exits)

A day scene, in the center of the Town. Here, there are a handful of small stores and a few people walking around. They regard The Traveler with a cautious reserve, giving the occasional suspicious glance. The whole town has a decrepit, worn down quality. Nothing has been changed, everything is used. There are no storefront windows, and the signs outside have become faded. There is no point in either because everyone knows every store and what they sell. One of these is the office for the Seed Herald. It is a two story brick building, with no indication to its purpose. The Traveler approaches the building cautiously, holding a briefcase in one hand, glancing at the address in his other hand before putting it his pocket and knocking on the door. No answer. He knocks again. Nothing. He slumps back, disappointed, when someone opens the door a crack.

Someone: Who are you?

The Traveler: Just a visitor.

Someone: There’s nothing here to visit.

The Traveler: Is this where they make the Seed Herald?

Someone: (opening the door a little more, his face barely visible) You got a problem with my paper?

The Traveler: No, no, not at all. I’d like to perhaps work for the paper.

Someone: Work? Is this a joke? Where are you from?

The Traveler: No joke, I’d like to write for your paper.

Someone: Write for me? Okay, we’ll see. (Opens the door all the way)

The Traveler: (hesitating) May I come in?

(Someone gives a slight nod, his eyes carefully trained on The Traveler. He awkwardly steps around someone, and into the building)

Someone:(closing the door) This is it. This is where I make my thankless little paper.

The Traveler: And you are Theodore Herschel Sledge?

Theodore:(amused) Yeah. Theo is fine.

The Traveler: I have some samples of my work.

(He opens his briefcase on the floor to reveal a mass of newspaper clippings. He selects one and hands it to Theo)

Theodore: This is your writing?

The Traveler: All of it. I keep my best stuff together in this briefcase.

(Theodore begins reading the article)

Theo: A scandal?

The Traveler: This one was from about four years ago.

Theo: Worker’s rights…

The Traveler: Yessir, and don’t expect the unions to protect the worker either. They’re in it for the profit too.

Theo: What sort of writing did you do?

The Traveler: (cocky) Well, I guess you could have called me an ‘investigative journalist’

Theo: We don’t need any investigating done around here.

The Traveler: Well, I don’t just investigate, I can write anything.

Theo: You’ll write what I want you to write.

The Traveler: That’s fine.

Theo: (sighs) I can’t pay you, but… you got a place to stay?

The Traveler: Just the motel.

Theo: Alright, you can stay here. I’ve been meaning to get a new paper out. (after a moment of thought) So, what ever happened to the old paper you wrote for? Why would you wanna come here in the first place?

The Traveler: I just needed to get away, I suppose.

Theo: Uh huh. Well, if you don’t want to share your secrets, I don’t really give a damn. To tell the truth, it gets kind of lonely here, people keep to themselves. Secrets are what keep us apart. Don’t expect to be uncovering any scandals though, you’ll get run out of town first. This paper’s nothing fancy, the people ‘round here would rather read what they already know. They just wanna read something they agree with. That’s why I don’t write much, there’s no point to it. I just do it to pass the time till I die.

The Traveler: That’s a rather grim perspective.

Theo: Well, get used to it. That’s the way life looks like from a shithole town like this. Anyway, the printing press is in the back. You can come back here if you wanna see it.

Act 1, Scene 3

Dinner that night at Theo's. The Traveler and Theo sit at opposite ends of a rectangular table. Between them is a plate of fried chicken, that most likely came from a bucket. The Traveler is observing Theo intently, Theo is chewing a drumstick and staring at a magazine in his lap.

The Traveler: I read the archive...

Theo: Huh? Oh yeah, did you now.

The Traveler: You talk a lot about the factory thats apparently near here.

Theo: Yeah, most of the people here work there, or have something to do with it. Most people here survive 'cause of that place.

The Traveler: Did you retire from there?

Theo: How do you know I'm retired?

The Traveler: Well, it just seems like you probably can't make a living off a newspaper in this town.

Theo: (chuckles) You're pretty quick, aren't ya? Yeah, I'm retired, but not from there. I was never suited for labor.

The Traveler: Then what did you do, Theodore?

Theo: I got by on what little I earned, thats what I did. You're a curious guy, I can see why they called you an 'investigative' journalist.

The Traveler: I did my job well enough.

Theo: Well, I hate to repeat myself, but I'm not giving you any 'investigative' assignments for my paper.

The Traveler: You haven't given me any assignments at all yet.

Theo: Yeah, well, give me a minute.

Theo puts down his drumstick and stands up, letting his magazine fall to the floor. He carries his plate up to the sink, turns it on, and begins to scrub the plate over running water with a rag. The Traveler watches all this with interest in his eyes. Theo scrubs his plate for a while before speaking.

Theo: I got something. The Lutheran church is holding a softball game tomorrow to raise money for some renovation. You can go down there and write about what everyone in town is gonna see anyway.

The Traveler: Sounds good.

Theo: Just a few rules. Don't ask anyone about the factory. Just stick to the topic, all right? When you ask questions, just let people tell you how lovely the whole event was, or whatever. Don't try to ask about specifics, like whether or not a softball game could raise enough revenue to be worth it or if the renovation is just to divert attention from the decreasing quality of sermons or anything. Real straightforward, right?

The Traveler: Fine. Why are you so afraid of that sort of reporting, anyway?

Theo: Jesus. I'm gonna regret this, I know it.

At a softball game. The noise of the softball game is present, but subdued. The sound of balls hitting leather and wood is only occasionally broken by the coach of one team giving a few words of encouragement to a player. Though his words are nothing out of the ordinary, in this setting he sounds not unlike a crazed street preacher, bellowing out his disturbed beliefs to the belligerent masses. The Traveler fiddles anxiously in his seat surrounded by a handful of humbly pleased townsfolk. He has a notepad in his hands that he has been recording details in, not out of necessity, but out of habit. The others do not seem to notice him, but occasionally whisper to each other discretely. In fact, they do not talk aloud at all, they merely lean in and mutter to each other. The Traveler sidles up to the nearest person and looks up at him as if to greet him. The man does not respond.

The Traveler: Excuse me.

The man pauses for a moment before turning his attention from the game. He looks at The Traveler without saying a word.

The Traveler: Um, how are you enjoying the game, sir.

Man: (pause) Fine. Just fine. (turns back to the game)

The Traveler: I'm writing an article...

Man: Dammit. (Turns to The Traveler) Alright, buddy. Take a look around. Not too obvious, now. See if you spot the split-second looks they give you. See 'em? Good.

The Traveler: I'm not sure I understand completely.

Man: Jesus. Listen, buddy, you wanna talk? Fine, I'll talk later. You aren't gonna catch many breaks from people here, so fine, I'll be the nice guy. If it'll get you to shut the hell up now.