tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76284671534001707462024-03-04T20:31:32.479-08:00POLY-WRITESWhere the scientific mind gets creative (A blog of texts by the Creative Writers at Polytechnique)Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-68694744847770730062011-05-02T07:01:00.000-07:002011-05-02T07:03:20.541-07:00En Hiatus: watch for new posts in fall 2011Yes, you may all have noticed that this blog has been pretty inactive. Sorry about that! I hope that JOE ROSS who has taken over the creative writing course at Polytechnique in my current absence will perhaps be able to put this blog to use next fall with the 2011-2012 class! Until then, please enjoy perusing the past posts, and if you are a polytechnique student and would like to post some creative writing here, please email me and I can provide you the means to do so!<br /><br />Happy writing & reading to everyone!Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-90063875533024844652010-04-01T07:34:00.000-07:002010-04-01T07:55:01.165-07:00Short Play by Romain Vuillez<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPIEvayo11CPARhNU_YG4_C7xIrAjUfEi6_VqoZPa0xH46zFTb2eWkgvYhtVnBgBTD7yJDIC6fsnB8FAGZZOaIsV7YZCzq-slzJM512uuZ8Sdx6q-ze6VhhHBAxBkJdkF4mfIMIPpwOc/s1600/Photo+118_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455181246754758786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPIEvayo11CPARhNU_YG4_C7xIrAjUfEi6_VqoZPa0xH46zFTb2eWkgvYhtVnBgBTD7yJDIC6fsnB8FAGZZOaIsV7YZCzq-slzJM512uuZ8Sdx6q-ze6VhhHBAxBkJdkF4mfIMIPpwOc/s400/Photo+118_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>From "An Evening of words and theatre" performance at the Ecole Polytechnique on the 17 February 2010.<br /><div></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#33ff33;">SHORT PLAY by Romain Vuillez, Acted by Matthieu Hubert and Sophie Potin</span></strong><br /></div><br /><div><em>A couple on a couch at a party.<br /></em></div><br /><div>SALOME : It was something really pure, you know, being in the desert, all alone... At night you really get the feeling you are the only one left on Earth... but at the same time, I have never been so close to anyone than the Bedouins we were working with. The Bedouins are really amazing people. So much dignity... We shared tea with them, it was so meaningful, for them because it's part of their culture, and for us because we got the feeling of being accepted, as if we were belonging to the tribe. Their life is so different from ours, everything counts, the time is slower, and in a sense everything is much more <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1o-5kxXW1KUGXpgwQvKyDzcFYBAifELRqAKMK0Z1-AdDyRCk-kUfaFWMp_lETwQVK83WKyz9lS3El8MDpugIL8fwLwRDWZm6iQ82oWJoI_UkdDg1bQJkVBvZ6IKlwHtE6S7GQgJSeUs/s1600/Photo+119_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455179092877200034" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1o-5kxXW1KUGXpgwQvKyDzcFYBAifELRqAKMK0Z1-AdDyRCk-kUfaFWMp_lETwQVK83WKyz9lS3El8MDpugIL8fwLwRDWZm6iQ82oWJoI_UkdDg1bQJkVBvZ6IKlwHtE6S7GQgJSeUs/s400/Photo+119_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>intense... You know what I mean ? </div><br /><div>JOHN : Yeah...<br /></div><div>SALOME : You know, I tend to be very open, because I think that it's really important to connect to the others ; like now we are talking and while I'm sharing my thoughts with you, it's just like the inner me is touching the inner you. I can't stand people faking, or people being bored by sharing, because it's what really matters, you know. I like sharing with people, even in the small moments in life, when you go to the laundromat, when you go to the grocer...<br /></div><div>JOHN : And not only by talking.<br /></div><div>SALOME : Exactly, what was really strong in the desert was this bond that exists without words. But it is very difficult to get this kind of connection here, because everybody has something to do, somewhere to go, and everybody is always in a hurry. Including myself ! </div><div><br />JOHN : I'm sure you have a lot of projects going on...<br />SALOME : Sure, I'm working on a new movie with <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVpJQSyhfaqfQoIsoGRh5_ixghvuYBoxCdTkfiIS885BIOlGaYBalhVA-qHbdNQtSVHoC6RQ048_QTU2rTexEQTbZ6bFB-1T66Wdh9_kcUrnx3N89t1M5S9Gay_m9db-u4Pa5BXW-6iQ/s1600/old+fashioned+pic_450x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455180758640136194" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVpJQSyhfaqfQoIsoGRh5_ixghvuYBoxCdTkfiIS885BIOlGaYBalhVA-qHbdNQtSVHoC6RQ048_QTU2rTexEQTbZ6bFB-1T66Wdh9_kcUrnx3N89t1M5S9Gay_m9db-u4Pa5BXW-6iQ/s400/old+fashioned+pic_450x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>the same team.<br /></div><div>JOHN, coming closer : Really ? Great, about what ?<br /></div><div>SALOME : Well, it's a secret, but I'm having a lot of fun with it. It's a beautiful experience. These people are so good at what they are doing, it's astonishing. You know, I believe there is a rule one must follow in cinema, the rule of the three Es : entertain, educate and elevate. Most of the time, a movie is all about entertaining, you have fun but nothing comes out of it. Or all about educating, but you get bored because nothing has been made to keep you interested. Some movies, and that is rare, manage to do both. But when a movie really reaches the spectator, makes him realize <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLVqyjth_pmYrdvvWap0zPW8iEIOgpCmmS080PASJyAiOWPOMSr9y_WqYTbp00mXttj2-vSt63vOBFhFPh-61cWbuGz2kOUXQrFj6w_As44ddQwxGS30WknyjtCBGk357MRdzkhsKA2M/s1600/Photo+127_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455178735888794642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxLVqyjth_pmYrdvvWap0zPW8iEIOgpCmmS080PASJyAiOWPOMSr9y_WqYTbp00mXttj2-vSt63vOBFhFPh-61cWbuGz2kOUXQrFj6w_As44ddQwxGS30WknyjtCBGk357MRdzkhsKA2M/s400/Photo+127_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>something important, really elevates his mind, then it's a masterpiece. And this new project is promising. Not only will it entertain, educate and elevate the spectators, but so it does with us who are working on it.<br /></div><div>JOHN : Can't wait until it's out !<br /></div><div>SALOME : I'm gonna tell you a part of the secret, because I trust you... You probably know I'm always deeply concerned by the environment, even if I've focused more on my career last times ?<br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhon06_Jhp7nKcVrpiOInQ-R9YCuE2iTJ_FcsRSjjcIabIRZx2XCowq-HzUbdjMdCFmeAy7VivqAnVlJy7Wr7B1ZK2UF6WZhqZEdI8flLZRnOj7oWzitwrylcIU66jsgVmPjor45wXMHPw/s1600/Photo+124_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455178735044218674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhon06_Jhp7nKcVrpiOInQ-R9YCuE2iTJ_FcsRSjjcIabIRZx2XCowq-HzUbdjMdCFmeAy7VivqAnVlJy7Wr7B1ZK2UF6WZhqZEdI8flLZRnOj7oWzitwrylcIU66jsgVmPjor45wXMHPw/s400/Photo+124_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>JOHN : Of course, I've heard you've bought some land in South America.<br /></div><div>SALOME : Yes, that's part of a bigger project, in order to give back the land to those who plow it. I'm glad you've heard from it.<br /></div><div>JOHN (coming closer) : I really liked the idea ; very original, but concrete and simple.<br /></div><div>SALOME : I know, people tend to avoid originality, have you noticed ? They never want to find out what's true and what's bullshit by themselves. But it is possible, you just need to look for the information. For instance, we are being manipulated by the big firms, but nobody realizes it because people don't read about it, don't ask questions... Who are Monsanto's shareholders, that's a good question. It's one of the themes of the movie.<br /></div><div>JOHN : It's very interesting... (coming always closer)<br /></div><div>SALOME : But don't tell anyone about it, okay ?<br /></div><div>JOHN : Of course not ! I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me this. I really feel there is this connection between...<br /></div><div>SALOME (standing up) : Hold on, I'm gonna get another glass of champagne.(leaving)<br /></div><div>JOHN : Wait a sec... (on his side) <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8EXz6NdII0731Hc2_fswphseJuQVUwDi_wFOxwojzgLqI4fGJ9X4fBpODX1pEdnFxJQP7g-hx3NFSglWbfCh0fsGJU4pYXxvQrmC4IqUzAPfgKGbuvVODBGhxJP3tzVz37CN_7VtL5g/s1600/Photo+123_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455179098474963698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8EXz6NdII0731Hc2_fswphseJuQVUwDi_wFOxwojzgLqI4fGJ9X4fBpODX1pEdnFxJQP7g-hx3NFSglWbfCh0fsGJU4pYXxvQrmC4IqUzAPfgKGbuvVODBGhxJP3tzVz37CN_7VtL5g/s400/Photo+123_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>Shit ! Hope I haven't had to stand all this for nothing ! Phew, there she comes again. <br /></div><div>SALOME (sitting) : Where were we ?<br /></div><div>JOHN : You were telling me about...<br /></div><div>SALOME : Oh yes I remember, the fact that people always believe what they are being told and never question it...<br /></div><div>JOHN : That's right.<br /></div><div>SALOME : You see, when there was this little scandal a few years ago...<br /></div><div>JOHN : It's a shame how your words have been twisted !<br /></div><div>SALOME : Oh thank you, I appreciate that. You know, I never said it hadn't happened or so, I just wondered if everything was as simple as they pretended... You know, it would not be the first time that a government manipulates the media.<br /></div><div>JOHN : That's for sure !<br /></div><div>SALOME : But nobody understood it, and nobody checked out what I had really said. But we talk, we talk and it's getting late, I need to go ! <br /></div><div>JOHN : So soon ? Let me take you back home...<br />SALOME : That's sweet of you, but it won't be necessary, I have a chauffeur. It was really nice speaking with you, we really had a good connection here, don't you think ?<br /></div><div>JOHN : I was just thinking the same thing ! Why don't we...<br /></div><div>SALOME : And that's really important, you know being able to share like this, so to say for nothing, just understanding each other, get to know each other.<br /></div><div>JOHN : Yeah that's why...<br /></div><div>SALOME : That's why we should take care of such small beautiful moments of life as if they were precious things, try not to destroy them.<br /></div><div>JOHN : Certainly... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXywiz2o6kOZU2nu4SvaEqFILrteiTFYtvGk9PHswCXA2Nc80qYvaQJ9V8g4XY9yH9Yozejo-ad8sMD_3QQMvul4rwI1tW3O1_9-lpVk6OyTiA4qUxFqLO6g45NS3qWPGQqfVfeptIhQ/s1600/image+blued_499x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455180483308018882" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 333px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXywiz2o6kOZU2nu4SvaEqFILrteiTFYtvGk9PHswCXA2Nc80qYvaQJ9V8g4XY9yH9Yozejo-ad8sMD_3QQMvul4rwI1tW3O1_9-lpVk6OyTiA4qUxFqLO6g45NS3qWPGQqfVfeptIhQ/s400/image+blued_499x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div>SALOME : I'm so glad you feel the same way than I do ! It was a real pleasure meeting you, John. I really like these kinds of memories, of very truthful exchanges. (kissing goodbye) Well, bye ! (leaving)<br /></div><div>JOHN : Wait...wait... Damn !<br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">The END !</span></strong></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-31143553049024341012010-04-01T06:47:00.000-07:002010-04-01T07:19:18.962-07:00PLAY by Romain Reboulleau<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvn_Scuijx7VbnnwEEPG9kp_w673gbwNYyMLnyTYELkds3j-QfJoCPCaEU7NqFIgfMXi23UfIDkGYsfIQq1EN2TQW8F2fJYJzgNWMwc2OQRlU4mEuTSsu7LYddq-v8leI58_F7vIx4VQ/s1600/Photo+100_450x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455166124233352930" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 428px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvn_Scuijx7VbnnwEEPG9kp_w673gbwNYyMLnyTYELkds3j-QfJoCPCaEU7NqFIgfMXi23UfIDkGYsfIQq1EN2TQW8F2fJYJzgNWMwc2OQRlU4mEuTSsu7LYddq-v8leI58_F7vIx4VQ/s400/Photo+100_450x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong><em>From </em><br /><em></em></strong><br /><strong><em>"</em></strong><br /><strong><em>A</em><br /><em>n</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>E</em><br /><em>v</em><br /><em>e</em><br /><em>n</em><br /><em>i</em><br /><em>n</em><br /><em>g</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>o</em><br /><em>f </em><br /><em></em><br /><em>w</em><br /><em>o</em><br /><em>r</em><br /><em>d</em><br /><em>s </em></strong><br /><strong><em></em><br /></strong><em>a</em><em>n</em><em>d </em><em>t</em><em>h</em><em>e</em><em>a</em><em>t</em><em>r</em><em>e" </em><em>performance </em><em>at </em><em>the </em><em>Ecole </em><em>Polytechnique </em><em>on </em><em>the </em><em>17 </em><em>February </em><em>2010.</em><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ff33;">"PLAY" </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ff33;">By Romain Reboulleau. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ff33;">Acted by </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ff33;">Manuella Boujard </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ff33;">and </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#33ff33;">Tristan Picard </span></strong><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#33ff33;">(Tree and butterfly: ? tba)</span></strong><br /></span><br />Characters:<br />Sean: 20 years old, has always lived in New York, kind of a bad boy.<br />Mary: same age, whimsical, with a permanent smile on her face<br /><br />Setting:<br /><em>Countryside. Some cows in the far background, a little river on the right. A broken bottle of gin lies next to a mobile phone, at the bottom of an old green tree. The summer sun rises slowly, the time must be around 8 a.m.<br /></em><br />[Both characters are asleep: Sean on his back, outspread arms; Mary comfortably installed with what seems to be her sweatshirt under her head. Sean snores suddenly loudly, which awakes Mary. She opens her eyes and sits cross-legged.]<br /><br />Mary: Hey, are you awake ?<br />[Snore]<br /><br />Mary: Can you hear me ?<br />[Snore again, Mary gets closer]<br /><br />Mary: Nope, I guess you're still sleeping... [Pause] I hate snoring people. I'm going to try that trick.<br />[She whistles, the snoring stops. Big smile on her face, and little innocent laugh. Then the snoring starts again]<br /><br />Mary [shaking Sean violently]: GET-UP-I-CAN'T-STAND-IT-A-NY-MORE !!<br />[Sean awakes suddenly, and gets on his feet. Little innocent laugh again from Mary, who gets up]<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcaKhf2u2msaGRbmp9JnhaIe-iFYHvTSv4ef8Hwk21DRX_Zjjx48GcJejJ05UCQHUaSo4UAuI1IFTi8O8h8zW30OaDkXvgeq_gx6NSPPOvQpSCmwBRM_h7TJzoCZuxZdqgxPTK9FCs0Ns/s1600/Photo+096_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455166130711161330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcaKhf2u2msaGRbmp9JnhaIe-iFYHvTSv4ef8Hwk21DRX_Zjjx48GcJejJ05UCQHUaSo4UAuI1IFTi8O8h8zW30OaDkXvgeq_gx6NSPPOvQpSCmwBRM_h7TJzoCZuxZdqgxPTK9FCs0Ns/s400/Photo+096_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Sean [visibly drunk]: My head... Where am I? Whohoooo...<br />[He falls and lies on his back again, in the same position as before. Mary stands over him, behind his head. She bends to get closer to his face]<br /><br />Mary: Hi, my name is Mary. So what are we here for?<br /><br />Sean: Hmm, what? What do you mean? How did I get here?<br /><br />Mary: I don't know, you were already here when I arrived. I thought you were here for a purpose, so I stopped and decided to take a nap.<br /><br />Sean: A nap? In the middle of the night? This is all insane!<br /><br />Mary: Oh, no, don't worry, I must have slept, like, 20 minutes or so. The sun was already rising when I arrived.<br /><br />Sean: Yeah, all right. I kinda don't care. Where are we?<br /><br />Mary: How should I know? You tell me.<br /><br />Sean: Do I look like I know what I'm doing here? I don't even remember leaving the house.<br /><br />Mary: How come people don't remember what they do? [Little laugh] Must be funny!<br /><br />Sean [still not moving, breathing with some difficulty]: You're already boring me. Where are we?<br /><br />Mary [thinking]: As far as I can tell, we are in the middle of a field. A field where there are many cows. And a tree.<br /><br />Sean: Oh, come on...<br /><br />Mary: What? I don't know where we are, I was following a butterfly and I lost its trace when it went in that tree. Then I heard you snoring, I thought you were here for some important reason, like you were waiting for a nice white rabbit to get out of his burrow, or something of that type. [pause]<br />Were you?<br /><br />Sean: [Sigh] No way... Get me my iPhone.<br /><br />Mary: What is an eye-phone? Do you mean that kind of phone you can put on your eye, to see the person you're talking to? What does it look like?<br /><br />Sean: Oh come on! My iPhone, my cell phone. Must be over there.<br /><br />Mary: Oh, I see it!<br />[She gets to the phone with little jumps, takes it in her hand and watches it for a moment]<br /><br />Mary: Nope, must be some kind of mirror. Useless.<br />[She throws it to the ground, next to Sean. He reacts and sits up to grasp his phone] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IM1UzR0rhoT_1pKBwSpjdx7BsqZFcXolOiXBkSLgRjb9fhVOXxBFW6b0srx_8DGiS88OQaFGMO0a0QZq_YFww67XnggfdgBaQKclcKQXuwIeJIYkgiczceba1L_IQPphdSxyDhyphenhyphen5R7M/s1600/iphone_570x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455170840796053746" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 419px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 434px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7IM1UzR0rhoT_1pKBwSpjdx7BsqZFcXolOiXBkSLgRjb9fhVOXxBFW6b0srx_8DGiS88OQaFGMO0a0QZq_YFww67XnggfdgBaQKclcKQXuwIeJIYkgiczceba1L_IQPphdSxyDhyphenhyphen5R7M/s400/iphone_570x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sean: Hey, what are you doing? Are you crazy, that phone cost me three hundred bucks!<br /><br />Mary: Oh, is this an eye-Phone? But there is no button...<br /><br />Sean: Yeah, whatever. Cool, it's still working. [with a very common tone, like he's saying he will buy some tomatoes instead of potatoes] I would have killed you, I guess. Password, check; GPS...<br />[long pause] Come-ooon!!!! Shit. And no network, perfect. Guess we're stuck here with each other.<br /><br />Mary: And the cows.<br /><br />Sean: Probably.<br /><br />Mary: So how did you get here?<br /><br />Sean: I'm trying to remember. It could help me get back home. I was at my friend's, having a good, alcoholised party. [Thinking] Man, those tequila shots!! [Back to his reflexion] Then we went out because it was too hot inside, I think, and that's when I decided to go away. I remember something was telling me to leave. But I don't remember what...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1EwlZvcQ5NNuqmxO9en3iOfoAT5s93hAOgYwrZCuXeBRL25uTQd6oA5nfhwH8Fv0PWK6zuRZYU0D93_6M94nk76kEnLsZhkaa0HJCZWrc680CEaDFTEdYAYYEAy-Qet_r0QZ0nQ2FQQ/s1600/hug3_274x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455170834903067618" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 183px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1EwlZvcQ5NNuqmxO9en3iOfoAT5s93hAOgYwrZCuXeBRL25uTQd6oA5nfhwH8Fv0PWK6zuRZYU0D93_6M94nk76kEnLsZhkaa0HJCZWrc680CEaDFTEdYAYYEAy-Qet_r0QZ0nQ2FQQ/s400/hug3_274x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Mary: Oh, I know, it was a rabbit. It happens to me all the time, they talk to me and ask me to help them to go somewhere. This morning one of them told me to follow the butterfly, so I did. But when I lost it, I needed to have another instruction, that's why I stayed here with you. [Explicative tone] You know, there is a reason why I do strange things like following butterflies... [Almost laughing] I'm not crazy, huh!<br /><br />Sean: Yeah... No, I think it was someone's voice. 'Go away, go away!' So I ran. But I didn't stop...<br />Why?<br /><br />Mary: Because you were scared?<br /><br />Sean [with a contemptuous tone]: Haha, sure.<br />[He starts thinking about that last question. Mary looks at the tree.]<br /><br />Mary [talking to the sky]: Oh, come here, come here... Please, no... No !! [To Sean] The butterfly left, I can't see it anymore. I'm going to get a telling off from the rabbit... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEg_RED46vamX5fkSRKtFX_jQ0DjuGIfQIj0LlW1Tnzru5jFJwX4MSGgim8gCXKGBeLDfqThY74kjWkt_vZgR9-jZVAJG6T2QKP-RmfuLertPnL3nIv2ggptVicOUfCKkvsXHgcLlXuGI/s1600/Photo+101_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455166124502055186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEg_RED46vamX5fkSRKtFX_jQ0DjuGIfQIj0LlW1Tnzru5jFJwX4MSGgim8gCXKGBeLDfqThY74kjWkt_vZgR9-jZVAJG6T2QKP-RmfuLertPnL3nIv2ggptVicOUfCKkvsXHgcLlXuGI/s400/Photo+101_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sean: Oh, come ooon! Rabbits don't talk, are you crazy or what? No, I know, you must be that girl from the book: Alice's adventures in Wonderland. That would explain everything, the rabbits, the butterfly...<br /><br />Mary: [Little laugh] You're talking nonsense.<br /><br />Sean: Probably. I'm still drunk, you know.<br />[Sean tries again to make his phone work. Mary walks slowly around the tree, looking at the countryside.]<br /><br />Mary: Hey, look, this is a sign from the rabbit! There is a smoke sign, over that house!<br /><br />Sean: What? Shut up a minute, I'm trying to... [Interrogative tone] Smoke sign? Yes, I remember! The house burnt, that's why we were leaving!<br />[He looks at the house, while she returns to the tree, unconcerned. She sits in front of the tree, as if she wanted to see something in the trunk]<br /><br />Sean [visibly waving at some people far away]: Hey, hey!<br />[Mary seems to be very concerned by the bottom of the trunk, nods at it. Sean is still looking at the burning house and the place where his friends <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_WEztSLE57vS_WE1MSEgo0Ab7e4zy0cGYu-CwBESwBHT8JwuhoxgG-qfVsgKTDvi8QI2Y2Rz20uTwtWwUNfkt6d1nwHHuGWJBJ0t67G-G5gzXn34SduwBykQxthUBKGYBXLmhDAnUGs/s1600/iphone2_600x477.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455170837904775538" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 318px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN_WEztSLE57vS_WE1MSEgo0Ab7e4zy0cGYu-CwBESwBHT8JwuhoxgG-qfVsgKTDvi8QI2Y2Rz20uTwtWwUNfkt6d1nwHHuGWJBJ0t67G-G5gzXn34SduwBykQxthUBKGYBXLmhDAnUGs/s400/iphone2_600x477.jpg" border="0" /></a>seem to be]<br /><br />Sean: Listen, I have to leave.<br />[She starts walking towards the other direction, as if something guided her, absolutely indifferent to Sean]<br /><br />Sean [still looking away]: I don't know how to get you back home, maybe you can join us until we find your house... [Not sure about the name] Lily?<br />[He looks around, but she has left.]<br /><br />Sean [heading off in the direction of the house]: Whatever!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">END</span></strong></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-18334631920165007742010-03-29T10:18:00.001-07:002010-03-29T10:53:23.291-07:00WILD BACKPACKING by Daria Shakourzadeh<em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggSlS7wuxbxZmr0nXXdRuIDHfOz8AGdh0pe6KdVcolcz2AcSGdtQjJXbNJMyKUJzrALhsNdyspnsK5ncWPPhkeuU8UVt5RB92ld4zyxzfm0gFv1nA3VQSJsmIPQtNOU6G-BN5ujsDbKw/s1600/Monster3+bw_405x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454108310668000098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjggSlS7wuxbxZmr0nXXdRuIDHfOz8AGdh0pe6KdVcolcz2AcSGdtQjJXbNJMyKUJzrALhsNdyspnsK5ncWPPhkeuU8UVt5RB92ld4zyxzfm0gFv1nA3VQSJsmIPQtNOU6G-BN5ujsDbKw/s400/Monster3+bw_405x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>From "An Evening of words and theatre" performance at the Ecole Polytechnique on the 17 February 2010.</em><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#33ff33;">Play "WILD BACKPACKING"<br />By Daria Shakourzadeh.</span></strong><br /><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;"><strong>Acted by Michael Buchet, Adrien Chan-Hon-Tong, Etienne Foessel, Pierre Larraufie and Eva Simon</strong> <em>(in photos)</em></span><em><br /></em><br />Fred, Tony, Jane, William and Charles are hiking in the forest somewhere in the mountains of Corsica. We see them walk while the sun is fading. After a while, only the moon remains to light there path. We can hear the sound of the night, an owl in a tree and crickets.<br />FRED: Let’s stop here, there’s a good spot to plant our tents. We can’t see where we’re walking anymore.<br />TONY: Oh Sir, yes Sir! I am dying to eat that jam, it smells so good in my backpack!<br />They all put down their backpacks where Fred points. Then they talk all together/at once.<br />JANE: My feet hurt so much, not to mention my back.<br />WILLIAM: Stop complaining, we’re carrying everything, your bag is empty. But my shoulders!<br />CHARLES: Oh god, I am going to eat everything up before you have time to even have a look at the food.<br />TONY: Oh shut up you man, don’t play the rude buddy. I could eat two times as much as you, whenever you want. Wanna bet?<br />Laughs.<br />FRED: [everybody else shuts up] Men, I am going to begin to make a fire with those branches while you <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkJodDMdJgwfOFCzrNV1XGCicyBzxbLLKn8Rx5bAhRxNrtrTiZ0n3ZICgBN4zppVYbU-Cu9hmOo6JvZ0hkjRZDBWd3Ngwdmr6FN4m09XomkMw4s6qBYoEM7x48nvYcaCKovBAyTZxpbc/s1600/Backpack1_800x558.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454108286315235650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 279px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkJodDMdJgwfOFCzrNV1XGCicyBzxbLLKn8Rx5bAhRxNrtrTiZ0n3ZICgBN4zppVYbU-Cu9hmOo6JvZ0hkjRZDBWd3Ngwdmr6FN4m09XomkMw4s6qBYoEM7x48nvYcaCKovBAyTZxpbc/s400/Backpack1_800x558.jpg" border="0" /></a>look for some more wood.<br />Fred kneels down on the ground and the others resume laughing and giving each other looks of approbation. Charles punches Tony and everybody begins hurrying to put the bags in better order and to begin searching for branches. Some put their flashlights on their foreheads. Charles is the least concentrated, he makes sure he looks as efficient as the others, scanning the ground, but it is clear he is not as focused on the branches. Meanwhile, the fire is finally lit and branches are accumulated. After a while, a plant grabs his attention.<br />CHARLES: Tony, come here, give me some more light. [Tony obeys] I knew it. You will not believe what I’ve just found!<br />JANE: What?<br />CHARLES: [he picks a few bays from the bush] This is Blastenogopia Oephalisis.<br />JANE: [laughs] Oh please, you’re such a bad chemist, why do you act as if you want us to believe any different?<br />Laughs.<br />CHARLES: I might be a bad chemist, but I am not as ingenuous as you, darling. Do I have to remind you that I spent my whole military training up in those Corsican mountains? What do you think I learnt? Management? Authority? Cohesion? Self-help? Nope, darling, when I first got to Corsica, I was whiter than a virgin. But once there, I ended up a Machiavellian drunkard and junkie.<br />Laughs. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxkKETbEbR16t49tLw3xypIZEXpiT3ZHQU_ouo1G9iIJCVb8_GQZQfEkA1y6Au1TULFvv9NWlq9WjOmGnYyFVNxfid1X4sUS-Nou3J-6-TUXrnKUHh-hulBRbm6hEu1NM1piAVNpM0ks/s1600/Lamp+backpack1_800x553.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454106947157785138" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 276px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGxkKETbEbR16t49tLw3xypIZEXpiT3ZHQU_ouo1G9iIJCVb8_GQZQfEkA1y6Au1TULFvv9NWlq9WjOmGnYyFVNxfid1X4sUS-Nou3J-6-TUXrnKUHh-hulBRbm6hEu1NM1piAVNpM0ks/s400/Lamp+backpack1_800x553.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />CHARLES: [with a big gesture like a clown] This, my friends, is called Blastenogopia Oephalisis. Take one of those bays, and life will seem different all of a sudden. You think it’s dark? You will be illuminated. You feel lonely? You will have the impression this place is crowded. You think it’s too quiet here? You will be deafened by the most terrific music. You are starving? You will forget about your stomach at once! [They all sit around the fire and Charles goes from one to the other] Take one of them, and you will not be disappointed, my friends!!<br />FRED: I’m not eating that shit.<br />CHARLES: Oh come on, I’m joking! I know this is the plant they take here when they want to warm up during long, boring, and cold winters. It only happens to have some peculiar virtues, but it’s not more harmful than a simple cigarette or alcohol. I saw people who have tried it. It’s nothing, just a bit of fun. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKoWmCZJB6IqxAyIsqRZajsT4rf8s_098Agt_Gly_PiM65KP41BoPXsaxDzJnuPn5JkGhLa-GE_v66DGeVV9KXbTvdVqE0Db04YW4zIc8EtCU2DAUyFYqpoZUCi4EaMCdRLAtiW1L5GA/s1600/Plant+viewed.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454106938029464082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuKoWmCZJB6IqxAyIsqRZajsT4rf8s_098Agt_Gly_PiM65KP41BoPXsaxDzJnuPn5JkGhLa-GE_v66DGeVV9KXbTvdVqE0Db04YW4zIc8EtCU2DAUyFYqpoZUCi4EaMCdRLAtiW1L5GA/s400/Plant+viewed.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />TONY: Leave him alone, for the moment he is hot because we’ve just stopped hiking and running around, but after a while he will be cold and he will go himself to pick one of your bays from the bush.<br />Laughs.<br />TONY: Come on, this will be fun! Let’s all try it, and then we can prepare our dinner feeling good.<br />They all eat a bay. Fred hesitates, sees everyone else take theirs. Abandoning his cause, he finally shrugs his shoulders and eats his own bay.<br />WILLIAM: [laughing] ok, done! Let’s begin preparing dinner then.<br />TONY: I’ll take care of the tents.<br />They begin doing their stuff to prepare for their night. They are laughing more and more noisily and uncontrollably together. Even Fred seems to be enjoying the moment and to have forgotten his fears. Suddenly, the noise of the night becomes stronger and stronger until we suddenly hear the Nutcracker by Tchaikovsky. Nobody seems to have noticed it except for Tony who is startled and jumps up. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSY0aDULSiAcDKJogKeFReMSxXYzORScNWC6TYgyiSDqXzBul8srqXi6aNXQPRCB00Rplfzqi2rlo8OYpIUy7H8zWnaTzzN7o4dGnOi1xoAdlylH7CvF3yek6z51QXhkGmbBTMKvRNl3U/s1600/Photo+079_450x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454108259484753442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSY0aDULSiAcDKJogKeFReMSxXYzORScNWC6TYgyiSDqXzBul8srqXi6aNXQPRCB00Rplfzqi2rlo8OYpIUy7H8zWnaTzzN7o4dGnOi1xoAdlylH7CvF3yek6z51QXhkGmbBTMKvRNl3U/s400/Photo+079_450x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />TONY: [takes Charles’s arm] What the hell is this?!<br />CHARLES: [bursting into laughter again] what are you talking about, it’s my arm!<br />Tony laughs while the Nutcracker is still playing. Red lights shine on Jane.<br />TONY: What the hell? Charles, have you ever seen her dance ballet before?<br />Charles laughs, so much that he is moving and twisting. He finally disappears from Tony’s view while Tony remains looking at Jane.<br />JANE: [is turning round and round while holding a cricket in her hands] Lizzy, I am to be engaged. [She stops, annoyed, as if somebody had said something that hurt her feelings] Yes, to be married, what other kind of ‘engaged’ is there? Oh no, don’t judge me Lizzy. [She looks at her frog] There is no earthly reason why I shouldn’t be as happy with him as any other. Not all of us can afford to be romantic. I will marry him. What else can I do? I have no money and no prospects. I am already a burden to my parents.<br />Tony shakes his head, trying to breathe deeper. Jane is spinning again. She stops, looks at the moon, then she kneels down on the floor and goes on acting bizarre. Tony’s breath becomes quieter again, but when he resumes looking at Jane, she has pink hair.<br />JANE: [smiling] Tony, have you met Marco?<br />TONY: Marco? Jane, your hair! Who is Marco? Jane, there is something I have to tell you. Who is Marco? I know it is time for me to tell you what I feel. I know I will express my feelings the right way now. Better than ever. I see things, it is clear now.<br />JANE: Welcome here, dear Tony! Look, this parlor is for my own particular use. Oh Tony, this marriage! It’s such a pleasure to run my own home. [she shakes her head, and laughs, and laughs, with Charles whom she takes in her arms, forgetting the cricket].<br />Music again. An owl with sharp teeth appears but Tony doesn’t notice it. He is too concentrated on what he is about to say. His three friends come and surround Jane and his friend. They have frightening masks but we still recognize their clothes. Jane looks mad with despair, afraid, looking for Marco with her eyes but staying still in front of Tony.<br />TONY: When I first saw you, you were so ordinary. Your hair was ordinary, your eyes were too dull, your cheeks too hollow. But then it became different. One day it struck me. You reminded me of this girl who danced in the Nutcracker. I realized you were the incarnation of that girl and that music. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9lZirpSUUY_7-PWIPNZcEFdp6bHAwOPmD1RmlFP2j-e9yWK6C6VddQgD4puk9qwHG2YW3G6F8Tt5XLCUdEjkjJGT1sFaGtygVfZ6o-AzCXFp2ypYm6y_ZSH0yKJ4TNvSaAaHc-QfOaY/s1600/Photo+074_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454108233424884658" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9lZirpSUUY_7-PWIPNZcEFdp6bHAwOPmD1RmlFP2j-e9yWK6C6VddQgD4puk9qwHG2YW3G6F8Tt5XLCUdEjkjJGT1sFaGtygVfZ6o-AzCXFp2ypYm6y_ZSH0yKJ4TNvSaAaHc-QfOaY/s400/Photo+074_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>The Nutcracker. It is you, don’t you know. Every single detail of your face, every single one of your manners, your grace, every gesture, every position, the color of your skin, the movements of your hands, something in your air and your manner of walking. So I would listen to it, in my bedroom, alone. And I would think of you, and imagine things that could happen between us. You should listen to the Nutcracker. The Nutcracker should listen to the Nutcracker.<br />Tony is now holding Jane in his arms, smelling her hair. They dance a waltz to the sound of the Nutcrakcer. Jane seems to do this without paying attention to Tony, but she eventually seems to notice him again, and when she does, she says:<br />JANE: Oh, come on Tony, you cannot be sitting here, next to your wife! Move! Over there, next to Mr. Sobolev, my guest of honor!<br />Jane goes to one of the masked characters. She kisses him on his head. Then they all take each other’s hands and they begin to turn, except for Tony, who is in the middle of the round.<br />TONY: No! Go away, you devil! No ! I will not let you ! Oh my goodness, my old demons… No, I had gotten rid of them. You will not win. I know better. Jane, Jane ! Don’t let them ! It’s not dark ! Charles, you told me it would not be dark. The dark knight. No, I am not dark. Oh shit, yes, you are. You are my old demons. My dear,<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAKEMP9RhlPea5AcQ3EHLl7yhVJjL2oVbMKytbCtRKQyqOKysKBpIocBGOXr6K5_-m7VdEtxiLTjSMqK6ZvIAqxBF7n0N3sla4yAL3Yv9yWEuSCMli_Pu6n_SJukHD5PmKPXr3iHKbncw/s1600/In+color+mon.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454111679015293186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAKEMP9RhlPea5AcQ3EHLl7yhVJjL2oVbMKytbCtRKQyqOKysKBpIocBGOXr6K5_-m7VdEtxiLTjSMqK6ZvIAqxBF7n0N3sla4yAL3Yv9yWEuSCMli_Pu6n_SJukHD5PmKPXr3iHKbncw/s400/In+color+mon.jpg" border="0" /></a> horrible, old demons. I don’t care. I am alone again.<br />He lies down on the ground. Little by little, everybody stops turning, dancing, laughing. Everybody seems tired. They sit—or they lie down as there is less and less light.<br />The morning. A pale white light. The scene looks like a battlefield, dirty and devastated. The five friends wake up and realize nobody is sleeping in their tents. They look around them, but they don’t see Tony anywhere.<br />FRED: [staring at Charles] Where is Tony?<br />Charles is still sleepy and acts like he has a hangover. Will gets to his feet and begins looking around.<br />WILL: Oh god, this is not good. This is not good, my friends.<br />They hear a grunt. It comes from quite far away but they realize it is Tony. We can’t see him.<br />WILL: Toto, you scared me, idiot! Where were you last night? One moment you were here, the next you had disappeared.<br />CHARLES: You sound surprised. Why? Everybody knows Tony likes doing a disappearance act during parties.<br />WILL: What party, Charles? Who’s talking about a party here!<br />JANE: Oh, shut up! My head’s aching with your stupidities. Come on, guys, we are not in good shape to walk today. Let’s spend the day here.<br />Silence. They all burst into laughter at the same time.<br />CHARLES: Oh, Jane, you were incredible last night!<br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">END</span></strong>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-61859457358517854082010-03-29T09:03:00.000-07:002010-03-29T10:53:23.291-07:00THE RING by Wang Junzhe<em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QYvb9FnmWB7TJz1Z71xJ_cdHZhiOR-dN4Tip3-QU4Di2P7_XGWSToI6ZbRQAyw5wo8ZISLbK3QAoqHtRhMlW-rNWBHE1w1y9eryjdB0DnkRTA0xmoZdpurxMRz2yoxY9GvhPaObfoHE/s1600/Photo+157_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454092658858109314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QYvb9FnmWB7TJz1Z71xJ_cdHZhiOR-dN4Tip3-QU4Di2P7_XGWSToI6ZbRQAyw5wo8ZISLbK3QAoqHtRhMlW-rNWBHE1w1y9eryjdB0DnkRTA0xmoZdpurxMRz2yoxY9GvhPaObfoHE/s400/Photo+157_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>From "An Evening of words and theatre" performance at the Ecole Polytechnique on the 17 February 2010.</em><br /><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;"><strong>Play "THE RING" </strong></span><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;"><strong>by Wang Junzhe. </strong></span><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;"><strong>Acted out by Léo Daguet, Anne-Sophie Hautecloque-Raysz and Christine Messié</strong> <em><span style="font-size:85%;">(pictured here)</span></em><strong><br /></strong></span><div><div><div><br /><div><div><div><div>The ring<br />By Wang Junzhe<br /><br />Actors: 3 (1 guy and 2 girls)<br /><br />[The stage is divided into two parts: left and right]<br /><br />[On the left hand side, a girl (Lisa), dressed formally, is working before a computer. Sometimes she leaves her seat and does some housework]<br /><br />[On the right hand side, another girl (Emily), fashionably dressed, is watching TV, with a casual gesture]<br /><br />[In the middle of the stage, a guy is reading his monologue]<br /><br />Casas [without any emotion]: My name is Casas. 30 years old. I am a guy like anyone of you, except for one thing: I have got two girlfriends. Their names are Lisa and Emily. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5yjC0dn-aW6ijmesM5yX8drCVZInD_Pa0q5bbim6rnczDo_LPPM6wXggFjqYokpR3cUa12WQFaawQG9qC9slMRR88fWohEGgYqaJzJMusxe8-RY0zX4lRg8jxbvicGWBeSjvMHCgKe0/s1600/Photo+148_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454095044313753410" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5yjC0dn-aW6ijmesM5yX8drCVZInD_Pa0q5bbim6rnczDo_LPPM6wXggFjqYokpR3cUa12WQFaawQG9qC9slMRR88fWohEGgYqaJzJMusxe8-RY0zX4lRg8jxbvicGWBeSjvMHCgKe0/s400/Photo+148_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Casas [turns to Lisa, looks at her for a while and then re-addresses the audience]: Lisa is a professor in a high school. She is wise, virtuous, steady and hardworking. I know that she loves me. Every morning, she gets out of the bed softly and tries not to wake me up. Before she leaves for work, she always prepares breakfast for me. She gives me a call everyday from school. She comes back home half an hour before me so that when I get back from work, the dinner is ready. She is perfect, isn’t she? But there is one only thing that she is missing: Passion.<br /><br />Casas [turns to Emily, gives a mild smile]: And that is what I found in Emily. She is young, vital, charming and magnetic. She is a perfect complement to Lisa. Together with her, my life is an adventure every single day. I don’t know whether she loves me, but that’s precisely what attracts me. However, she is not motivated to work and she doesn’t really plan to look for a job. With my money, she runs after every new fashion—and her fascinating appearance makes me love her even more.<br /><br />Casas [Faces the audience]: Now it’s the time for me to make a choice.<br /><br />[Casas walks to Lisa’s side and knocks on the door.] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYK_6uSZJTXtKQtw3YzeSTjhweEY_rPvVf6n_mpssWbfMqyL4kwcsil_wM8mlYf3lgQFIpTQcpzDt9MopKyDuQYEfaklpSv_ZeQQxIXz4dJAbAOQCCA0AFtzUmOzS6S83xPutc4J0fYSI/s1600/Photo+142_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454090014069431026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYK_6uSZJTXtKQtw3YzeSTjhweEY_rPvVf6n_mpssWbfMqyL4kwcsil_wM8mlYf3lgQFIpTQcpzDt9MopKyDuQYEfaklpSv_ZeQQxIXz4dJAbAOQCCA0AFtzUmOzS6S83xPutc4J0fYSI/s320/Photo+142_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lisa [Comes to open the door, helps Casas take off his coat and put it on a chair, above hers]: Dear, you are back. Come, the dinner is ready. This afternoon I left school half an hour earlier and went to buy the Chinese food that you like the most.<br /><br />[Casas and Lisa both sit down around a table and begin eating their dinner]<br /><br />Lisa [looks at Casa eating first, a bit nervous]: So… how do you like it?<br /><br />Casas: It’s so good!<br /><br />Lisa [smiles]: That’s great! By the way, in your room I have helped clear off your desk. And today I took some time to wash all your clothes. Now they are all dry. You can take a new shirt with you for your conference tomorrow. You will find them in the second drawer on the left.<br /><br />Casas [looks into Lisa’s eyes]: Thanks. [Casas gives Lisa a small kiss] Do you <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwwS7rmmA-R-NClbevkIRU6EvolGEmib3tuJQmQxAVauafLAEPSeMbUJfIZswSdj9_Dnhv-JiWsOId2R-i5_aDkxSAbwqtcGtmiI1pGZwhz_FvZ-UlRLJaVlfml3cTG6AUwOB7KAUj2D4/s1600/hair_800x576.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454091553989591122" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 288px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwwS7rmmA-R-NClbevkIRU6EvolGEmib3tuJQmQxAVauafLAEPSeMbUJfIZswSdj9_Dnhv-JiWsOId2R-i5_aDkxSAbwqtcGtmiI1pGZwhz_FvZ-UlRLJaVlfml3cTG6AUwOB7KAUj2D4/s400/hair_800x576.jpg" border="0" /></a>have time tonight? You want to go to the cinema? A new romantic movie has just come out. All my colleagues have given it very positive reviews. Maybe you want to go to watch it with me?<br /><br />Lisa [hesitates for a while]: Sorry dear, there is a bunch of schoolwork that I need to correct tonight. There will be an exam for my students at the end of this week. Maybe next week I will have some time in the evening. I am so sorry, Dear. You know I always want to go to the cinema with you. But … I am too busy tonight.<br /><br />Casas [disappointed, but still gives Lisa a mild smile]: It’s OK honey.<br /><br />[at this moment, Casas’s phone rings]<br /><br />Casas [looks at the number, frowns and turn to Lisa]: Business<br /><br />[Lisa gives him a smile of understanding]<br /><br />[Casas goes to another room] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLcT745-dE8ZKmV9xJ56GL0UkAuhLpX61N9HoLV0SWOAvcoUfY4SaOAfhhd6B7nFNwi6mAz3tmJk7mMofJM3rAmTi99YSOEzpujmNi5ywWfKBVofL5i-dvtDmRUC-oYOfM7pnA2RvPqs/s1600/Photo+143_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454090018980916354" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKLcT745-dE8ZKmV9xJ56GL0UkAuhLpX61N9HoLV0SWOAvcoUfY4SaOAfhhd6B7nFNwi6mAz3tmJk7mMofJM3rAmTi99YSOEzpujmNi5ywWfKBVofL5i-dvtDmRUC-oYOfM7pnA2RvPqs/s320/Photo+143_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Casas [talking in a very low voice]: Emily, I thought I told you that I would be busy tonight!<br /><br />Emily [Acting cute]: Casas, for the first time in my life, I cooked dinner tonight! You want to join me?<br /><br />Casas [hesitates]: but…<br /><br />Emily [seductively]: Come, come! My sweetheart! I am sure that you won’t want to miss my first time!<br /><br />Casas: OK, I will try to come over in a bit.<br /><br />[Casas hangs up the phone and goes back to the dinning-table]<br /><br />Lisa: Is everything OK, Dear?<br /><br />Casas: emm… Actually, there is a meeting right now to prepare for tomorrow’s conference. I am afraid that I will have to leave now.<br /><br />Lisa: That’s ok, Dear. What a pity that you don’t even have time to finish your favorite Chinese food.<br /><br />Casas: I am so sorry about that.<br /><br />Lisa: Hurry up! You don’t want to be late for the meeting. Let me get your coat for you. It’s cold outside.<br /><br />Casas: It’s OK, I can get it myself. Again, Dear, I am so sorry for not being able to enjoy dinner with you. I may not come back tonight. No need to wait up for me.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrQG6JLcg2Y3OIv5hWsBeqXshbNDTDYB1IdF-AZvgyglI0OdCqkV2qQE20m4X587EqZtl0SeWKBYhH3Al81VVdrFPwft8rPB4LcFSBs-7F_eLO-ztv6O1_eVEAcypaKGrLT70iyg6tLI/s1600/Photo+150_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454093715940023202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjrQG6JLcg2Y3OIv5hWsBeqXshbNDTDYB1IdF-AZvgyglI0OdCqkV2qQE20m4X587EqZtl0SeWKBYhH3Al81VVdrFPwft8rPB4LcFSBs-7F_eLO-ztv6O1_eVEAcypaKGrLT70iyg6tLI/s400/Photo+150_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />[Casas walks to get his coat from where it lies atop Lisa’s. Something drops on the floor out of the pocket of Lisa’s coat: A ring]<br /><br />Casas [talks to the audience]: Oh my god! What is that?! A ring? A wedding ring?! Is there another guy who has proposed to Lisa?! I thought she loved me?! [pause for 3 sec] OK, now I think I have made my decision which girl to choose.<br /><br />[Casas puts the ring back in Lisa’s pocket, puts on his coat and goes straight out of the room without saying anything to Lisa]<br /><br />Lisa: Bye, Dear, take care! [Casas never replies]<br /><br />[Once Casa has left, Lisa goes towards her coat. She carefully takes out the ring and smiles with all the happiness in the world: she doesn’t know that Casas has seen it.]<br /><br />[Casas goes to the other side of the stage, knocks on the door and Emily comes to open it. Emily gives Casas a big hug and goes to close the door. Casas thinks Emily is going to help him with his coat, so he waits for Emily to take his coat off. Emily doesn’t think of that at all, therefore, after waiting for several seconds, Casas has to take off his coat by himself. Then he passes the coat to Emily who extends one hand to him. Casas lets the coat go, but Emily doesn’t catch it and the coat drops onto the floor. Instead of picking it up, Emily extends one hand to cuddle his neck and she leans in to give him a kiss. Casas has to pick the coat up and put it on the back of a nearby chair by himself.]<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJt8mpCvG0Dtxfyk5LBW0kdruGh94pHAa7u4o1CyhatukPyZXHD04PAglals43XSmdfEjUU5RqpdU1eNesVBmY1pxBNAmgFY1xeeIayWCocoiV2jLjd-VdYFU663CVE1WC8IMGHuAwZo/s1600/Running+at+him+with+pen_331x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454093710977186210" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 221px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVJt8mpCvG0Dtxfyk5LBW0kdruGh94pHAa7u4o1CyhatukPyZXHD04PAglals43XSmdfEjUU5RqpdU1eNesVBmY1pxBNAmgFY1xeeIayWCocoiV2jLjd-VdYFU663CVE1WC8IMGHuAwZo/s400/Running+at+him+with+pen_331x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>Emily [dragging Casas over to the table]: Come, my sweetheart! Taste the spaghetti that I made for the first time!<br /><br />Casas [surprised]: So, you said you cooked for the first time. And this is … spaghetti? OK, let me have a try.<br /><br />[Casas takes the fork and is about to take a bite]<br /><br />Emily [takes the fork from Casas]: Let me help you, Dear!<br /><br />[Emily forks a big mouthful of spaghetti for Casas, and Casas eats painfully with a big frown]<br /><br />Casas [taking some time to swallow]: Wow, that is … that is awesome! Maybe it could have been cooked for just a bit longer. And you may have put too much salt in it—<br /><br />Emily [about to cry]: So you don’t like it?! It took me the whole afternoon to learn how to cook, and I even cut my finger!<br /><br />Casas: You cut your finger preparing the spaghetti?! [not waiting for an answer] Anyway, Dear, I know you are not very good at cooking. But I like this spaghetti that you prepared for me! I will definitely finish all of it! I swear to you that this is the most unique spaghetti have I have ever tried!<br /><br />Emily [stops crying and smiles]: Really? I love you, Dear!<br /><br />[Emily gives Casas a big kiss]<br /><br />Casas [says to audience]: OK, it’s time to make a choice! I must make it clear to Lisa that it’s over between us!<br /><br />Casas [says to Emily]: Dear, I forgot something very important in the office. I have got to take 5 minutes to go back and get it. I am sorry for that. But please give me 5 minutes!<br /><br />Emily [gives Casas a naughty kiss]: No problem, my honey. I’ll be waiting for you here, at home!<br /><br />[Casas leaves Emily’s room and goes to center stage]<br /><br />Casas [Monologue]: I should practice breaking up with Lisa!<br /><br />[Casas turns his back to the audience for the preparation]<br /><br />Casas [back to the audience, starts simulating the break-up speech (romantic version)]: Lisa, you know I love you. My heart is all occupied by you! I think of you in the day and I dream of you at night. [pauses for 2 seconds] However, I cannot see the future between us. I am sorry that I cannot be with you anymore. If you love me, please let me go.<br /><br />[Casas shakes his head to show that he is not satisfied]<br /><br />Casas [starting again, like the previous time, with his back to the audience for preparation. Starts the second simulation (aggressive version)]: Lisa, I am fucking bored by you! There is no passion with you. I am damn pissed off by the way you are dressed, your profession, your obedience… I cannot bear any of these things anymore! Get the hell out of my room! I don’t want to see you anymore!<br /><br />Casas: OK, I will use this one. I am ready to break up with Lisa!<br /><br />Casas [back at Lisa’s room, opens the door as Lisa is coming to open it]: Lisa, I have got something to tell you.<br /><br />Lisa [makes a sign to ask Casas not to say anything]: Wait, I have got something to tell you!<br /><br />[Suddenly Lisa gets on one knee, down the floor, and takes out the ring: she is proposing to Casas!]<br /><br />Lisa: Casas, you know how much I love you. My heart entirely filled by you! I think of you during the day and I dream of you at night. You are the first man with whom I have fallen in love. And I hope you can be the last one as well. Would you like to marry me?<br /><br />[Casas, stunned by what is going on, backs off one small step, unable to believe what has happened. Then his eye fills with tears. Casas kneels down and holds Lisa firmly]<br /><br />Casas: I do! Lisa, I do! I love you! I would like to marry you!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuhYx7PCkFwqHjbbFqC-DzI7um9LrO552wBDzQYZKDxRQ4NKs4ezJYQASPJ6qcgbf_6xpn9EgrouCzumN1wZFuKmKOde7moOtJLLaS1C_tSpzssp3snAsMTHtZwTfe8bFRc2EPqtua6k/s1600/Photo+153_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454092669039115618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuhYx7PCkFwqHjbbFqC-DzI7um9LrO552wBDzQYZKDxRQ4NKs4ezJYQASPJ6qcgbf_6xpn9EgrouCzumN1wZFuKmKOde7moOtJLLaS1C_tSpzssp3snAsMTHtZwTfe8bFRc2EPqtua6k/s400/Photo+153_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>[Lisa is very happy and excited, and she helps Casas to put on the ring that she bought for him]<br /><br />[Casas suddenly remembers Emily]<br /><br />Casas: Wait, Lisa. Could you give me 10 minutes? I love you baby. I will be back right away!<br /><br />[Lisa knocks her head with her fist as Casas departs]<br /><br /><br />[Casas, running out of Lisa’s room, comes to center stage]<br /><br />Casas [talking to the audience]: What have I done? Am I insane? What about Emily? I love her so much as well! Fine, it seems that I don’t have any choice. It is time to say goodbye to Emily.<br /><br /><br />[Casas goes back to the room of Emily. Before he can say anything, Emily drags him next to the table]<br /><br />Emily: dear, the spaghetti is getting cold! Come, finish it!<br /><br />Casas [is about to say something]: …<br /><br />Emily: Oh, Dear, do you want me to warm it up for you?<br /><br />[As she says this, Emily touches Casas’s hand and sees the ring]<br /><br />Emily [extremely surprised, jumps back]: Oh my god! Is that a ring?! A wedding ring? You have got another girl somewhere? Or are you even married?! I cannot believe it! I love you so much! How can you betray me?!<br /><br />[Emily gets more and more excitedly and eventually she grabs a knife and puts it next to the neck of Casas. Casas is so nervous that he doesn’t dare to move at all!]<br /><br />Casas [snaps]: stop!<br /><br />[The whole scene is frozen and Casas is the only one who can move. He comes to center stage, takes out a small bottle of eyedrops and sprays several drops in his eye. Then he goes back to Emily and puts his neck next to the knife. Now his eyes are full of “tears”]<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FzprKebUyll1h_Ue5dE6SYVwNZ86fC0vWWDlYcMUIpq-m56_zQhMzVSWOoVf6ahEGvK-nExGI4lrOPvU99BLmO9y4Tx10dAGKr-Q5Wv-L-xtaWZ3CYEnEfxjIoA1u2F2MVDOzRmtUEw/s1600/Photo+152_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454095015497979426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FzprKebUyll1h_Ue5dE6SYVwNZ86fC0vWWDlYcMUIpq-m56_zQhMzVSWOoVf6ahEGvK-nExGI4lrOPvU99BLmO9y4Tx10dAGKr-Q5Wv-L-xtaWZ3CYEnEfxjIoA1u2F2MVDOzRmtUEw/s400/Photo+152_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>Casas: Once upon a time there was a true love at my hand, but I didn't cherish it. I didn't realize it until it was gone. There is nothing to make one more miserable than that. If God can give me another chance to restart, I'll tell the girl I Love You. If I have to add a deadline to our love, I hope it will be ten thousand years from now.<br /><br />Casas [takes the ring from his own finger, kneels down on one knee]: Emily, this ring is for you. Would you please marry me?<br /><br />[Emily’s hand starts shaking and she drops the knife on the floor]<br /><br />Emily: I will.<br /><br />[The lights dim]<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>END</strong></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-20321183688364648342010-03-29T08:45:00.000-07:002010-03-29T10:53:23.291-07:00ON THE CHAIR LIFT by Jean-Baptiste Desforges<em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5PonF7ltyqL85T1dFOQVGAGnXf5zi-_AJpoQWresH6NJbISP5vjFY1Kj3hhMDOfx1IjPE7JflRAsuGZYoCBpaICWNwfGCQBsycqxvz-sHKEKedyxnexZ1qbpENh9SQK6kvOnnudCVoxo/s1600/Photo+165_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454085646611073074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5PonF7ltyqL85T1dFOQVGAGnXf5zi-_AJpoQWresH6NJbISP5vjFY1Kj3hhMDOfx1IjPE7JflRAsuGZYoCBpaICWNwfGCQBsycqxvz-sHKEKedyxnexZ1qbpENh9SQK6kvOnnudCVoxo/s400/Photo+165_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a>From "An Evening of words and theatre" performance at the Ecole Polytechnique on the 17 February 2010.</em><br /><br /><span style="color:#33ff33;">Play<br /><strong>"ON THE CHAIR LIFT"<br />by Jean-Baptiste Desforges.</strong><br /><br />Acted by <strong>Mathilde Leclercq</strong>, <strong>Mathilde Paré, Pierre Salomon </strong>and<strong> Loic Was</strong><br />(photos of them are seen here)</span><br /><br /><br /><div><div></div><div>The scene takes place in a French ski resort. Four people are waiting for a chair lift to take them up the slope : two young American snowboarders, called Peter and Steven, and a British skiing couple, Mr. and Ms Smith. The boys are noisy and look coarse, the couple seems very distinguished.<br />The chair lift eventually arrives and picks them up, a little brutally.<br /><br />PETER (very loudly) : Gosh, this one is fast! Feel it?<br />STEVEN (as loud) : Oh! Man! It has just kicked my ass!<br />(They put the protection bar down in front of them.)<br />Mr. SMITH (discreetly to his wife) : What a pleasure to get some rest, my dear, isn’t it?<br />Ms SMITH : You are perfectly right, my dear.<br />Mr. SMITH : And what a pleasure to ski on such delicious snow and in such sunny weather, isn’t it?<br />Ms SMITH : Absolutely, my dear. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrNXwlgkkACRx5Ofqr1FjY6WHJlB3iMf57-GaOMn9yY2c3EpT40qkeLU4UkmPrpjHhX6USUDDbSnn-AdPvKCwO7aIDCHESfq9LZjohWmKTyq-YUyXZt7fWtJwYAOhI_9ySPKhcTixHkY/s1600/Skier_656x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454085439975263842" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 366px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjrNXwlgkkACRx5Ofqr1FjY6WHJlB3iMf57-GaOMn9yY2c3EpT40qkeLU4UkmPrpjHhX6USUDDbSnn-AdPvKCwO7aIDCHESfq9LZjohWmKTyq-YUyXZt7fWtJwYAOhI_9ySPKhcTixHkY/s400/Skier_656x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />PETER (still loudly) : Man! That slope was fucking good! Did you see my back flip?<br />STEVEN : Sure, man!<br />PETER : Almost killed a fucking young boy, man!<br />STEVEN : Yeah ! He should have learnt to ski before…<br />PETER : Did you see his mother, man?<br />STEVEN : Yeah, I thought she would kill you ! Mother’s are so nervous when you get close to their “lovely kids” .<br />PETER : Did you see her clothes, man? Her pink ski suit and her ridiculous hat? She almost killed me with her look, man. She’s living a century ago!<br />STEVEN : Man, she was so ugly ! I <div>wouldn’t even touch her with a stick !<br />(They both laugh loudly and coarsely. Mr. and Ms Smith seem annoyed and ill-at-ease.) </div><div>Mr. SMITH : Darling, would a piece of cake make you happy?<br />Ms SMITH : With pleasure, my dear, you are so gentle.<br />(He gives her a piece of cake. She eats with her little finger up. Steven and Peter look at them and begin to laugh.)<br />STEVEN (imitating Mr. Smith’s tone) : Darling, would you like a beer?<br />PETER (playing the same game) : Sure, Darling, you are so lovely. </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgix8EVMtVmT9FcZyZ4AWd43MM1a2CDhORr4pyIMpUYpg0Aa3BPjwn1oCI9QmAddD_Q4BjT_7VLQhfHjqK_P19W18GbQI7XC41hY2xsTSSTNDlUzzqN4MYwAe6kxwbrNL1TvAfFU3QPLZg/s1600/Photo+168_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454085454769627330" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgix8EVMtVmT9FcZyZ4AWd43MM1a2CDhORr4pyIMpUYpg0Aa3BPjwn1oCI9QmAddD_Q4BjT_7VLQhfHjqK_P19W18GbQI7XC41hY2xsTSSTNDlUzzqN4MYwAe6kxwbrNL1TvAfFU3QPLZg/s400/Photo+168_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br />(They both take a beer, open it, drink it straight down in one gulp then they both burp and laugh loudly again.)<br />Mr. SMITH (visibly shocked, discretely to his wife) : They must be American. Do you see how vulgar they are?<br />Ms SMITH : Doubtless, my dear.<br />STEVEN (to Peter): Those damned Brits are so hung up!<br />PETER : Sure, man!<br />(Suddenly, the chair lift stops.)<br />STEVEN (loudly) : Come on, man! Those fucking French chair lifts always stop!<br />PETER : Fucking French ! Nothing works in their country!<br />Mr. SMITH (to his wife): What a pleasant pause. Let’s enjoy the panorama. I love the panorama. Those mountains are so wonderful. Aren’t they?<br />Ms SMITH : They are, my dear.<br />Mr. SMITH : What about a cup of tea, my dear? I have some hot water…<br />Ms SMITH : Oh, my dear, you are so adorable.<br />(They begin to prepare some tea and to drink it, little fingers up.)<br />STEVEN (getting angry): Come on! I won’t spend the day on here because some French guys can’t build a chair lift that works!<br />(He lights a cigarette, and blows the smoke toward the Smiths. They grimace but don’t react. On the slope, a resort employee arrives with a loudspeaker.)<br />Mr. SMITH : Look, my dear, a resort employee has arrived with a loudspeaker. He will tell us what is going on. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fbTlfdIv_Nv-Al7GLMb4lImR4p4jK00n6lh1BeDHzv7IsVuYNuxWa1fHaA41DXCP3IY5-TufpMZ0DQyM8xP_Bjri7ShCCB3BSe76f40c9ZBpADa2z6C8rKp_ufMSG_TCgXCEpPZDc2k/s1600/Photo+166_800x600.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454085651428700098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fbTlfdIv_Nv-Al7GLMb4lImR4p4jK00n6lh1BeDHzv7IsVuYNuxWa1fHaA41DXCP3IY5-TufpMZ0DQyM8xP_Bjri7ShCCB3BSe76f40c9ZBpADa2z6C8rKp_ufMSG_TCgXCEpPZDc2k/s400/Photo+166_800x600.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Ms SMITH : Probably, my dear.<br />THE EMPLOYEE (in French, through the loudspeaker) : Mesdames et Messieurs, nous sommes désolés pour cette panne. Le moteur sera réparé dans quelques minutes. Merci de votre patience.<br />STEVEN : Oh, come on ! This fucking man can’t speak English like everybody else? I don’t know what the hell he told us!<br />Mr. SMITH (to Steven): Please, forgive my indiscretion. I think I heard you say you didn’t understand the message of that employee. Is that true?<br />STEVEN (a little destabilized) : Well... Um… Yes...<br />Mr. SMITH : He actually told us that the engine failure was impossible to fix quickly, and that we would have to wait one hour or two.<br />PETER : Gosh !! Damned French !!<br />Ms SMITH : Then he told us that people can jump from the chair lift if they would like, since we are not very high and the snow is very powdery under the chair lift.<br />STEVEN : Really?<br />PETER : Okay, let’s do that.<br />(Peter and Steven remove the protection bar from their side of the chair lift. They hesitate for a while then they both jump. We hear them screaming as they fall onto the snow, which is not powdery in the least. Then the chair lift restarts.)<br />Mr. SMITH : I think the journey should be quieter now. Don’t you agree, my dear?<br />Ms SMITH : You are perfectly right, my dear.<br /><br /><em><span style="color:#ff0000;">The END</span></em></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-8906224781571999282010-01-05T07:32:00.000-08:002010-01-05T07:34:12.127-08:00Sarcastic, by Daria Shakourzadeh<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">SARCASTIC<br />By Daria SHAKOURZADEH<br /></span></strong><br />We were not children anymore. He was a twenty-seven year old working man, so there was no doubting that he was that kind of sentimental, embittered executive, almost an old geezer. At twenty seven, you’ve inevitably already gone through some breakups. First, you are mad with despair, but soon you become used to it, which is the first symptom of bitterness.<br /><br />So, when he told me that evening, after we had only been dating two weeks, that he loved me, I could not help letting all my sarcasm burst out.<br /><br />“Please, you’re kidding! You don’t even know me. Don’t tell me you’re that kind of inexperienced old boy!”<br /><br />Then I saw it, for the first time. His warm, calm, deep, spontaneous, amused, patient, confident look embraced me.<br /><br />“Not at all, I am only being perceptive.”<br /><br />From that evening onwards I have not stopped loving him.<br /><br /><br /><em>by Daria Shakourzadeh, after Dan Rhodes</em>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-50359340180052779952010-01-03T09:14:00.000-08:002010-01-03T09:22:21.884-08:00Note<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFLMgpM2TMSZetWKDmwZladnPkt5eA0dxkbFRJmGvkQUNmlI7Le5YmDcK4JwhW4OOFwki7AtYhaBf3ZGa2HZF9LLb13q4c6rf-TWKKIJhH-eJ5YSbZR371bmBDFJWNV2LG8qJ1J5KMJU/s1600-h/Dan+Rhodes+cover.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422564059990657186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 218px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFLMgpM2TMSZetWKDmwZladnPkt5eA0dxkbFRJmGvkQUNmlI7Le5YmDcK4JwhW4OOFwki7AtYhaBf3ZGa2HZF9LLb13q4c6rf-TWKKIJhH-eJ5YSbZR371bmBDFJWNV2LG8qJ1J5KMJU/s320/Dan+Rhodes+cover.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div align="justify">The following text posts by Polytechnique’s promo x2007 are taken from our fall 2009 course assignment:<br /><br />Write, in class, in under 15 minutes, a flash fiction story on only one side of an index card. The story should be based on Dan Rhodes book of flash fiction, <em><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/1841151947/ref=nosim/completereview07">Anthropology</a></em>. In Rhodes’ book, all the one-paragraph-long pieces have a single word title & are about a fictional “girlfriend”. They are often humourous, at times darkly so. </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify">We hope that Rhodes will be pleased with our homage to his delightful & fun book!</div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-61255807894707889002010-01-03T09:12:00.001-08:002010-01-03T09:19:40.099-08:00Normal, by Wang Junzhe<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Normal<br />By Wang Junzhe<br /></span></strong><br />My girlfriend and I were lying in bed.<br /><br />“Look at you! You are so lovely and beautiful! You have definitely the potential to be a movie star!” I said softly looking into her eyes.<br /><br />“You really think so? I hope I will get famous as well!” she smiled at me.<br /><br />“Sure! How great it will be!” I said, “However… hmm… let’s just stop dreaming.” I turned off the bedside lamp, “night dear, sweet dreams!”<br /><br />The next day, my girlfriend went to work as usual. At around one, she called me and said excitingly “You will not believe it! Today, I met a film producer. He said I have got the potential to be a star and he asked me to try out for the leading role in his movie!”<br /><br />From that day on, I watched her often on TV: in films, on TV series and in advertisements. She did become a star! I was so happy and proud for her! Furthermore, as her boyfriend, I had quite a number of interviews and from time to time I had the chance to be on TV as well! “That feels good!” I said to myself.<br /><br />A year later, she was famous all over the nation. She was the idol for everybody.<br /><br />Two years later, she became internationally well-known. She went abroad quite often.<br /><br />Three years later, I hardly saw her once a week, except on TV.<br /><br />Four years later, I heard rumors about her having affairs with other actors.<br /><br />Five years later, on the night of our marriage, she told me that she was pregnant. However… the baby was not mine. Finally, I could not bear it anymore and shouted at her crazily.<br /><br />Suddenly, I felt someone shaking me, “What’s up, Dear? Is everything OK? Why are you yelling at 3 o’clock in the morning?” It was my girlfriend, with a drowsy look.<br /><br />Luckily it was only a dream!<br /><br />“It is OK, Dear,” I said with a mild smile, “just a nightmare. I should really stop dreaming!”<br /><br /><br /><em>by Wang Junzhe, after Dan Rhodes</em>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-74374791154305894202009-02-23T05:35:00.001-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.176-08:00An afternoon of Words & Theatre 11: François de Peaudecerf<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrz9UWSEQBArIcRhMCfKyffmW4v838ScfsvrewjhhyphenhyphenFIEO6psLLfTFwSP67q2DjfpFt2KCF2dUtHKHB9qd9CYJ5wETgn9dcMyWdnxXUeSF-cNVjS3vGQbgDCNRKWDcuG0TuIk17JqHnw/s1600-h/Photos1+115.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305991415625121778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrz9UWSEQBArIcRhMCfKyffmW4v838ScfsvrewjhhyphenhyphenFIEO6psLLfTFwSP67q2DjfpFt2KCF2dUtHKHB9qd9CYJ5wETgn9dcMyWdnxXUeSF-cNVjS3vGQbgDCNRKWDcuG0TuIk17JqHnw/s400/Photos1+115.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;">THE VIRTUE OF SCIENCE </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;">by François de Peaudecerf</span></strong><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><strong><span style="color:#33ccff;">Staging by David Lemasson (playing Jack, the student) </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#33ccff;">and Charly Hamy (playing Professor Jones)</span></strong></div><br /><div>CHARACTERS:<br />Prof. JONES: 55, well-cut short beard, little glasses<br />JACK: twenty something student, looks “cool”<br /><br />[ Prof. Jones sits behind his desk, an armchair stands in front of the desk. Prof. Jones is wearing white coveralls, looks serious. Some horribly complicated posters hang on the wall. He seems to be taking notes from an article, then stops, looks at a pen and puts it parallel to the edge of his desk. He smiles, satisfied, and continues writing. Somebody knocks on the door. ]<br /><br />Prof. JONES: Yes, come in!<br /><br />[Jack comes in, smiling]<br /><br />JACK: Hi, Professor Jones! How are you? Is your research going well? [looking at the posters.] Woah! Terrific! Those posters are terrific! Look at this picture: amazing! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfn1j33ckIdU6bkKWU4bexCM8GEWdhgC1oMFhn0Uv8PrIfRgQaxExeCiAeq_uedckkme5ViOVkXnQosUH5AheyuJB179GUQmMP7g6rApSe_bUvg01Fqk8f96PHHghiD8isIucfnm-idQ/s1600-h/Photos1+111.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305988722342770194" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfn1j33ckIdU6bkKWU4bexCM8GEWdhgC1oMFhn0Uv8PrIfRgQaxExeCiAeq_uedckkme5ViOVkXnQosUH5AheyuJB179GUQmMP7g6rApSe_bUvg01Fqk8f96PHHghiD8isIucfnm-idQ/s320/Photos1+111.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Prof. JONES: [looks first amazed then tries to recover] What you are looking at, young man, is the most advanced simulation of a 4-D lattice of quark dynamics in the fundamental state of...<br /><br />JACK: [interrupting] Oh, no need to go on, you see, I won't get a whisp of it and anyway I don't care. Just as I was saying, this picture's amazing, it looks like Science-Fiction. [He turns to the armchair and sits, tests the quality of it.] You're quite comfortable here, aren't you? [He spins in the armchair] Nice!<br /><br />Prof. JONES: [tense but polite] Please, stop it! If you are not interested in my research, may I ask you why you came here, young man? Besides, what is your name?<br /><br />JACK: Jack, I'm Jack Oliver. Well, I need a letter of recommendation – you see, I want to go to the United States, but they're so picky... You're quite famous, so I thought that with your name, I could get through. What do you think about it? You're in?<br /><br />Prof. JONES: Well, you’re a bit quick when it comes to business. But, first, I’d need to know a little more about you and your plans, for example, what really interests you about Physics, which subject ...<br /><br />JACK: Oh, no problem, I don't care what you write, there’s no need to know what I'll do. I just <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiek2np3YX3ogp-92w8l6O1PA8_MAputDiAjhGoAdBJkjO1w6H7R_MJaOM3mFALHvLi9qGjcrkZSgfMF6Q_N7KAiJybg_OhgO6wlWSGGyLUaoeVtE8S0ToxgOS4DCuzQnLtxb5LdIWL24c/s1600-h/Photos1+107.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305988714518860514" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiek2np3YX3ogp-92w8l6O1PA8_MAputDiAjhGoAdBJkjO1w6H7R_MJaOM3mFALHvLi9qGjcrkZSgfMF6Q_N7KAiJybg_OhgO6wlWSGGyLUaoeVtE8S0ToxgOS4DCuzQnLtxb5LdIWL24c/s320/Photos1+107.jpg" border="0" /></a>want to go to the States. The subject I’ll study doesn't matter, I won't work a lot, anyway. You must’ve been there, no? How was it? Big campuses, lots of money, the American way of life? Did you enjoy it? I can't wait! Did you...?<br /><br />Prof. JONES: [interrupting] Well, yes, I mean, it was great, but... let's get back to you. You understand that before I write anything for you, I need to know your results, as in your grades, I also need to know about your motives, what gets you through, why you see your stay in the US as an opportunity...<br /><br />JACK: But Prof,, aren’t you getting a clear picture, here? It’s the States!!! That's enough of a motivation: going to the United States, where everything is possible! Burgers, skyscrapers, American girls, all mine! You just have to sign a damn paper and then they're mine. You can't refuse me that! Prof? What do you think?<br />[During Jack's speech, the Prof has put his head in his hands, thinking and looking angry. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIguHbuESujPTQo563bG_89IDfSP7yUugn1ZaKxiPzyoEu64WV4xLF6XPcgaHzN9ZSv1iK4u_qA2XpP99MhmZCRgDXH7hyVNwnsfwZ4ubZaVY_79HG-d_armHAfee_luiPStTlj6SN2c/s1600-h/Photos1+110.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305988720238674642" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidIguHbuESujPTQo563bG_89IDfSP7yUugn1ZaKxiPzyoEu64WV4xLF6XPcgaHzN9ZSv1iK4u_qA2XpP99MhmZCRgDXH7hyVNwnsfwZ4ubZaVY_79HG-d_armHAfee_luiPStTlj6SN2c/s320/Photos1+110.jpg" border="0" /></a>When he looks back up, he seems changed and determined]<br /><br />Prof. JONES: Okay, boy, let's get it straight. You want your trip to the States: how much are you ready to pay me for that letter?<br /><br />JACK: Wh...What? I...I beg your pardon?<br /><br />Prof. JONES: How much are you ready to pay?<br /><br />JACK: To... pay? What...? Money?<br /><br />Prof. JONES: Pay money, dough, dosh, call it what you want! You understand what I mean?<br /><br />JACK: But.. why, I mean... you don't pay for a letter of recommendation, you... the professors do them for free...<br /><br />Prof. JONES: Oh, yeah, and why should they? They have a Phd, right, so they're not so stupid? Why should they write them for free?<br /><br />JACK: Why...? But... I... for their students, for the sake of science, I...<br /><br />Prof. JONES: Oh God, what did you say, the sake of Science? You're a such a kid! Science! I'd not be sitting here if there had only been Science!<br /><br />JACK: What...?<br /><br />Prof. JONES: What did you think? One day you’d find a revolutionary idea and: “Poof!” you're a big shot, recognised and respected all over the world? Poor baby, open your eyes! It's all about money: get credit, and then use it to get your work recognised--or more often the work of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ipQzkvMROYc5hVZhVv9vswB587wXNIr_KZRyaMXiQsuz3h5xVeoBf54OAwkMMXttKM-NLVOYU02BztAmBXXwrbfF00YB-bUD-UAK2aXwQDCQAP9ugibCsCgXeE3ar7Enaxq1PkCi0Ts/s1600-h/Photos1+112.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305988728464473714" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ipQzkvMROYc5hVZhVv9vswB587wXNIr_KZRyaMXiQsuz3h5xVeoBf54OAwkMMXttKM-NLVOYU02BztAmBXXwrbfF00YB-bUD-UAK2aXwQDCQAP9ugibCsCgXeE3ar7Enaxq1PkCi0Ts/s320/Photos1+112.jpg" border="0" /></a>someone else recognised as yours!<br /><br />JACK: You...you stole your articles?<br /><br />Prof. JONES: No, I paid for them. And pretty well indeed! But now, you see, I'm the playmaker: you think I'd not make the most of it? But then how could I spend my holidays in Tahiti? Moreover, I still need high-ranking articles, and they are quite expensive nowadays...<br /><br />JACK: But...I can't believe it! I... you're supposed to represent Science, its virtues, its freedom from every other human activity! You, a scientist...living for his research!<br /><br />Prof. JONES: Oh yeah, and maybe I should also stay up late in my lab, then go home to a tiny flat where, after a frugal dinner of sardines and stale bread, I should read some highly boring intellectual book and finally fall into sleep alone in my simple bed. And of course, I should sign recommendation letters for free! Sorry to disappoint you boy! [He opens a drawer and throws some fashion magazines on the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4paiYD1Lkt0vXQySq6UWhZMPRjtg2UfA05WPmmTB1vx9jlswRQaXDTS5a4ockqbc8HwgtsKc4QLNPruOQytIJJY2JAf9sW5osAQjtrm2Zg6oNc-ta0ntQ_hg_YmkW-KfdEfGaabDXJt0/s1600-h/Photos1+114.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305988727678644434" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4paiYD1Lkt0vXQySq6UWhZMPRjtg2UfA05WPmmTB1vx9jlswRQaXDTS5a4ockqbc8HwgtsKc4QLNPruOQytIJJY2JAf9sW5osAQjtrm2Zg6oNc-ta0ntQ_hg_YmkW-KfdEfGaabDXJt0/s320/Photos1+114.jpg" border="0" /></a>table] Are these Nature and Science? [He points to a half-naked girl on the cover of one.] Is she the latest Nobel laureate? Not really. You're wrong about the magazines I read, just as you're wrong about my life. Now, you'd better make your decision about that letter quickly! I have to go for my golf lesson, after which I'll dine in a restaurant with a nice Russian chick who wants to study in our venerable institution, and who'll prove to me, I hope, that she's got enough “assets” to succeed. So, you see, I am quite busy. Therefore, I will ask only one last time: how much?<br /><br />JACK: I...I can't believe it!!! ... I...I am ashamed of you, you dishonour Science, the work of <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305990382523803522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 126px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 103px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCVf1S_rGBVffevopbj2uNeHwevREBChKIQLs5ynbZf1jFCznWieCL8wcBmh25pWmA4N_ClM-6eECQKHe4urdmGVJ22w2xA95VEiDNejRCdRSKCQETskTzQhFOXHxUprkEXGhmwRMpxZY/s200/Photos1+116.jpg" border="0" />thousands of invaluable men and women... and being so mean! I can't believe it! I...I...I’m leaving!<br /><br />[Jack leaves the office, slamming the door]<br /><br />Prof. JONES: [smiles, now alone, relaxed, and laughs a little.] Aaah, it always works. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305990384638504450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 142px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 100px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-pyb8kBQCRty1CanPFs7u4WvnKW5cRhmqarm4p_aCXI51FZf7N3twu-E0sNP8EmSEW-m2G3_1-nSgYbMENpqW1BRHnOsQP4EsBA13Uz3Z0scPh_XYosJAywq57E7Q5nDv-CKTrXfxO0/s200/Photos1+117.jpg" border="0" />[He looks at the magazines, smiles again, and puts them back in the drawer] So, back to work! [He again looks concentrated, he places the pencil that has moved back parallel to the edge of his desk and returns to his notes. After a moment he looks at his watch] Oh my God, I'm late! [He takes off his lab coveralls: he’s wearing fancy golf outfit underneath. As he stands up, we see he has got golf shoes, too. From behind his desk, he picks up a golf bag which was hidden. He smiles.] Ivana Petruchka. Sounds great! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvWg3WEKWH7Yw6jUWcntA6oY3v622WKa7yy8jSb8gfuEqKZU5gkBGQ1vdo3sa0LRlt1Rcmpqiv2uMs8j60VOsR3u61R08kBXhzP1ybieyCTW_QfFNVBFce11YHjz5MLW264R55q9cITo/s1600-h/Photos1+118.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305990390836692242" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 158px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 106px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvWg3WEKWH7Yw6jUWcntA6oY3v622WKa7yy8jSb8gfuEqKZU5gkBGQ1vdo3sa0LRlt1Rcmpqiv2uMs8j60VOsR3u61R08kBXhzP1ybieyCTW_QfFNVBFce11YHjz5MLW264R55q9cITo/s200/Photos1+118.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div><br />[He leaves his office]</div><br /><br /><div><em><strong><span style="color:#ff9900;">-</span></strong></em><em><strong><span style="color:#ff9900;">-THE END--</span></strong></em></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-48453456138128695452009-02-23T05:26:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.177-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 10: Florian Tedeschi<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRilxQYEW2bR1geSHH-I4Y9Fpl-lOX7Pm-cxKdEew0-UQXcVNQzc333rfbyUqTpdGl8vpD0xovoKqmajTC0bvIZsS3noZaMDYJj5qDOLKvmYxL6XBdkw-nm-AQQJaoJvcBHiTOhw3O_Xk/s1600-h/menonbench.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305984861185895426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 306px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRilxQYEW2bR1geSHH-I4Y9Fpl-lOX7Pm-cxKdEew0-UQXcVNQzc333rfbyUqTpdGl8vpD0xovoKqmajTC0bvIZsS3noZaMDYJj5qDOLKvmYxL6XBdkw-nm-AQQJaoJvcBHiTOhw3O_Xk/s400/menonbench.jpg" border="0" /></a><strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color:#ff0000;">Violence(s),</span> <span style="color:#ffcc66;">by Florian Tedeschi</span></span></strong><br /><br />A small public garden, with a sandbox where two children are playing. They are arguing.<br /><br />Children 1 : Give me your bucket! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIWSiA1Gyt61u87IfO_FWu0CvuuX-Jo86dlEVqqSHXdpY_Fr64rIBCdnc3BHEJENsSa5uMb3ABJvRrg8s8CllcyYdaMaAyaRkUHOg5Eq88eIj3et0QZmzAI8O95wxrQbQtTNc0uneiD0/s1600-h/Sandbox+2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305984208440578754" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIWSiA1Gyt61u87IfO_FWu0CvuuX-Jo86dlEVqqSHXdpY_Fr64rIBCdnc3BHEJENsSa5uMb3ABJvRrg8s8CllcyYdaMaAyaRkUHOg5Eq88eIj3et0QZmzAI8O95wxrQbQtTNc0uneiD0/s320/Sandbox+2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Children 2 : I’ll never give it to you! Why should I?<br /><br />Children 1 : ’Cause if you don’t, I’ll jump on your sandcastle.<br /><br />Children 2 : Oh yeah? If you do that, I’ll scratch your face.<br /><br />Children 1 : Then I would tear your hair out!<br /><br /><br />They keep on arguing. We can’t hear what they’re saying, but we can see they are really angry. The light moves to the left, where their fathers are sitting on a bench.<br /><br /><br />Father 1 : I heard you got promoted?<br /><br />Father 2 : Yes, I’m totally excited about it.<br /><br />Father 1 : Does the boss know what you were doing with his wife last Wednesday?<br /><br />Father 2 : I hope not, for sure!<br /><br />Father 1 : What if I told him about that? I guess that’s what I would do, if you don’t decline his offer.<br /><br />Father 2 : Oh yeah? Then I would tell him about all your embezzling...<br /><br />Father 1 : And I would not only tell not your boss, but also your wife about your little rendez-vous...<br /><br /><br />They keep on arguing. The light moves back to the children.<br /><br /><br />Children 2 : Then I would kick your sorry ass.<br /><br />Children 1 : You would kick my sorry ass?<br /><br />Children : Yes! I would kick your sorry ass.<br /><br /><br />They laugh. The light moves back to the fathers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_F713V8-GF7gcDJ6Q0jgMY6fEK-rliduMXRock7siaP6h258xdkZNRByb9H4JA6j8FJzevTDsYOzzTpsdHjY63SOD3jP0sARkA9-xcoqfzP_8qEZpjnH8H1wQstX4IS8B_PgLh-zPE7w/s1600-h/2MenonBench+by+Mike+Jones.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305984202871636658" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_F713V8-GF7gcDJ6Q0jgMY6fEK-rliduMXRock7siaP6h258xdkZNRByb9H4JA6j8FJzevTDsYOzzTpsdHjY63SOD3jP0sARkA9-xcoqfzP_8qEZpjnH8H1wQstX4IS8B_PgLh-zPE7w/s320/2MenonBench+by+Mike+Jones.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><br /><br />Father 2 : Really? Then I would have much more to lose.<br /><br />Father 1 with satisafaction in his voice : I guess so.<br /><br />The second father takes a gun with a silencer out of his pocket, shoots, and kills the other. The children keep on laughing, not aware of what has just happened. </div><div> </div><div><span style="color:#cc33cc;"><strong>--THE END--</strong></span></div><div><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;"></span></strong> </div><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>NOTE:</strong> Final image here is by <a href="http://www.fountainfineart.com/MikeJones.htm">Mike Jones</a>, Welsh artist (b 1941) lives in the Swansea Valley & is represented by <a href="http://www.fountainfineart.com/index.htm">Foutain Fine Art Gallery</a>.</span> More of his art can be found by clicking <em><a href="http://www.fountainfineart.com/MikeJonesCurrent.htm">HERE</a></em>.</div></div></div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-62718846211919284852009-02-22T05:32:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.178-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 9: Divya Babin<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ff0000;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk-a_GZ22F_MJJmZcdwV6yxeHyPjC3INaHTXfEjVW6X8CKq_pZds6N4sIj0cYK94m0K907SRNQg43Hsdc-_R2i_tBNR8WC905Nbc5LlfH8BGY5L1F8qSJ9qh8dphPn63tjqmjZW489wdM/s1600-h/Photos1+102.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305618728117065618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk-a_GZ22F_MJJmZcdwV6yxeHyPjC3INaHTXfEjVW6X8CKq_pZds6N4sIj0cYK94m0K907SRNQg43Hsdc-_R2i_tBNR8WC905Nbc5LlfH8BGY5L1F8qSJ9qh8dphPn63tjqmjZW489wdM/s400/Photos1+102.jpg" border="0" /></a>THE IMMORTAL GAME </span></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ff0000;">by Divya Babin</span><br /></span><span style="color:#33ccff;">Staging by Mathilde Poulhes (playing Phelan), Manon Picard (playing Ker), Leo Greusard (playing the barman) and Soizic Bernard (playing Adelphie)</span></strong><br /><div><div><div><div><div><br /><br />CHARACTERS: </div><div>KER: A young woman, rather small, with a childish face. She has a red coat on, and probably a skirt or a dress for we can see her legs. She’s wearing nude tights.<br />PHELAN: A thirty-ish man, tall, unshaved. He’s wearing a white shirt and dark pants, and looks tired.<br />A BARTENDER: Wearing dark clothes. We can’t see his face.<br />ADELPHIE: A young girl.<br /><br />[The scene takes place in a bar late at night. The bar is empty but for PHELAN sitting at a table in a corner, and the BARTENDER behind the counter. KER enters the place and sits at the counter. The BARTENDER places a juice in front of her. We can’t see his face, only his dark silhouette behind the counter. PHELAN stands up and walks to the counter, on which he puts his empty glass. He takes a seat near KER, and receives another glass of red wine from the bar tender. The BARTENDER disappears from the scene silently. For a few minutes, KER and PHELAN sip their drinks in silence. ]<br /><br />PHELAN: Cold night, ain’t it?<br /><br />KER: Yes, the wind is chilly. (She shudders) I’ve just walked here from Greystone.<br />[He looks surprised, but she smiles innocently at him.]<br />My car broke down three kilometres out of city centre, on the long dark road down there. I was a bit frightened on my own, but I had no other choice. I forgot my cell phone at home…<br />[She seems to wait for him to say something but he keeps playing with his glass, as if he’s not heard her.]<br />I was on my way to Dublin. I have an appointment there.<br /><br />PHELAN: At 1 a.m., on a Monday night? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0dIw0m4ifl5uDuGyZvDNvElhac9WB3FARbwi_CI0F6Lmgiy7LYhIpKgHjj-yqHjxZ7CHKlzkHueOgGtClTLMIRwrH2GCSq-uoycdsrYEsuLZeGeG0P03eLTAi3ueTZ25ZlbxVYWirw1k/s1600-h/Photos1+093.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305617132636343506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0dIw0m4ifl5uDuGyZvDNvElhac9WB3FARbwi_CI0F6Lmgiy7LYhIpKgHjj-yqHjxZ7CHKlzkHueOgGtClTLMIRwrH2GCSq-uoycdsrYEsuLZeGeG0P03eLTAi3ueTZ25ZlbxVYWirw1k/s320/Photos1+093.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />[He smirks and gives her a weird stare. She looks away.] <br /><br />KER: Yes, uh... work issues... My… job has some particular circumstances.<br /><br />PHELAN: [unconcerned]<br />So have many jobs, I guess.<br />[He takes a sip. She gives him a tentative smile]<br /><br />KER: Oh, you understand, do you?<br />[He looks surprised, and shrugs.]<br /><br />PHELAN: So you’re on your way to Dublin? I could have given you a ride, but I think I’ve drunk too much tonight.<br />[Lower, to himself.]<br />What’s new?<br />[Louder.]<br />You want me to call a cab?<br /><br />KER: No, no, thank you! I’ve already called one… There’s a booth outside. It shouldn’t take more than a half hour, they told me. Hopefully, I’ll make it in time.<br />[She smiles ruefully. He finishes his drink, and the BARTENDER that has suddenly re-appeared provides him with another one.]<br /><br />PHELAN: [to himself.]<br />Guess, I shouldn’t…<br /><br />KER: Sorry, you said… ?<br /><br />PHELAN: [grabbing the drink.]<br />Nothing.<br />[With a smile.]<br />Don’t you want something stronger to drink? Aren’t you cold?<br />[She laughs.]<br /><br />KER: With my coat on? I’m all right, thank you. But won’t you play chess with me until I leave? I’m getting a little tired and it might help me stay awake.<br />[He seems a bit surprised, but she gestures towards a chess board on the counter behind him.]<br /><br />PHELAN: Hmm… I’m really bad at it, but if you don’t mind…<br /><br />KER: Oh… I am not too good either… Should we?<br />[He stands up, brings the chess board to KER and sits down again.]<br />Thank you, uh…<br /><br />PHELAN: Phelan. I’m Phelan.<br />[He waits but since she does not answer adds:]<br />And you are?<br />[She giggles.]<br /><br />KER: I go by various names, but I guess you could call me Ker.<br />[He frowns.]<br /><br />PHELAN: Well, uh... Ker... nice to meet you… So, will you <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZfo0w7Dy7IFa68oWBwCO9KuEnYD2Bi0WlOLa6Wdg_m3X8UScXwlh3fUi1biZKOnKaWzrRk3-K1gZ-ME827KG4fd2S44FOcTjeCRuCHQ0BD1ht4Bfvq5cms_i6Mc5a1nWYA_Oq7yXxaY/s1600-h/Photos1+097.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305617132884400690" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZfo0w7Dy7IFa68oWBwCO9KuEnYD2Bi0WlOLa6Wdg_m3X8UScXwlh3fUi1biZKOnKaWzrRk3-K1gZ-ME827KG4fd2S44FOcTjeCRuCHQ0BD1ht4Bfvq5cms_i6Mc5a1nWYA_Oq7yXxaY/s320/Photos1+097.jpg" border="0" /></a>begin?<br />[She nods and becomes very serious. She plays.]<br /><br />KER: Beginning is easy, isn’t it?<br />[She smirks at him and he seems taken aback. He plays. They both play one more move apiece.]<br />So you’re an easy-going man… I thought so.<br />[He frowns. She takes her turn. He smiles and takes his.]<br /><br />PHELAN: Check.<br />[She grins coldly, but her eyes stay serious.]<br /><br />KER: Looking for an easy victory? That’s all you can do? Coward!<br />[There is no humour in her voice. PHELAN looks at her, frowning. They stare at each other for a moment then she stamps her fist on the counter. This sudden move makes him jump and he spills some of his wine on his shirt.]<br />Such a coward! You’re disgusting! <br /><br />PHELAN: Hey, cool down! Look what you’ve done! I am not playing with you if I’m just going to get insulted!<br /><br />KER: [She laughs as he is looking down at his shirt helplessly.]<br />Yeah, you’re playing with me because you’ve got nothing else to do, you pathetic drunkard! Has your girlfriend thrown you out, or are you just one of those pitiful husbands who lose interest in their wife once you get to the baby lot and the routine life?<br />[He looks on the edge of answering but stops himself and stands up.]<br />So, what? You’re up now? Fine! Are you going to run away from a little girl who’s speaking the awful truth? Why don’t you stop running away and sit down?<br /><br />PHELAN: I’m going to the bathroom to try and do something with my shirt. When I come back, I’m goin’ home.<br /><br />KER: No, you don’t.<br />[Her left hand digs into her pocket. He is about to turn his back when she takes out a small pistol and aims it at him quite casually.]<br />I said, sit down. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx7Oo47ZHtxu0IVcNHFdnMcrCDgsI1qHkOqmqJadJZTzU3GsH6Za9LLuj5upgJo2y3rZc8_gh62E2-pqqYAu88MXhBK22YuPw4z8CgJ5HNOs8ME_ogdfnQ1CdYTVkTsRfuzMd9n7PL9U/s1600-h/Photos1+100.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305617139748426626" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZx7Oo47ZHtxu0IVcNHFdnMcrCDgsI1qHkOqmqJadJZTzU3GsH6Za9LLuj5upgJo2y3rZc8_gh62E2-pqqYAu88MXhBK22YuPw4z8CgJ5HNOs8ME_ogdfnQ1CdYTVkTsRfuzMd9n7PL9U/s320/Photos1+100.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />PHELAN: What… What’s that now?<br />[He frowns but tries to laugh.]<br />So is that what young girls do to kill time?<br /><br />KER: No. It is not. Sit down. <br />[She waves the pistol towards the seat.]<br /><br />PHELAN: Or what? I’m going to get shot because I didn’t like being called a coward by a girl during a chess game in the middle of the night?<br /><br />KER: No. You’re going to get shot because you tried to be smarter than the girl who was holding the gun. Sit. Now.<br />[He sits down.]<br />That’s better. Now, listen carefully. You are going to give this game your all, otherwise you will be very sorry. So, let’s proceed.<br />[She reflects for a few minutes on the board which he has reset up, then makes her move.]<br />Your turn.<br />[They take 13 turns each, in tense silence, taking their time before making their moves. PHELAN eyes her searchingly from time to time. ]<br />Do you like Daffodils?<br /><br />PHELAN: Not more than any other flower. Why do you ask?<br /><br />KER: I’m curious.<br />[She grins and takes her turn. He takes a bishop on his next move.]<br /><br />PHELAN: [hesitantly.]<br />Do you play often?<br />[She shrugs and moves.]<br /><br />KER: Barely. Only when I have time out of work and need to think.<br /><br />PHELAN: Oh... Is your work that demanding then?<br />[She grins strangely. He plays.]<br /><br />KER: Yes, it’s more or less a 24/7 kind of job. What about yours? Feel like complaining?<br />[He casts his eyes down. She plays.]<br /><br />PHELAN: Yeah, I can’t say I revel in my job. I guess I just don’t revel in anything anymore. But as long as I can pay the bills…<br />[She snorts and looks at him with disgust.]<br /><br />KER: So original.<br />[He shrugs and takes a turn.] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGSrEawUsglHkmpdmR-bX6KHnlDPzG1FLlXIFzGriMu1uAczsWYSgkab98DvRcD-A35P5jCpwxzPS4O9wNiC0mCJIyXJQ3nJHdUofELB3YKP-iP8n5P_58nkCquNSLScO38jGb8wOQcA/s1600-h/Photos1+101.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305617142170144450" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGSrEawUsglHkmpdmR-bX6KHnlDPzG1FLlXIFzGriMu1uAczsWYSgkab98DvRcD-A35P5jCpwxzPS4O9wNiC0mCJIyXJQ3nJHdUofELB3YKP-iP8n5P_58nkCquNSLScO38jGb8wOQcA/s320/Photos1+101.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />PHELAN: I used to enjoy playing chess with my father. I mean, when I was a kid…<br />[She takes her turn then looks up at him.]<br /><br />KER: What happened? Your father got killed in a car accident and you stopped, or you no longer talk to your parents because they’ve always loved your older brother more than you?<br />[He gives a short laugh that sounds a bit fake while taking his turn.]<br /><br />PHELAN: No, nothing so interesting. I love my parents and my younger brother. I just grew tired. I have no patience for chess.<br />[She snorts and plays.]<br /><br />KER: You’re good at giving up. I wonder how you made it up to now.<br /><br />PHELAN: I guess I wasn’t always indifferent.<br />[He takes his Queen in his hand, but stops to think.]<br />Don’t you love your family?<br />[Her eyes flash at him.]<br /><br />KER: I do. Very much.<br />[She smiles treacherously.]<br />In fact, that’s precisely why I’m here.<br />[She keeps silent for a few minutes, staring at him.]<br />Don’t you want to ask me what this masquerade’s all about? Or are you so bored that even a girl forcing you at gun-point to play chess in the middle of the night doesn’t surprise you anymore?<br />[He shrugs but smiles innocently, which makes him look suddenly younger.]<br /><br />PHELAN: I thought it might be safer not to ask…<br />[She laughs but her looks become serious once again.]<br /><br />KER: My... uh... little sister needs a heart. Tomorrow it will be too late.<br />[He nods seriously and puts down the Queen he’s been holding.]<br /><br />PHELAN: What’s she like?<br />[She plays.]<br /><br />KER: Young, beautiful... sad. Her laugh was like the tinkle of a bell. She no longer laughs… She loves flowers. But not daffodils. Do you have a sister?<br /><br />PHELAN: No, but my ex-girlfriend had one. She was neither beautiful, nor nice...<br /><br />KER: Ah, ah... so you really got dumped by your girlfriend?<br />[He plays.]<br /><br />PHELAN: Maybe it’s not so bad if I lose this game...<br />[She looks at him with disgust.]<br /><br />KER: I can only agree with you. But maybe you won’t even have to wait for the end of the game… I mean, my cab will soon be here. I don’t see why I should lose any time…<br />[She takes her turn. He looks panicked and moves immediately after her, taking a pawn.]<br />Is that all you can do?<br />[She plays. He moves again immediately after her, taking a rook.]<br />Come on!<br />[She takes her next turn. He again plays straightaway, taking the other rook.]<br /><br />PHELAN: Check.<br /><br />KER: Does it change anything? Do you think you can win with that?<br />[She plays.]<br /><br />PHELAN: What if I can? Does that change something?<br />[She shrugs, and stares at him harshly as he makes his next move. She plays and takes a pawn.]<br /><br />KER: Check.<br /><br />PHELAN: I guess I’m in dire straits. I told you I wasn’t very good.<br />[He tries to laugh but sounds more like he’s choking. He tips his glass to his lips but it’s empty.]<br /><br />KER: I assume you don’t have children.<br /><br />PHELAN: I don’t. But I’m only twenty-nine, you see. Not too late.<br />[She laughs. He coughs.]<br /><br />KER: I wonder…<br /><br />PHELAN: My parents met when they were already past thirty… My father had just spent five years in India doing relief work.<br />[He coughs. Silence.]<br />My brother just graduated from the Department of Medicine… He’s getting married.<br />[Silence.]<br /><br />KER: You must be a great disappointment to your parents. It’s your turn to play.<br />[He coughs and hesitates, but takes his turn as she waves the pistol in her left hand. She plays straight afterwards, grinning broadly.]<br /><br />KER: Check.<br /><br />PHELAN: I guess it’s over, I’m lost... But even if I didn’t lose, would you…<br /><br />KER: [harshly.]<br />Would I what? Do you think not losing is enough? Do you even want to win?<br />[She cocks the gun, still aiming it at him.]<br />I’m fed up. Play now. Let us finish. I hear the cab outside.<br />[A short silence. He smiles, suddenly hopeful, and plays, taking her Queen.]<br /><br />PHELAN: What about that? What are you going to do without your Queen?<br />[She laughs.]<br /><br />KER: Well, first I could tell you that you need to think more about the future…<br />[then harshly:]<br />To win you need to sacrifice, don’t you know?<br />[She plays.]<br />Checkmate!<br />[She stands up and takes a few steps backwards to put some distance between her and PHELAN.]<br />So now, Phelan, it’s good-bye time. You can’t say it wasn’t fair… I gave you a chance… You could even have struggled, overpowered me…<br />[She smirks.]<br />You didn’t even think of that, did you? How pathetic…<br />[He takes a step towards her.]<br />Don’t! It’s too late now. Accept your fate. At least, this time you’ll be useful.<br />[He casts his eyes down.]<br /><br />PHELAN: You’re right. I’m useless.<br /><br />KER: Utterly useless.<br /><br />PHELAN: I doubt anyone will cry for me.<br /><br />KER: I’m sure even your family will forget about you in a week.<br /><br />PHELAN: [angry]<br />No they won’t! Maybe I’m pathetic, but they’ve always supported me.<br /><br />KER: Then you’re even more pathetic!<br /><br />PHELAN: I know… But I wanted to do something. I just couldn’t…<br /><br />KER: No, you just didn’t. That’s different. You could, but you gave up before even trying.<br /><br />PHELAN: I could?<br />[He looks up and seems completely confused. Then comprehension dawns on his face.] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMhTpAwfgIoJHLsewIuGiVtp4NRiQJLP84XUrNAfOR6GeCEg4wjdGU0O0eXkfUqmIR0_Ow4qVjN0pY-Uu-ETrbB8V9wnh1qFZzW6NyECDqFFTg5Fm2SSZ_5jJrey_pHX_RCRANCpM6uv8/s1600-h/Photos1+099.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305617145407855698" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMhTpAwfgIoJHLsewIuGiVtp4NRiQJLP84XUrNAfOR6GeCEg4wjdGU0O0eXkfUqmIR0_Ow4qVjN0pY-Uu-ETrbB8V9wnh1qFZzW6NyECDqFFTg5Fm2SSZ_5jJrey_pHX_RCRANCpM6uv8/s320/Photos1+099.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />KER: [sweet and sincere]<br />I’m so sorry.<br />[He stares at her without fear, for a few moments as she levels her gun and prepares to pull the trigger. She’s on the edge of firing when ADELPHIE enters the place, wearing a long white dress, with flowers in her left hand. She’s barefoot. KER glances at her and looks suddenly sad. Her voice breaks:]<br />Adelphie?<br /><br />[ADELPHIE walks towards KER, puts her hand on KER’s left arm and whispers something into her ear. KER looks like she’s going to cry, the gun trembles in her hand. ADELPHIE smiles and we can hear a bell tinkling. The curtain falls. ]</div></div></div></div></div><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#ffcc00;">THE END</span></em></strong>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-6344214830510554772009-02-22T05:17:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.178-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 8: Fabien Wagner<span style="font-size:180%;"><strong> <span style="color:#ff0000;">Show Time <em>by Fabien Wagner</em></span><br /></strong></span><br /><div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305613642423706098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEgSBckUSxNN6iKUBAOmRIe73AsjozxElKVPmqv4NcjOu3vmQ9AalNvew-7jHd_XeYEV2vOHligS6M5KP-xm0yjPoJFA0GehKuPkPS3CLmqdq0PwQvPpKmmL1clDGEZQfyvT735HaE-Ro/s400/zeus_statue.jpg" border="0" /><strong><em><span style="color:#66ffff;">Staging had been prepared by Pascal Benchimol, Eric Leibenguth and Guillaume Ruop</span></em></strong>--however, due to injury, the play was not performed, thus these photos are not from class.<br /><div><br />The scene shows two characters: Bob and Jack. An Old man is among the audience.<br /><br />Bob : Why did you betray me ? How did you dare? It was such a cruel offence! You, my best friend!<br /><br />Jack: Life is not so simple, Bob. You’ve always been so naïve. Even when you were a boy, you were so easily fooled…<br /><br />Bob (in a seemingly tragic but moderate manner): Ah, Jupiter‘s thunder falls upon me! You have destroyed my life. (silence) Nothing has importance anymore now…<br /><br />Jack: It’s not my fault if she preferred me!<br /><br />Bob (yelling): No…!<br /><br />Bob throws himself on Jack. They roll on the floor. Bob is above Jack and tries to strangle him. He hits Jack’s head against the floor three times. The sounds are loud. The third time, Jack stops moving. Bob looked up, bewildered, his hands gesture towards the sky.<br /><br />Bob: Ah! My soul is now stained with the blood of my best friend, the sorrow of my love and the malediction of the fates. Let the Gods have pity on me! <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qEhzQE8yw8QkoEE1YSPWrltuHGLgP-o1rpheaPcescin3zWOt6qBpU5h69pV6BkRbrg_jwyde3rKnwOWNsubCJWH9LzpBmUBlR_fcslApjoTmK732BmRGowynVG1OnT-JDlYfjUYC8Y/s1600-h/Ghent_Altarpiece_A_-_Cain_-_Abel_-_murder.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305613210769185394" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8qEhzQE8yw8QkoEE1YSPWrltuHGLgP-o1rpheaPcescin3zWOt6qBpU5h69pV6BkRbrg_jwyde3rKnwOWNsubCJWH9LzpBmUBlR_fcslApjoTmK732BmRGowynVG1OnT-JDlYfjUYC8Y/s320/Ghent_Altarpiece_A_-_Cain_-_Abel_-_murder.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />[The old man comes out from the audience onto the stage. He has graying, tousled hair. He jumps onto the stage.]<br /><br />Old Man: [shouts]No, no, no. It’s absolutely wrong. Hopefully, nobody but me saw you. Can you imagine if that were not the case? You would have been in such trouble! I cannot believe you even did that!<br /><br />Bob: I am sooo sorry! I don’t understand what happened. I was taken by my feelings, and it just came out like that!<br /><br />Old man: It is lucky that this theatre was empty. But now, we have to decide what to do inthe future. You need to correct this.<br /><br />Bob: To correct it? But what else can I do? Jack is dead and that’s all. There’s nothing else to say or do.<br /><br />Old man: On the contrary, you can improve the situation greatly. Everything is about the impression you will make on other people. You have to convince them of what you want, to make them believe that it is the truth. For that, you have to be a real actor. There’s no use pretending anything if you don’t believe in it. You need to be possessed by what you say.<br /><br />Bob: But imagine people coming here who see that. How can I change what they will think and feel at the simple sight of me, murdering my best friend?<br /><br />Old man: It is all about your behavior. After a murder, the testimonies can be very different depending on the reaction of the witness who has seen the crime. See how I might change all this into something completely different? Imagine I am you, and let’s begin the scene of the crime again.<br /><br />[The old man comes on the front of the stage, taking the same position as Bob a little earlier.]<br /><br />Old man (staring at Bob in a knowing way): Someone who wants to incriminate you will have seen the crime like this. (With hatred, his hands up, his eyes glowing in madness): Ah, Jupiter‘s thunder falls upon me! You have destroyed my life. (Silence. Then, in a trembling and frightening voice) Nothing matters anymore now…<br /><br />(staring at Bob in a knowing way): Someone who wants to exonerate you will have seen the crime like this. (Depressed, in a feeble voice.): Ah, Jupiter‘s thunder falls upon me! You have destroyed my life. (Silence. Then, sitting down and slowly shaking his head) Nothing matters anymore now…<br /><br />(staring at Bob in a knowing way): Someone who wants to make a mockery of the whole situation will have seen the crime like this. (Acting drunk. He keeps laughing for apparently no reason. He is supporting himself with the help of Bob): Ah, Jupiter‘s thunder falls upon me! You have destroyed my life. (with hiccups and laughs) Nothing matters anymore now…<br /><br />(staring at Bob in a knowing way): Someone who wants to…<br /><br />Bob (interrupting the old man): Yes, that’s right. I understand. But you aren’t helping me very much. What should I do exactly? Which is the best way to present things...<br /><br />Old man: What you did was awful. You absolutely need to change that.<br /><br />Bob: Of course, but how? Can you tell me exactly what to do? I’m completely lost.<br /><br />Old man: You need to find that by yourself. It’s a kind of inner monologue. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSqMSzWDbJ558Ve2tDO1aUnTHxl5geKoKbSIw9NyoiUdEZ3Ppzdbu0aWx_dV0w7Kpw_t89s2QcRm_KLIdMh0Hgf_xpAI1hElgXZ-1fdGq-KSrg5nOtiJ7FjXw-1YbHuQJ-kW_L6uFHIE/s1600-h/Henry+Samary,+De+La+Comedie+Francaise+Henri+de+Toulouse+Lautrec.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305613216524028066" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 216px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQSqMSzWDbJ558Ve2tDO1aUnTHxl5geKoKbSIw9NyoiUdEZ3Ppzdbu0aWx_dV0w7Kpw_t89s2QcRm_KLIdMh0Hgf_xpAI1hElgXZ-1fdGq-KSrg5nOtiJ7FjXw-1YbHuQJ-kW_L6uFHIE/s320/Henry+Samary,+De+La+Comedie+Francaise+Henri+de+Toulouse+Lautrec.jpg" border="0" /></a>(With emphasis, in a kind of theatrical madness): The inner monologue!<br />How many times will I have to tell you this?<br />(With emphasis, even louder than before): The inner monologue!<br /><br />[On the stage, Jack is moves slightly, as if he is waking up. He grabs one of Bob’s legs.]<br /><br />Bob (shouting): Ah!<br /><br />Old man (shouting): Ah!<br /><br />Jack (shouting and standing up): Ah!<br /><br />Bob: You’re supposed to be dead, you know!<br /><br />Jack: Sorry, I fear I have been asleep for a little while…<br /><br />Old man: All right, pals. There we go! We have our work cut out for us. (He walks quickly into the wings). You gonna play this one-act once more? If the audience had seen your last rehearsal, it would have been a failure. Let’s try again!<br /><br />Bob and Jack head out into the wings as well. The curtain drops.</div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-8318605578885281292009-02-22T05:07:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.178-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 7: Ange-Thérèse Akono<strong><span style="color:#ff0000;"><span style="font-size:180%;">IF ONLY MAGNAN WERE OPEN ON SUNDAYS</span> </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">by Ange-Thérèse Akono</span></strong><br /><br />* <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuIUEANsOvaskhz0OncDKQqPkM5__IocJ6E-nkOoHG7wsYuxQV4jB2PBFYb7w9a9R5pQiyBKboH6ysmPJdQPZJs86eGh37QeG9mW2ZCrdGZMiWb7FdeJXR8qk4gjLDF1o_114IyoClPM/s1600-h/potatoes-1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305608980319525090" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 265px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCuIUEANsOvaskhz0OncDKQqPkM5__IocJ6E-nkOoHG7wsYuxQV4jB2PBFYb7w9a9R5pQiyBKboH6ysmPJdQPZJs86eGh37QeG9mW2ZCrdGZMiWb7FdeJXR8qk4gjLDF1o_114IyoClPM/s320/potatoes-1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />[In the collective kitchen. Dirty plates are lying on the first table along with spice pots, pans and other kitchen utensils. Two students, Anna and Pedro, are discussing something a round the first table. On the second table is a hotplate with a pot with its lid on on it.]<br />Estelle enters the room.<br /><br />ESTELLE: Hi, What’s up? <br />She draws up a chair and sits.<br /><br />PEDRO: I’ve been tortured this morning by Cauchy, Salençon and Le Tallec<br /><br />ANNE (laughing): That’s you! Always complaining. It can’t be that difficult!<br /><br />PEDRO (imitating Anne’s voice): It is not AT ALL difficult. All you have to do is attend all the classes, learn the book by heart and study all the past examinations papers. <br />Well, I started reading my notes only a few days ago!<br /><br />ESTELLE: Yeah! Quite challenging. Good luck! By the way, what are we going to cook?<br /><br />ANNE: Whatever we find, I guess. The cupboards are empty.<br /><br />ESTELLE: Are they? I thought Sylvain had ordered groceries. He told me he would.<br /><br />PEDRO: He’s certainly forgotten, otherwise they would have been delivered by now. He might have been busy studying.<br /><br />ANNE: Just like all of us. I mean, we all are to sit exams next week.<br /><br />ESTELLE: Instead of complaining, you could have sent him a reminder, Anne.<br /><br />PEDRO: Ok girls, don’t fight! Having a row will lead us nowhere. We’d better think of a solution.<br /><br />ESTELE: What’s left?<br /><br />ANNE (pointing at the potatoes lying on the first table): I had some potatoes left.<br /><br />ESTELLE: I brought some bacon cubes.<br /><br />PETER: I have got nothing but spices. Here they are!<br /><br />ESTELLE: (approaching the second table) What’s that?<br />She opens the pot to check inside.<br /><br />ANNE: Some rice, not ours.<br /><br />ESTELLE: (She nods): Let’s start by cooking these potatoes.<br />Anna stands up, put the potatoes into a pot, pours water and hands the pot to Estelle.<br /><br />PEDRO: Don’t you skin the potatoes? My mother always does.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHdpEgrAKWcEAuRLl5lPh0PTz65L3YeSjsRjHoTCGGX7GdwGdSQiU30a-rK0iKfoDFML3jM3SVRdkNdCeINHl5n7mBBB8ISqsMkZdsDJbxjARzY1Wu7dH-dI3PcoJK_M4hCeJIwraMyM/s1600-h/carbonara1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305608980800529618" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieHdpEgrAKWcEAuRLl5lPh0PTz65L3YeSjsRjHoTCGGX7GdwGdSQiU30a-rK0iKfoDFML3jM3SVRdkNdCeINHl5n7mBBB8ISqsMkZdsDJbxjARzY1Wu7dH-dI3PcoJK_M4hCeJIwraMyM/s320/carbonara1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />ESTELLE: Pedro, we are not cooking a Spanish omelet. Besides, we‘ve got to save time.<br /><br />ANNA: Trust me. It tastes better.<br /><br />PEDRO: Nothing can be better than a home-made tortilla de patatas.<br /><br />ESTELLE: Oh, oh! I think the fuse just blew ! The burner is off now.<br /><br />ANNA: Pedro, could you go and turn it back on?<br /><br />PEDRO: Young lady, I am exhausted and so sleepy!<br /><br />ESTELLE: Por favor?<br /><br />PEDRO: I can’t resist such a sweet request coming from such a beautiful lady.<br />He leaves.<br /><br />ESTELLE: Such things always annoy me. Why can’t this burner just work normally? We should take action at the student accommodation office…<br /><br />ANNE: Yes, they could for example, make sure Magnan is open on Mondays, or open a fast-food place next to the student buildings, or…<br />Pedro comes back.<br /><br />PEDRO: I’ve just flipped it back on. Does it work?<br /><br />ESTELLE: No, it still doesn’t.<br /><br />ANNA: The trouble is, the hotplate can’t heat two pots at the same time, I think. We could wait until the rice is cooked, or take it off the other burner.<br /><br />PEDRO: That’s not legal. (pointing at the rice) This student came first,<br /><br />ESTELLE: That’s not enough. He should have stayed to watch his food. My mother used to tell me a good cook never leaves his food unwatched.<br /><br />ANNA: Pedro, we are tired, cansadas, hungry, and we have to go back to studying soon.<br /><br />PEDRO: Si, pero, that’s NO excuse.<br />Anna takes a potato out of the pan and gives it to Pedro.<br /><br />ANNA: Here is your potato. Just wait until we have finished cooking ours and until the other student has finished cooking his rice, and then you can cook yours. This way you will not be taking part in our crime.<br /><br />Anna and Estelle exchange conniving smiles.<br /><br />PEDRO: I am going to wait in my room.<br />And he leaves.<br /><br />ESTELLE: He is really angry!<br /><br />ANNA: he’s too touchy, Pedro!<br /><br />They put the pot of potatoes on the burner where the rice had been. The door opens and another student comes in.<br /><br />STUDENT: Hi, excuse me. I forgot my rice on the burner, I hope it didn’t burn.<br /><br />ANNA: We took it off before it got burnt. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSL4mHTkGXAtDuQpZrexUolQ-qag3YKt4PLhkg0w8StHlY6hT2Fs9FoqdaqtkWzOg2TFr_pL2K5Pzro8XahtJCqHMZVKgUz3d6_XuvO73xe7XW83jVG8Z5LgwSm0go4ZRB3cVG-3T_DI/s1600-h/rice2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305608982020710850" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSL4mHTkGXAtDuQpZrexUolQ-qag3YKt4PLhkg0w8StHlY6hT2Fs9FoqdaqtkWzOg2TFr_pL2K5Pzro8XahtJCqHMZVKgUz3d6_XuvO73xe7XW83jVG8Z5LgwSm0go4ZRB3cVG-3T_DI/s320/rice2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />STUDENT: Thanks! Actually, I no longer want it, so if you are interested, help yourself.<br /><br />ANNA and ESTELLE: Thank you.<br /><br />STUDENT: You’re welcome! Enjoy!<br />He leaves.<br /><br />ANNA (tasting the rice): It’s cooked! We are lucky!<br /><br />ESTELLE: Yes, let’s just cook the bacon cubes. I’ll call Pedro.<br />(She gets out her cell phone)<br />Pedro, you can come back, dinner is ready.<br />What?... I see, Well, we don’t want to wait too long, ok.<br />(Talking to Anna) he is coming.<br /><br />ANNA: Nice!<br /><br />ESTELLE: Bacon cubes with rice. That’s not at all healthy. There should be some vegetables.<br /><br />ANNA: Yeah! If only Magnan were open on Sundays!Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-30844164003522710892009-02-20T08:55:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.179-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theater 6: Thomas Morel<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#ff0000;">STRANGE ENDINGS, by Thomas Morel</span><br /></span><em><span style="color:#33ccff;">Staging by Frederic Delacour </span><span style="color:#ff9900;">(who plays Jerry) </span></em></strong><br /><div><div><div><div><div><strong><em><span style="color:#33ccff;">and Simon Chamoret-Devergne </span><span style="color:#ff9900;">(The Angel)<br /></span></em></strong></div><br /><div>CHARACTERS: Jerry Butler: a CEO in his fifties, tall and thin, with a little moustache. An angel: a messenger. tall and blond, wearing all white.<br /><br />[Jerry Butler is almost ready to go to work, wearing a dark grey suit with a red tie. But he has a heart attack and he finds himself in a somewhat big white room with no door. Everything’s white, except for two black armchairs and a black TV screen. The room seems to have no walls, he is surrounded by a dazzling whiteness.]<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304926437251712434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9yhXKOVMZkeEmvzJ2USFabrO50z2OfETGfhoNZtx1MS6KRIRISWSUnHYOfhswIDO-CYhE2uR6oYEDJD5jZkOk39z0Ij5YoNsndM7Tut7ABrz2i2r6lCJcpMMfcT8u3nb0EdUiRac3zn0/s400/Photos1+088.jpg" border="0" /> Jerry Butler: What the hell is this place ? Where am I ? What happened ?<br /><br />[Takes a few steps, stretches his hand out to reach a wall but finds nothing. Puts his hands quickly in his pockets out of fear. The angel comes from nowhere, behind Jerry, puts a hand on his shoulder which makes Jerry jump. The angel wears white trousers and a sky blue sweater. ]<br /><br />The Angel: [With a sententious tone] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITsmPkuicMQfSc8XZYxz4bkZsvo43sYfgMRtezj7bu0F5bdbpsdHk4r6Dnof4N48JYGUIznFm5NAYX7W_XIJ1ANy_KDjFXeQqqX1piDgzUisWq7jYcaD7bdU_c2x8vmpDwoGygL53rrs/s1600-h/Photos1+086.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304925821462169602" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITsmPkuicMQfSc8XZYxz4bkZsvo43sYfgMRtezj7bu0F5bdbpsdHk4r6Dnof4N48JYGUIznFm5NAYX7W_XIJ1ANy_KDjFXeQqqX1piDgzUisWq7jYcaD7bdU_c2x8vmpDwoGygL53rrs/s320/Photos1+086.jpg" border="0" /></a>Mortal flesh you were, dead you are. For now, it is time you followed me.<br /><br />Jerry Butler: [incredulous] What ? No kidding ! Where I would follow you ? I won’t go anywhere with you ! There’s a meeting with my administrative board I have to attend to. The administrators, they rely on me. And I must be late by now. I can’t disappoint them ! Let me go !<br /><br />The Angel: [softening his voice] I tell you, unfaithful, you are not to go anywhere without me. You don’t belong to this worldly place anymore. You are expected elsewhere; and you shall follow me.<br /><br />Jerry Butler: I tell you, whoever you are ! I have business to do, factories to manage, shares to buy and sell. I work with administrators and financial institutions, I manage employees and factory workers. These worldly matters belong to me and I must attend to my responsibilities. Show me the way out and leave me alone.<br /><br />The Angel: You shall understand that you are dead and that there is no more concern for you in the world …<br /><br />Jerry Butler: I don’t give a shit about what you’re saying.<br /><br />[Jerry’s face turns red out of anger, but the angel remains unflinching, his arms crossed]<br /><br />Where is the way out ? Tell me or I’ll send my lawyer to deal with you!<br /><br />The Angel: … You shall follow me, or you’ll be lost on the way.<br />Jerry Butler: What are you talking about? Don’t you see I’m still alive and healthy? I am still breathing, my heart’s still beating. Can’t you see that? Can’t you hear it? I tell you; I don’t know who you are but I won’t let you kidnap me and fool me like that. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHI5LhPm-vo3__QcIp8dN0ct14zeMNdvfAkGhKiQpV0rExtf9XanS1eRDvC45nL2cQnZK9hDlICF2pOlShB0icC_oXcOp8JCNqyssLhqoM7qaqpkfiFyARBUlxpq25v3NQzLjiAUMhA5M/s1600-h/Photos1+087.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304925826392643826" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHI5LhPm-vo3__QcIp8dN0ct14zeMNdvfAkGhKiQpV0rExtf9XanS1eRDvC45nL2cQnZK9hDlICF2pOlShB0icC_oXcOp8JCNqyssLhqoM7qaqpkfiFyARBUlxpq25v3NQzLjiAUMhA5M/s320/Photos1+087.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />[Jerry swings as hard as possible to take a punch at the angel, but his fist finds nothing and just goes through the head of the angel]<br /><br />What the hell …<br /><br />The Angel: You see? There is no way out, only a way forward. Your soul is giving you false impressions. You think you’re breathing, but there is no air; you think your heart’s beating but you had a severe heart attack. There is nothing for you to do, but follow me. If you still don’t believe me, please have a look.<br /><br />[The TV screen is put on, Jerry looks at it and his eyes widen out of horror]<br /><br />See, now? There’s nothing I can do for you, but show you the way forward. I’m just a messenger and a guide.<br /><br />Jerry Butler: [falling on his knees and crying] I can’t believe it! Leave me alone!<br />The Angel: As you wish. You can call me later.<br /><br />[He disappears. After a few long seconds, Jerry Butler stands up wearily and wanders around in the whiteness. He finally lets himself fall into one of the armchairs where he begins to spe<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYcfEjZW_1Z3yLh3aAEVucTvxNOQ4ftumlAeYw3Fq5fi4xVP9bFAgybCrZ6ew_X-WOPD3X-EWgJHXKjJ80o7UQulPtBig5fYidvNdrNwdpUAYQhsgdarrU4-ZZAhCjXY99pODor43i1N8/s1600-h/Photos1+089.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304925841826098386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYcfEjZW_1Z3yLh3aAEVucTvxNOQ4ftumlAeYw3Fq5fi4xVP9bFAgybCrZ6ew_X-WOPD3X-EWgJHXKjJ80o7UQulPtBig5fYidvNdrNwdpUAYQhsgdarrU4-ZZAhCjXY99pODor43i1N8/s320/Photos1+089.jpg" border="0" /></a>ak to himself]<br /><br />Jerry Butler: God, what am I going to do? Without me, everything will fall apart. There is nobody capable enough of taking over my position at the head of the companies. My administrators will fight for power and the group will collapse. Only I was strong enough to make all that coherent. And what about my family?<br /><br />[He throws up his hands and shouts]<br /><br />Oh God ! Who are you to let such a tragedy happen? Why have you allowed this to happen?<br /><br />[He tries to calm down, sobbing]<br /><br />What will my wife do on her own? She won’t be able to face anything without me. Who will accompany my daughter to the altar? She’s to be married in two weeks. And there’s still so much to do. The wedding is not ready yet. What about my sons? The elder is preparing for his final exams, he needs to feel safe and secure. The younger is not even five. How will he understand the loss of his father ?<br /><br />[He starts crying with renewed intensity]<br /><br />And who will take care of me, in this strange new world? Who will give me a helping hand? I can’t go alone into this scary place. Where are you, my friends?<br /><br />[He finally lies down on the floor, like a foetus in his mother’s placenta]<br /><br />The Angel: There, there. Come with me. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xfgpapRBnO_zCVErlu9Aof-MMrAm4LAL1vzDSKU0gC9zkxvoJPJ3v8SaOwDvA-sZEODgI8Jd5zbfpDkccpCuFHAmhOb-9dq2jD-MclXkKEYO7pGbhP03PCB1bmR757RkguN9-XhHhBg/s1600-h/Photos1+090.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304925833003219010" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-xfgpapRBnO_zCVErlu9Aof-MMrAm4LAL1vzDSKU0gC9zkxvoJPJ3v8SaOwDvA-sZEODgI8Jd5zbfpDkccpCuFHAmhOb-9dq2jD-MclXkKEYO7pGbhP03PCB1bmR757RkguN9-XhHhBg/s320/Photos1+090.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />[He puts a hand on Jerry’s shoulder, helps him to get up and they go offstage]<br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">--THE END--</span></strong></div></div></div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-20557764337213662932009-02-20T08:30:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.179-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 5: Christophe Cochet<span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><strong><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP7Gm0Frgckq59t_i503-_WEICCSywg_LPaMPMSyAKd9Ihi7ECHJKfaK2pmmTL3V9dz0zuKYm0YXaHiVRNDPIz8YMQJPDOI769ZcMTgxmvqzDqDJ_z5gCpWAxHxFlgsBaN3aprEVZBZI/s1600-h/Photos1+076.jpg"><span style="color:#3366ff;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304920914556059218" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 407px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 293px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDP7Gm0Frgckq59t_i503-_WEICCSywg_LPaMPMSyAKd9Ihi7ECHJKfaK2pmmTL3V9dz0zuKYm0YXaHiVRNDPIz8YMQJPDOI769ZcMTgxmvqzDqDJ_z5gCpWAxHxFlgsBaN3aprEVZBZI/s320/Photos1+076.jpg" border="0" /></span></a>One-act play, by Christophe COCHET<br /></strong></span><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;"><em>Staging by Caroline Apra and Jedd Betari<br /></em>Extras : Soizic Bernard, Pascal </span><span style="color:#3366ff;">Benchimol, and Guillaume Ruop</span></strong> <div><div><div><div><div><br />[A bar, it is late. A man, half-drunk, half-asleep, is sipping a last drink. A woman in her thirties is also standing at the bar, daydreaming in front of her drink]<br /><br />Characters: THE WOMAN, THE MAN, THE BARMAN.<br />Men playing pool in background (Note: in the case of this performance, they were drinking and chatting in the background).<br /><br />MAN: Didn’t find anyone tonight?<br /><br />WOMAN: Sorry?<br /><br />MAN: Yeah, girls like you generally find a bed for the night.<br /><br />WOMAN: I am not sure I’m that kind of girl. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2idubkKTv6iZJ86tjDQtYSMGyJX7Xdd9owDWQMpFZLawWsZZKquSR8NUgKHhPbf0S0srxtTVss7UH1a3lZvjFGsu-h5F9XsNu_re1a2OL1hPB-reAZMIuIf_fJEekMpI6qAg6L-Ytns/s1600-h/Photos1+080.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304920927324932274" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2idubkKTv6iZJ86tjDQtYSMGyJX7Xdd9owDWQMpFZLawWsZZKquSR8NUgKHhPbf0S0srxtTVss7UH1a3lZvjFGsu-h5F9XsNu_re1a2OL1hPB-reAZMIuIf_fJEekMpI6qAg6L-Ytns/s320/Photos1+080.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />MAN: No need to argue, I’m not judging you. I’m happy not to be left alone for once.<br />[The woman scoots closer to the man.]<br /><br />WOMAN: Let me tell you that I am not a prostitute. I’m not here waiting for a drunken man to pick me up, either. And I won’t allow a whisky-soaked loser to insult me.<br /><br />MAN [to himself]: She’s got character!<br /><br />WOMAN: I assume that you come here every night, tease hookers, and empty ten glasses an hour? You are getting a divorce from your wife who can’t stand your getting drunk. You have kids who don’t want to see you anymore. You lost your job some time ago, and that is how all this started.<br /><br />MAN: Pretty close.<br /><br />WOMAN: Now you hate the whole world, except the bitch who gives you pleasure once in a while.<br /><br />MAN: Nice imagination. Had any bad experiences in a bar late at night recently?<br /><br />WOMAN: Fuck off.<br /><br />MAN: That’s what I thought.<br />[Silence between the two. You can hear men playing at a pool table.] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLeRtpDnGTJVbUytQ3M-Ij5Z3hEsYfbq6JpNg9wWIboOf2hIdEQF3fQQyRyAG6uFbGy8QLA262TSlZOwgi4n2x3V8aTho0u1VYMAemEERNXQpax3yKiwHJz1JSfDq1FinRTtq6i9uT6p4/s1600-h/Photos1+073.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304920917076332386" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLeRtpDnGTJVbUytQ3M-Ij5Z3hEsYfbq6JpNg9wWIboOf2hIdEQF3fQQyRyAG6uFbGy8QLA262TSlZOwgi4n2x3V8aTho0u1VYMAemEERNXQpax3yKiwHJz1JSfDq1FinRTtq6i9uT6p4/s320/Photos1+073.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />BARMAN: Want another one, Major?<br /><br />WOMAN: No thanks, Larry. I think I’ll go.<br />[The woman grabs her purse.]<br /><br />MAN: Major? You mean like in the army.<br /><br />WOMAN: I thought I told you to fuck off.<br /><br />MAN: You know, I was once in the army too. Not on the front of course, but I have seen some bad stuff.<br /><br />WOMAN: I guess you didn’t have the balls to hold an M16.<br /><br />MAN: You are the standing proof that it has nothing to do with balls.<br /><br />WOMAN: You’re becoming smarter.<br /><br />MAN: Or maybe I am just concealing my assets.<br /><br />THE WOMAN: What’s the need? Who are you anyway?<br /><br />MAN: So are you still in? In the army, I mean.<br /><br />WOMAN: No. Well, yes. But not in the same unit.<br /><br />MAN: You chose to leave, or were you asked to?<br /><br />WOMAN: I left because I couldn’t take it anymore.<br /><br />MAN: Where were you stationed?<br /><br />WOMAN: Fallujah, Iraq.<br /><br />MAN: You saw too many nasty things? You missed your family?<br /><br />WOMAN: Yes and no.<br /><br />MAN: That’s a concise answer.<br /><br />WOMAN: I lost a complete platoon in a village ambush when I was responsible for the operation. And I lost my husband three years ago. No children.<br /><br />MAN: And you think the best medicine is whisky?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDd4wdTPn37f4oODbfY5LUg0w8K0KH8E_vnc8VqVZvbdlKrZkOvk_pUssV-7HbU9_jI870jVrTVA85AA6tpeP3LE9bJVQdNi3boNOgtpiacgA0EDbqIqvOWontbNFZEdX9mzAJgQAaqzM/s1600-h/Photos1+077.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304920921509677778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDd4wdTPn37f4oODbfY5LUg0w8K0KH8E_vnc8VqVZvbdlKrZkOvk_pUssV-7HbU9_jI870jVrTVA85AA6tpeP3LE9bJVQdNi3boNOgtpiacgA0EDbqIqvOWontbNFZEdX9mzAJgQAaqzM/s320/Photos1+077.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />WOMAN: No, vodka.<br /><br />MAN: Character AND humor. Attractive.<br /><br />WOMAN: I don’t know why I’m telling you about my life.<br /><br />MAN: Because I asked you to.<br /><br />BARMAN [to the men who were playing pool and are now leaving]: Good night. See you tomorrow.<br />[To the woman and man]: You’re the last ones, guys. It’s always you, Martin.<br /><br />MAN: But I guess I’m not a bad customer, am I?<br />[The barman smiles and turns away.]<br /><br />MAN: I’m not offering you a last drink.<br /><br />WOMAN: No, thanks anyways.<br /><br />MAN: Well, I think it’s gonna be time for bed.<br /><br />WOMAN: Hey, wait a sec. You’re forgetting something.<br /><br />MAN: What?<br /><br />WOMAN: I told you about my life. I want to know about yours.<br /><br />MAN: You’re sure you don’t want another drink?<br /><br />WOMAN: Yes. So what do you do?<br /><br />MAN: I’m a shrink.<br /><br />WOMAN: Not bad. You’ve got your own office, or do you work in a hospital?<br /><br />MAN: It depends.<br /><br />WOMAN: If I am concise, you’re rather non-committal.<br /><br />MAN: I said I was in the army. I was a psychiatrist there. I didn’t get to see the front but I met the guys who saw its horrors. I have never seen mutilated bodies lying in the dirt, but I have talked to many amputated GIs. And I can tell you that if they had had the balls to hold an M16, they didn’t have the mind to do so afterwards.<br /><br />WOMAN: I understand. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixve5pzRvbCbUaX32HujVk2-yGp4O8N47Vyt_mCbSuTDcYKTVjlsVE8mMiq8gRw88Dnw_-n_k1dYfSqHgy6xd8PSaSKMXh07-fUFHkAK8grQEN1lOLb0cC0CStY3nHnyq-wW11Dm_XRX4/s1600-h/Photos1+079.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304920926352451394" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixve5pzRvbCbUaX32HujVk2-yGp4O8N47Vyt_mCbSuTDcYKTVjlsVE8mMiq8gRw88Dnw_-n_k1dYfSqHgy6xd8PSaSKMXh07-fUFHkAK8grQEN1lOLb0cC0CStY3nHnyq-wW11Dm_XRX4/s320/Photos1+079.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />MAN: I’m not sure you do, but let’s not get into a fight. I don’t think I would be on top.<br /><br />WOMAN: I bet you wouldn’t.<br /><br />MAN: However, I do know where I would be on top.<br /><br />WOMAN: What do you mean?<br /><br />MAN: Want to have sex?<br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>[The end.]</strong></span></div></div></div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-6294270156672637332009-02-20T05:27:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.179-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 4: Qiu Gonghao<span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><strong>Dish Washer, by Qiu Gonghao</strong></span> <div><div><div><div><strong><em><span style="color:#33ccff;">Staging by Agnés Fliscounakis and Hervé Desprets<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29UK60PFatzJ_sD5KW_jJ_uswo0I9CKkw8D696GcPotVxRTyrfniDv7vvR_4kZvvmi7Ww7fl2r_l6tY9SRK1a03wwyK4Hn145D-ovx4r999GB9AN0yVUlXDEZvOn-QjaRcidMsr7NniU/s1600-h/Photos1+062.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304872884201870210" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29UK60PFatzJ_sD5KW_jJ_uswo0I9CKkw8D696GcPotVxRTyrfniDv7vvR_4kZvvmi7Ww7fl2r_l6tY9SRK1a03wwyK4Hn145D-ovx4r999GB9AN0yVUlXDEZvOn-QjaRcidMsr7NniU/s320/Photos1+062.jpg" border="0" /></a></span></em></strong></div><div></div><div><br />This is a one act play with a husband and a wife, after dinner.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: I’ve finished, darling.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: What do you mean by that, Tom?<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: I mean, I’ve finished eating dinner, Jane.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: And I should do the dishes. Is that what you mean?<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: I’d love to help, dear, but don’t forget that it’s Thursday night…<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: Right.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: And I do the dishes only on weekends.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: Listen, Tom. Our life needs a change. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBS3_L_7z0O2rLwN4kqxxfoY5T8JeijBh0qSpyx3_HWTNhYERMzmB5MfbUU-UNRirCXLM-Adgw82kSYCKovvbRC24VGywcs3crOGndKyHCDZd2IHu6cBZXjXvfihqoR7xm5CK4AIPwZw/s1600-h/Photos1+065.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304872891871666674" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhBS3_L_7z0O2rLwN4kqxxfoY5T8JeijBh0qSpyx3_HWTNhYERMzmB5MfbUU-UNRirCXLM-Adgw82kSYCKovvbRC24VGywcs3crOGndKyHCDZd2IHu6cBZXjXvfihqoR7xm5CK4AIPwZw/s320/Photos1+065.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Husband: A change? You do them 4 days a week and I’ll do them the other 3? Would that make you feel better?<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: No, a real change, Tom. A real one.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: You do them on weekends and I’ll take the weekdays?!<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: No!<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: You’re challenging my authority in the family, Jane. It’s me who<br />makes the rules.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: No darling, just a little change and there will be no tedious dish washing at all.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: Are you asking me to take over the task of a woman?<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: No, darling, I am suggesting that we can by a dish washer, Tom. I’ve been asking you for one ever since the day we got married.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: So you know the answer.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: But I also want to know the reason.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: Because it’s too expensive. We can’t afford it.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: What! We can’t afford a dish washer which costs 300 bucks?<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: But it isn’t worth the price, Jane. You know those machines always do a bad job. We wash our dishes better then any dishwasher.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: I am bored by the dreadful time spent washing dishes! It’s a waste of time!<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: Ok. So tell me, what will you do if you have 30 minutes of free time? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOgWZXaVQmOgKqWTHy55G8kz5KpPCuJ7HUJEAa678himZ4gAOEL-62ol1-dzix5-QmrxTy878tZdJzn3ruIbNPnGsDz77UAOpxoelx4ldXvVz1GRV6SGSE-rOmsHPQPOpSE-jdrCIUKiA/s1600-h/Photos1+067.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304872895770179122" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOgWZXaVQmOgKqWTHy55G8kz5KpPCuJ7HUJEAa678himZ4gAOEL-62ol1-dzix5-QmrxTy878tZdJzn3ruIbNPnGsDz77UAOpxoelx4ldXvVz1GRV6SGSE-rOmsHPQPOpSE-jdrCIUKiA/s320/Photos1+067.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Wife: Talk with you.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: Which means I will lose 30 minutes’ time of my own.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: (Silence) That’s why you don’t want a dishwasher, Tom? You hate listening to me!<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: You said it, dear, not me.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: Do you know how much time I have spent on this family? I make your breakfast, feed your dog, wash your dirty clothes, make the dinner and wash your gravy-covered dish, and you don’t have the least mercy for your pathetic wife?<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: Sounds bad eh?<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: What!<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: But think about me, Jane. It has been a luxury for me to have half an hour of my own after a hard day’s work. Am I asking too much?<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: Don’t you see I am comforting you and feel the pressure on you, and…<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: (shaking the wife’s shoulders) You are right, Jane. Our life needs a change.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: A change? What kind of…? You mean, we’ll wash the dishes together from now on?<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: A real change, Jane. A real one.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: Do you want to take over the washing?<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: No! Let’s make a deal. We will buy a dishwasher, and we will both have half an hour of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1aNLViB4pp24RTvHQA6-_1S4KjWXy_gxjC3K8mfm-N-wq7VKaqOWceEKcbWIIi0wm36P20nvsVprC7NRxThQ0YLEYPhPsaa3jcGorRfoQQrxBeLqqvn4m7UrkhmiQHofzSvUjN_GQHA/s1600-h/Photos1+069.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304872894277549394" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1aNLViB4pp24RTvHQA6-_1S4KjWXy_gxjC3K8mfm-N-wq7VKaqOWceEKcbWIIi0wm36P20nvsVprC7NRxThQ0YLEYPhPsaa3jcGorRfoQQrxBeLqqvn4m7UrkhmiQHofzSvUjN_GQHA/s320/Photos1+069.jpg" border="0" /></a>free time, meaning that in that half hour you won’t try to bother me.<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: Bother you?<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: Or comfort me?<br /><br /></div><div>Wife: No way! That’s my answer, you selfish man! I’d rather do the dishes myself.<br /><br /></div><div>Husband: As you like, my dear.<br /></div><div><br />Wife: But don’t forget tomorrow, Friday, it will be your turn to do them!</div></div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-84429621640502970692009-02-19T13:47:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.180-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 3: Cédric Pasteur<strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff9900;">Revenge of the Geek by Cedric Pasteur</span></strong> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7BQ7l55E-drTQO7BoMRJfjyLrxXYK6HJdhl_ft1IqNv9XaKv_v7GvueY7vhbwVQtlYC6AcidbI-TV2tSwy09NTvjuWyH11eZ4Ez0x7ZveTxacJ4qdmNeBZAdEqVCDKMymKGumAOhvR0w/s1600-h/Photos1+060.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304630250549582322" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7BQ7l55E-drTQO7BoMRJfjyLrxXYK6HJdhl_ft1IqNv9XaKv_v7GvueY7vhbwVQtlYC6AcidbI-TV2tSwy09NTvjuWyH11eZ4Ez0x7ZveTxacJ4qdmNeBZAdEqVCDKMymKGumAOhvR0w/s320/Photos1+060.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#3366ff;"><strong><em>Staging by Thomas Boulier</em></strong></span> (playing Michael) <div><div><div><div><div><strong><em><span style="color:#3366ff;">and Youssef Benzakour</span></em></strong> (playing Sheldon, a.k.a. <em>The Geek</em>) </div><div><br />Cast of Characters : Sheldon, a geek.<br />Michael: A dumb student<br /><br /></div><div>Setting: In a dark dorm room. A laptop computer on one of the desks.<br /><br /></div><div></div><div>Time: Mid-afternoon.<br />[Sheldon is wearing a hoodie. Michael is dressed like a rapper with a big gold chain around his neck. Sheldon is working on his computer. The public can’t see the screen, just his hands typing in frenetic bursts on the keyboard. Michael enters the room. ] </div><div><br />Michael: Hey dude. My name’s Michael, I’m your new roommate. [Michael moves his hands towards Sheldon but he doesn’t seem to react. Shel­don keeps looking at the screen.]<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: Hi. Please excuse me if I don’t get up to welcome you but I am in the middle of something very important.<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: Don’t sweat it, dude. I wasn’t expecting any welcoming party. [Michael starts looking around.]<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: I am configuring my computer so I can access it remotely from any computer in the labs or from my computer back home. I have setup secured tunnels with SSH through the University proxy. This is actually very easy, so I created an IRC bot that could automatically set up the connection and environmental variables. In order to communicate efficiently between the bot and the main script, I used a socket...<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: Suck what ? </div><div>[Sheldon shakes his head.]<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: A socket. It is a special file used by Unix systems to communicate between programs on the same computer. Basically, it’s just a FIFO pipe.<br /><br /></div><div>[Michael freezes for a second. His face shows his concentration. ]<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: My big brother would love to talk with you. He knows all about pipes. He’s a plumber.<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: [Mumbling] This has nothing to do with... [Louder] As I said before, I don’t have time for small talk right now.<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: No problem, man. You won’t even notice I’m here. [Michael continues to check out the room. He sees the plasma lamp on the desk and plays with it.]<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: Awesome dude, you’ve got one of these cool lightning lamps. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKLO2hXo95TcYO6-n5zvWutpd3UaWUFtRoEs6sbnCAHHX4N-GOPttEQpZvxyJWtMsxk6vxqt7lftZHpaAx7cFu9pyR2szcZOKFz5FU3R862GviDfYs2eMS-Nqub51MVVh36UPnRNfYQk/s1600-h/Photos1+061.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304630249660216962" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKLO2hXo95TcYO6-n5zvWutpd3UaWUFtRoEs6sbnCAHHX4N-GOPttEQpZvxyJWtMsxk6vxqt7lftZHpaAx7cFu9pyR2szcZOKFz5FU3R862GviDfYs2eMS-Nqub51MVVh36UPnRNfYQk/s320/Photos1+061.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: [Still staring at the laptop’s screen] Please be careful. This thing is very fragile. For your information, it is called a plasma lamp, or an Inert Gas Discharge Tube, as its inventor, Nikola Tesla, first called it. What you see is the result of the ionization of an inert gas under low pressure thanks to the high frequency and high voltage current between the inner electrode and the outer glass that acts like an insulator.<br /><br />Michael: [With his palm on the lamp] Look. I’m like that guy from Star Wars with lightning bolts coming from his hand.<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: That guy, as you call him, is the Emperor a.k.a. Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith a.k.a. Senator Palpatine from Naboo when he started plotting against the Republic. Did you know that it's the same actor, Ian McDiarmid, who portrays the Emperor in Episode VI back in 1983 and Palpatine in the prequel trilogy?<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: Woah. That’s an amazing story. You must have picked up so many chicks with it. [Michael laughs out loud. Sheldon waits a few seconds before answering.]<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: Wait. [Looks closely at the screen] I think you should see this.<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: [excited] What? What is it?<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: [With the same serious tone.] I just received an email for you. It’s Mister T. He wants his jewelry back.<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: Well, I got a message for you, It’s ... [Freezes for a few seconds trying to find something clever to say] It’s McGyver and... and he says you’re a nerd.<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: That doesn’t make any sense.<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: [Pointing at Sheldon’s face] Neither does your face.<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: Let me google it. [Types on his keyboard] I was right. It’s exactly what I thought. The Wikipedia page says that your joke stopped being funny in 1998.<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: [Gets really angry] Stop messing with me. You think you’re better than me just because you know all these useless things. </div><div>[Michael takes his jacket ff and does some push-ups]<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: [Doing some boxer moves] Come here, wuss. We’ll see who’s the bigger man.<br />[Sheldon slowly closes his laptop, takes of his hoodie off to reveal his suprisingly strong arms and stands up. He is twenty centimeters taller than Michael.]<br /><br /></div><div>Sheldon: [With a very intimitading expression.] Who’s the bigger man now?<br /><br /></div><div>Michael: [Putting his arm on Sheldon’s shoulder] Come on, bro. You know I was kid­ding.<br /><br />[Sheldon grasps Michael’s arm and takes it off his shoulder, then stares at Michael for a few seconds. He starts moving his arm and Michael flees] </div><div> </div><div><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">THE END.</span></strong></div><div><em><span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff0000;">Final Photos: The Creative Writing Class at Polytechnique, promo 2006, with Cédric at center and the lamp from his play.</span></em></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304631193403562434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI1rUo2Gc_NtEqoHHnzmQTgRzVL1EeY7Fsc0fhbA01BbABmJpxf2Cyrf8a9lX0tNV-FZnnwIBmJaLwBon67xdxYHybeqi16FsX10lTOw1LD2yb0ET9SagmbFbi2OARFIMy35dergRb1Uo/s400/Photos1+120.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304631204393690418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3W_J8d7_oeOBPEDXqjgzzREo9vJbm6I4YCYnc0_xOWps_0LPKyt3bePF7uf2S7No2KSNzVEDlDwQpiqNBOFui-gXyvRdAyDI-q1FoH-qaOoQGTSYEqXw30HgSUgPSF_Ma9hEx8bZdIhk/s400/Photos1+121.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-30150946870041402942009-02-19T13:34:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.180-08:00An Afternoon of Words and Theatre 2: William Matthew Yon<span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">VERSAILLES-STYLE PIMPING</span> <br /><span style="color:#33ff33;">By </span></strong></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#33ff33;">Matthew Yon</span></strong> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5m3o8soqHtgx7TUxYqya6-wtcGybDHqLg8G9QFzGURBkAml_phgwR_uI5DOMTFkQEy378p8sOjX35ceqcPkVEZTDTxx7EEgUZCzO8V8Wub7jzdVcQ6Db9b68I4sCzPct0P1zti0QAlAM/s1600-h/French_waiter_large_small1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304627122876839810" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 263px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5m3o8soqHtgx7TUxYqya6-wtcGybDHqLg8G9QFzGURBkAml_phgwR_uI5DOMTFkQEy378p8sOjX35ceqcPkVEZTDTxx7EEgUZCzO8V8Wub7jzdVcQ6Db9b68I4sCzPct0P1zti0QAlAM/s320/French_waiter_large_small1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></span><br />GREGOIRE<br />Poly-technicien, age 22, wearing a suit.<br />MARIE-CHANTAL<br />Judge, in her early 50s. wearing an evening gown that could look a little worn out.<br />WAITER<br />Waiter, French palace style, snub, wearing a black suit with a white shirt and bow tie. His head is always looking upwards, and his neck is stretched, giving the impression that he scorns everyone. He should interact with the audience: whenever they laugh he puffs in disdain, turns his head and walks away and then slowly comes back. He has an extremely strong French accent.<br /><br />[The scene takes place during a wedding dinner. In the centre of the stage is one table laid with fine crockery, prepared to sit ten. The table is oval or rectangular shaped, its broad side facing the audience. Four chairs are placed on each side, and one on each end. A sound device should simulate background conversation, noise and music, suggesting the large number of invitees, and the overall luxury of the ceremony.]<br /><br />[Marie-Chantal, wearing an appropriate, is already seated on a central chair facing the audience.]<br /><br />ENTERS – Grégoire, coming ondstage from the left, taking slow steps backwards<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [Addressing someone off stage, left.] …pleasure was all mine, duchess. Enjoy the diner, or as we say in France, Bon Appétit! [He comes towards the table.]<br /><br />ENTERS – Waiter, right.<br /><br />[The waiter strolls around the table, going from chair to chair, pulling them back and forth as if to seat someone. During the process, Grégoire sees MARIE-CHANTAL and walks to her, intending to say hello and to introduce himself formally. He stands before her, and she sees that, but does not stand up as he seems to have expected.]<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Evening, Madame. [He bows his head] It appears we shall be neighbours for dinner.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : [Coldly] Good evening, young man. [Bluntly] May I ask who you are?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : I’m Grégoire Lamartin, a friend of the bride.<br /><br />[The waiter has finished seating everyone, and now begins serving the starters]<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Oh, I see! [Fatuously] You’ll excuse my enquiry, but you see, I’m a judge, and I tend to be faced with the real world a little too often. Recently I’ve read many governmental reports about fine-looking young men who crash wedding parties merely for the food and inebriated young ladies. I feel reassured to see that I won’t have to sentence my dinner neighbour!<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [Seating himself next to her] I see, Madame, no offence taken. I guess that being suspicious comes with the territory [mockingly] when one exercises such an honourable profession.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Indeed, in fact that’s hardly flattery at all… You have no idea! [Cooler]And you forgot to ask my name, by the way. I’m Marie-CHANTAL Dawner.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Well, Madam Dawner, it’s a pleasure to …<br /><br />[She sees someone more interesting on her left side, and starts talking to him]<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Good evening Mr Cox. Enjoying the evening?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [To no one in particular/himself] Never mind…<br /><br />WAITER : [Coughs loudly, followed by silence] <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK6yrH6zAliM5oHR7ulT59NFAmeW4hcFsEnTgdo49hi0mBvzoICzJQ5Ce0i-dD3phBK5kuWSjEyI7zhg9XefBhU8KiBohPIQup1qZhx3W4qZssE3Se-fFQvee1b1iE_hfh9uduo9fhlc/s1600-h/morgan-cheese.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304627117458859762" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 178px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJK6yrH6zAliM5oHR7ulT59NFAmeW4hcFsEnTgdo49hi0mBvzoICzJQ5Ce0i-dD3phBK5kuWSjEyI7zhg9XefBhU8KiBohPIQup1qZhx3W4qZssE3Se-fFQvee1b1iE_hfh9uduo9fhlc/s320/morgan-cheese.jpg" border="0" /></a>Mesdames et messieurs, Noix de Saint-Jacques piquées de pétales de courgettes et gingembre rose, dans un bouillon parfumé. For translation, please learn to speak French!<br /><br />[He comes to the right edge of the stage, facing the audience. The background noise starts again, but adding knives and forks sounds. Characters eat when not talking.]<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [Speaking towards the chairs on his side of the table] So, have you managed to talk to the groom, Mr 4? … Oh yes indeed, he is a fine speaker. That’s hardly surprising given that the boy went to the best law school in the world.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : [Loudly] A delightful wedding indeed! My dear Albert would have loved that, I mean, he would have loved meeting everyone in such a charming place! [Mildly] Of course, I do not mean that he would have supported this foolish choice of a groom. I just cannot understand how respectable parents can sometimes be so weak…<br /><br />GREGOIRE : His hobbies? Well, you’re asking a little too much, Mr 2. In fact I hardly know him. All I can say is that he has made a great first impression. Yet, now you’re asking me, he may have said something about sailors’ knots…<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : I mean, Mr C, I have never thought of them as prodigies in terms of parenthood, but then again… surrendering so willingly to that young lady’s fantasies. I just don’t understand. [Lower] I mean, a young girl may like chocolate very much, but it’s up to her mother to make her understand that vanilla is just as fine, and far more suitable for an old family heiress. I mean, it’s not like this one will run for president.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [astounded by what he hears next to him,Gregoire speaks a little louder but chooses not to interrupt] Well, from what I heard, they studied together at Harvard, but it really was this first internship that brought them together.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : No, definitely not. I, as a mother, would never let my daughter rush into a marriage with an unknown person that could just as well turn her life –and my reputation– into a hell. First of all, a good union is the result of proper acquaintances. Then it requires the parents’ proficiency in match-making in order to select the right boy. I have always deemed that the only way to meet someone is either through the parents’ enlightened guidance, or during debutante balls.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Sorry Mr 3, I didn’t quite hear you… Oh, music? Well, I really think he’s fond of music, for when we talked, he mentioned he had a membership card to the Opera.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Anyway, let’s change the subject. Human mistakes are a subject that, alas, troubles me far too often. I’m a , you see… So, where did you go on your holidays, Mr B? I heard the wildest speculations about your going to a cold place in August! [She listens] Oh… You went to ski in New Zealand! [laughs] Wild indeed.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Yes, I went to see Fantasio last week. Brilliant performance in my opinion, not that I am any expert in theatre! Have you seen it? No? Oh, you really should. And you could take your grandson there, introduce him to a classic.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Last time I went skiing it was with, sniff, my dear Albert. But the place was overcrowded with those young scoundrels who skim over the snow like crabs. I don’t want to emit a judgement when I’m not on duty, but once again, I blame the parents. Responsible parents should force their offspring to go straight! I mean, it does not take a genius to see there’s something wrong with these snowboards. Nature wants people to go straight [pause] forward.<br /><br />WAITER [answering his phone] Someone’s en retard you <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICLTgZG6HvcgxFvQBYqqTiTJG1lzUGY5r2m3fvyFzAeSa9yerqlqH0BalSjz_KGOkma6_RHHdrkR89E9GdwCmJNxuK2Umo3eAeP1GzrgtdH8UvKZUBp2FBaWBVMHOYJ_I4WioH-XBvjw/s1600-h/French-Waiter-Kitchen-Art-Les-Boisons.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304627124637280946" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICLTgZG6HvcgxFvQBYqqTiTJG1lzUGY5r2m3fvyFzAeSa9yerqlqH0BalSjz_KGOkma6_RHHdrkR89E9GdwCmJNxuK2Umo3eAeP1GzrgtdH8UvKZUBp2FBaWBVMHOYJ_I4WioH-XBvjw/s320/French-Waiter-Kitchen-Art-Les-Boisons.jpg" border="0" /></a>say? I would say terribly en retard! In fact, all the seats are taken, we are complet! What? No Monsieur, this is the excellence of French cuisine, we don’t squeeze our guests together to add a seat! What did you say? That we always do that in France? Monsieur, cela suffit! [hangs up]<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : [Turning to Gregoire] My dear Gordon…<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Gregoire, ma’am.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Gregoire, sorry. My dear Gregoire, do you know how to ski?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : I was raised in the Alps, so yes, I ski fairly well. Yet I haven’t…<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : … And you must think, like the rest of us, that snowboards shouldn’t be allowed on the slopes, right? They merely deserve to be sunk into a swamp.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Well…<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : You’re absolutely right. So, tell me please, since you seem to speak decently, I suppose you’re still a student? So tell me, how are your studies going?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [struggles to keep his composure ] Hum… You said? Oh, my studies are going on well.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : You’re at, how do they call it again? BAC, yes, thank you Mr B. So you’re at BAC plus…? How old are you, by the way?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : plus 5, and I’m 22.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : [mildly interested] so you’re ambitious, you’re into advanced education, the long haul. Makes me remember my own…<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Indeed, it’s starting to feel a little long, but it’s ok as I can still manage to find a little time to write! And Paris,… Hemingway was right, having the chance to live in Paris as a young man is an experience that’ll probably stay with me all my life.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : And where are you studying?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : In Paris.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : In Paris. Must be expensive for your parents, isn’t it?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Actually, I’m paid.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : By whom?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : The French Army.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : A student-soldier. Well, that’s peculiar. So tell me, you said you liked to write. Are you studying literature? A poet soldier [chuckles then grows serious, raising a finger] Let me tell you, that from the number of drunk wannabe-playwrights that I’ve sentenced, this domain seems to be quite a slippery slope. Especially for those who go down that slope on a snowboard! [She laughs alone. Waiter coughs twice, annoyed by the sound.]<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Well, no. Actually, I’m more into science.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Science, you say? Are you an ambitious young man trying to become a doctor?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : No. I’m…<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Right, I didn’t suppose so, either. But it’s ok, you know. As long as eventually the two ends meet.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [annoyed] actually, my mother, who’s a doctor, deterred me from that job. She said the pay didn’t meet the effort, unless you had a heart of stone. So…<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : … you’re in a law school! There’s so much I could teach you then!<br /><br />GREGOIRE : I’m at the Ecole Polytechnique.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Oh… [looks ashamed for an instant] Well… congratulations! [pause] Would you perhaps know… errr… What’s his name again?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [despairingly] tell me.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Marc Duchêne, no… Yes that’s it, Marc Duchateau! He was the son of our neighbours back when we, me and my dear Albert, lived in Lyon. I heard he managed to pass the entrance quiz.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : It’s not really a quiz…<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Anyway his parents must have felt quite relieved, for one would never have deemed him good for anything. I remember the first time I met him. He was 4 and carved his cake into geometric shapes when he ate. I always thought his mind never landed on earth. So would you be so lucky as to know the little brat?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : No ma’am. He’s definitely not in my year, but would you happen to know the year he got in? Or his age?<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Oh yes, he got in 6 years ago.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Then I could hardly know…<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : … and there’s also my brother-in-law’s cousin. She had a daughter who must be 27 by now.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Again, ma’am, it’s pretty unlikely that I would know her.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : [not listening] She married another X. That’s how you call each other right? I heard figures that said over 80% of your female peers end up married with other students from the school.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Actually, those figures were global, and indicated that nowadays, young people who pursue college degrees tend to meet their soul mates at university; as is illustrated by tonight’s happy Harvard couple.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : They both went to Harvard?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : My guess is that would be the reason for all the Harvard flags around us [signals with a wave of his hand the flags which the audience can suppose therefore are draped above and behind them along the walls].<br /><br />WAITER : [answers his phone again] Mr 5 is coming after all? He’s a cousin of the bride? Oh… Well, sir, I guess he should come. My mistake. Still, all the seats are taken. Yes, right. I’ll check the listing and then call you right back.<br /><br />Exit WAITER.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : I also heard the girls in your school were not, how should I put this… Very feminine. Would you agree with this?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : I beg to differ.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Oh… has Mr X fallen for an X-branded girl?<br /><br />GREGOIRE [laughs] No, no. Most surely not.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Well, I happen to have a daughter, slightly younger than you. A smart girl, she’s in her first year of sociology studies at the Ecole Supérieure de Versailles! [To her side of the table] Yes, we have moved to Versailles. I really appreciate the place. It’s so full of respectable people, a little piece of heaven on earth, attached to fundamental values. [She smiles as if dreaming and turns back to Gregoire] My daughter’s young, but already looks as good as me when I was 20! Take a look, I have a picture here. [takes out a picture from her handbag] Well, that one’s a picture of me when I was 20, but here’s another one, of her. [takes out a second photo] Isn’t she gorgeous?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : [embarrassed] As fine a complexion as her mother’s indeed.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Would you want to meet her? I mean, you wouldn’t be signing up for anything, it wouldn’t be an engagement… though it could eventually become one, of course!<br /><br />GREGOIRE : That’s, is really,… err… generous! But I have to decline. I’m sorry.<br /><br />WAITER enters with a sheet of paper, checking the invitees to find the intruder.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : So there’s someone after all. No problem, my good boy. Still, would you have any friends, perhaps acquaintances, who are desperately single, even if they look as bad as the average engineer… just let me know! [she winks at him]<br /><br />GREGOIRE : I’ll see to it. I’m sure your daughter could fulfil a lonely X’s heart.<br /><br />WAITER : Madame, could you remind me of your name, please?<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Surely my dear lad, I’m Marie-CHANTAL Dawner.<br /><br />WAITER : bends and whispers in her ear. She suddenly looks terribly pale.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Well, it appears duty is calling me again, and I will have to leave your pleasant company. [She stands up] My dear Grégoire, [he stands up] I recall your school is holding a debutante ball soon… at the Opera.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : yes, that would be the Bal de l’X.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Please, try to have my Lily invited, and I’ll make arrangement so that you’ll get an opportunity to teach her how to ski during the next winter holidays.<br /><br />WAITER : coughs loudly, impatient.<br /><br />GREGOIRE : I assure you I’ll do my best to pim(p)… err… to put your daughter into the most righteous hands. Still, I would make a poor ski instructor, as I’m really into snowboarding.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Oh… I see! Well… if it comes to that, I’ve always suspected my elder son of being curious about snowboarding…<br /><br />WAITER : [losing patience] Madame! This is not a brothel, and the actual invitee will be here soon!<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : [embarrassed] He means… I found someone to replace me in order to keep you entertained!<br /><br />GREGOIRE : I know, that would be the bride’s cousin.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : You know each other?<br /><br />GREGOIRE : He and I are well, kind of acquainted, yes.<br /><br />MARIE-CHANTAL : Good night, and keep me posted!<br /><br />GREGOIRE : Farewell!<br /><br />Exit, MARIE-CHANTAL and WAITERPolytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-59813841528658431772009-02-19T13:13:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:21:21.180-08:00An Afternoon of Words & Theatre 1: Rémi Ferrier<strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff9900;">Untitled Play, by Rémi Ferrier</span></strong><br /><div><div><div><em><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>staged by Stéphanie Gantois and Cyril Becquart <span style="color:#33ff33;">(pictured by red bar)</span></strong></span></em><br /><em><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>with extras : Agnés Fliscounakis & Hervé Desprets</strong></span></em> <span style="color:#33ff33;"><em><strong>(pictured at tall table)</strong></em></span> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304622329577768626" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_NKoYozC7xB8WL8yi3dZGjyy360Yyu-4t0XVHPxFDA_UMwfNdGh7mnVRfGPhLQhYj233K40p30q7WIrTphUZaFIaKL39g9pNf5bFV2fUiwEisVWeWCC3WzZCgjUu4zULSEt_Irit5j_Q/s320/Photos1+056.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />At the Bôbar : the bobarman and a serious student.<br />The bobarman : not well dressed, his hair uncombed.<br />The serious student : very clean with freshly combed hair, glasses and a shirt under his pullover.<br /><br />The bobarman is cleaning behind the bar. The serious student enters and waits at the bar but the bobarman continues to clean and walk back and forth behind the bar. The serious student gestures to the bobarman.<br /><br />Bobarman : I’m sorry, there is no water here</div><div><br />Student : [ surprised ] What ?<br /></div><div>Bobarman : [Picks up and drinks from his beer] I said we don’t serve water today. I’m sorry but you should try the lady’s !!<br /></div><br /><div>Student : What’s happened ?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : You’ve never heard of water shortages in Africa ? We have decided to support their cause and to stop serving water in this bar. In this way we’re helping little Africans to get water from their Rain God.<br /></div><div> </div><div>Student : Is this a joke or something ?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : No, no, I’m being very serious, I read it in the I.K. last week.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : [smiling and shaking his head] This is the worst theory I’ve ever heard. I don’t even want to argue with you. Can I have a glass of water please?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : I told you, it’s impossible.<br /></div><div> </div><div>Student : I promise I will send one bottle to the poor children starving in Africa as soon as I get back home, isn’t that enough ? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHigNEIaoZTviDSB5ETOvrOMlGG4JUL6QQlcqFeHg_UgYAhW4lCsmF26K8-fexeLfnDpQCrBk9JsWpZfxvaaVOMJKspSsC6LIyMQwYOSC9K_fYQh4V2PlfQkvzR3r1TTMWiNn4pSNzEh0/s1600-h/Photos1+058.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304623161692560194" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHigNEIaoZTviDSB5ETOvrOMlGG4JUL6QQlcqFeHg_UgYAhW4lCsmF26K8-fexeLfnDpQCrBk9JsWpZfxvaaVOMJKspSsC6LIyMQwYOSC9K_fYQh4V2PlfQkvzR3r1TTMWiNn4pSNzEh0/s320/Photos1+058.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : That is very kind of you, and I’m certain that if every student here had such noble intentions the world would be a better place.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : Now, can you give me some water please ?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : I’m afraid you haven’t understood me quite right. We have cut the water, so it’s impossible.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : What? It’s far for me to judge the idea that you are a stupid alcoholic and a desperate fellow, but what the hell happened in your empty mind of an idiot? Did you think for even one second?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : [Sips his beer, bent over the bar] of what ?<br /></div><br /><div>Student : Simple question : how do you wash things without water ??<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : simple answer : we don’t wash them, we have enough plastic cups to serve people until 2020.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : What happens if somebody wants something other than a beer?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : Oh, we have plenty of juice, and we have one bottle of mineral water. You know, in case of emergency.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : [looking desperately at the bobarman] But – no – but – you can’t do that, can you?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : I don’t see what the problem with this is, you know, in Germany beer is cheaper than water. I’ve even heard that when you buy a house now they ask you if you want running water or beer running out of the tap. – oh, we should do that ! – put a cistern of beer under the bob and have it directly from the spigot, on tap, what a good idea ! beer in your sink, the world at your feet !<br /></div><br /><div>Student : [to the public] How did he get into this school ? Either the exam he took was about a beer under pressure in a bottle, or the examiner was more drunk than he is.<br />[to the bobarman] But tell me one thing, Imagine you get sick – let’s say, for example – this is just an hypothesis of course – let’s say you have a huge hangover, like the one you get after drinking the whole night and you don’t remember how you got back home – this is just an example of course – then you want to drink water here, what do you do ?<br /></div><div>Bobarman : [very naturally] The best remedy for a hangover as far as I know is to drink a beer straight after getting up! [He takes a drink of his beer, as if for emphasis]<br /></div><br /><div>Student : You are such an alcoholic, I can’t understand why they let you put yourself in such a state and don’t kick your ass out of this bar.<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : Me, an alcoholic ? No way !! The characteristic of an alcoholic is that he cannot stop drinking. As for me, I can stop drinking alcohol from now on and you won’t even notice the difference.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : Then why don’t you?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : Because I don’t want to.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : Then I say you can’t !!<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : Look, I’ve been quite polite up until now, but if you are going to start insulting me and treating me like a fucking drunkard I won’t be so nice.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : Easy, easy, I’m trying to help you here. I’m just saying, if you want to keep your place in this school, you know, keep studying, perhaps you had better stop drinking and go to class.<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : [smiling] Well, until now things have not gone so badly, I’m not worried about my future.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : What do you mean ?<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : I’m just saying beer gives you a different approach to the exams, and my method has been quite successful so far.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5Qhr5u2nU0K96FG46YGPiW8vpNmnavR2rZerkg2URc7raf1TwSwgYshfwaJkGw9yTTSMbmc21ph3lYZLfYev-q8Xb2sPZzaEiytd_nJxE66mFOldNDjYbb0MQwDrsu4_2V3ePzj1JYU/s1600-h/Photos1+059.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304622338128330258" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5Qhr5u2nU0K96FG46YGPiW8vpNmnavR2rZerkg2URc7raf1TwSwgYshfwaJkGw9yTTSMbmc21ph3lYZLfYev-q8Xb2sPZzaEiytd_nJxE66mFOldNDjYbb0MQwDrsu4_2V3ePzj1JYU/s320/Photos1+059.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Student : [astonished] Really?? Like what? You have nothing to retake, nothing to still pass, so you’re saying you’re a genius?<br /></div><div>Bobarman : Be cool mister I-work-hard-every-night-to-get-good-marks, the fact is the corps, the mines, must have found something in my way of thinking that they find interesting.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : [quite lost, doesn’t believe it] You mean, that you – I mean such an alcoholic as you are – your never going to class is between the 20 first students ??<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman : God bless you.<br />[to the public] Freshmen are so naïve nowadays.<br /></div><br /><div>Student : Ok, forget this stupid story about water, just give me a beer.<br /></div><br /><div>Bobarman: [handing him a plastic pint] Here you are, a passport to party; no coming back. </div></div></div>Polytechnique Writing Classhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14740312091282127956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-39223257826808664602008-12-01T14:10:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:25:05.913-08:00TV ProgrammeMy girlfriend watched a documentory about animals at 2 a.m. I told her I was sleepy and we should sleep. She said I was a lion and she was a monkey. I was always sleeping while she needed activity. I answered she was tired too and should sleep. She stood up, took her clothes, opened the door. I asked what she was doing. She calmly said she was going cause I was a lion and she couldn't live with a lion. I bumped out of the bed and stayed in front of the door, asking her to reconsider her analogy. She smiled, pushed me, and we had some activity.guillaume.viraghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04519706271572870241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-22059933833679415702008-11-30T06:06:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:23:30.196-08:00Regency nonsense<o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="City"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:usefelayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:PMingLiU; panose-1:2 2 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-alt:新細明體; mso-font-charset:136; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 137232384 22 0 1048577 0;} @font-face {font-family:"\@PMingLiU"; panose-1:2 2 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:136; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 137232384 22 0 1048577 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:PMingLiU;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:70.85pt 70.85pt 70.85pt 70.85pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tableau Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The gentleman in the dashing coat and shining Hessian boots drew the curricle to a halt and descended in one swift move. The stable boys stared at the beautifully-matched pair of bays and glared at the tiger with a pang of envy as his master handed him the reins. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Walk them, I shall not be long.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">He strode into the inn. Everything in his demeanour, from the straightness of his outfits to the strong and shapely figure he cut proclaimed his sportsmanship. There was Quality. The landlord offered him some refreshment, excusing himself that the private parlour had already been bespoken. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Oh, it is, is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">One of the perfectly arched eyebrows went up and the landlord reddened under the scrutiny.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Maybe the young lady won’t mind…”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The landlord found himself quite at a loss to finish his sentence. Under the gentleman’s heavy eyelids anger had flashed in the dark gray eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Thank you, I will ask the… young lady myself, if you please.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The landlord bit back an unwise answer and ushered the Corinthian in the private parlour, reflecting that he should have sensed that mischief was brewing when he had seen the young couple arrive. The man was by no means the young lady’s brother, but he was no mere lordling that could be denied entrance. The innkeeper sighed heavily and closed the door behind the dark gentleman.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">As soon as the parlour’s door was opened, the Viscount’s quick eyes found the young lady seated by the window. She was gazing at the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> road absently. Something in her attitude betrayed her wariness, but somehow her soft brown eyes looked as lively as ever and her complexion was none the worse for the journey. Her little chin lifted up in her proud way. He had to admit, she looked very becoming. Though she could not pretend to be a dashing beauty, for dark looks had gone quite out of fashion, she was striking in her own way, with a vivid personality and unaffected manners. Against all odds, she had taken the town by storm and the way her delicate face came to life when she talked or grew angry had put the loveliest damsels into shade. Even the fact that she was an heiress had not marred her promising debut. The Viscount clenched his fist at the thought, and walked slowly into the room. The smile on his face was cool and contemptuous.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">As soon as she heard the footsteps, she turned her head and for a short moment something very much like relief shone in her eyes. But this was immediately replaced by coldness as understanding dawned on her. Disgust spread on his face as he looked at her shameless attitude. He had no wish to hide his feelings. After everything his parents had done for her, accepting the guardianship imposed on them by a long-forgotten friend, and introducing her to the very best society in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>, she had still felt no shame in eloping with his rake of a cousin.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“My Lord Wentworth. You are here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“I am here, My Lady, though I have no wish to be, believe me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“I am sorry that you should have had to make such a distasteful journey,” she replied in a low trembling voice he recognized.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">She gazed coolly at him, infuriating him further. His snubs had never failed to put any impertinent damsel into a blush, but from the very beginning she had shone no sign of wanting to comply with him and his sense of propriety. As the eldest son of her guardian, he had done his best to tolerate the spitfire girl, and had even disregarded her outrageous flirtations with his fortune-hunting cousin, thinking she was neither green nor so lost to propriety as to contemplate such a misalliance. It seemed he had been mistake. It took him all his will not to walk to her and shake some sense in her lovely, childish brown head.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“How could you be so shameless as to elope,” He asked, not sparing her blushes any longer.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Maybe, she spoke with treacherous smoothness, anything is better than to be constantly in your cold and contemptuous company, My Lord.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Miss Shaw turned her blazing eyes towards his Lordship, feeling her blood boil. He was just as bad as she had guessed he would be when she had caught the expression on his face. He thought her vulgar, capable of any improper acts. Anger blurred her vision, and for a few seconds she had to fight back tears. How she wished she could call him out for his contemptuous words! <span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“I am very sorry to see that you have come to such a dislike of my character,” he answered just as silkily as she had, but his gaze was lit up by a disturbing flame she had never seen before. “I shall nonetheless take my leave to inform you that you will not be married to Clifford before you come of age.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Fury rose </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">so violently</span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> in her belly she would have slapped him had she not been convinced he would add that to her many faults. Instead, hearing Clifford coming, she gave him a curt smile and steadied herself. For the whole journey she had wanted to run Clifford through for what he had dared put her through, and her only hope had been in the certainty that the Viscount would take them over before noon. But now she did not know which of the two was the wickedest, the vilest. They would both see if she could not fence for herself! <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“My Lord, as you see your cousin has caught up with us and he says he will not let us marry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Oh, will he not?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The dandy levelled his quizzing-glass and stared at his cousin, a faint smile brushing his lips. Though she did not really care for Clifford’s quizzing-glass, the sick look on the Viscount almost redeemed her abductor.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“I think you shall have to fight if we are to resume our journey to the border,” she suggested with only a faint trace of hope in her voice. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">His lordship laughed heartily. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“I find you blood-craved, Child. What has he done to infuriate you?<span style=""> </span>You did not seem so eager to proceed a few moments ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Her eyes blazed </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">as harshly </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">at the dandy as they had at the Viscount, but she knew by his lordship’s expression that Clifford’s words had not been wasted on him. His gaze flew to Sara’s face, and she blushed under the sudden intensity of his deep gray eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">For a short moment, the look reminded Sara of the happy weeks they had spent at Sherrington with his parents and his younger brother. She had almost begun to think him a friend, as he had taken her to ride everyday and had even helped her practice the waltz. But then, back in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>, he had been as cold and as contemptuous as ever, and she had bitterly understood where she stood in the world. With his handsome dark looks, his title and his fortune, he was one of the most eligible of bachelors. She was only a country girl, tolerated because she was an heiress, but nonetheless looked upon with pity. She smiled bitterly at the word. <i style="">An heiress</i>. Suddenly she was tired and, even though she would have quite enjoyed seeing the gentlemen duel for the sake of her fortune, it was high time to end this nonsensical masquerade. Clifford had gone too far.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“My Lords, will you please listen to me before you set forth killing each other.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">She managed to smile, but kept her gaze focused on the window. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“There is no reason for you to fight, for I am not the heiress everyone supposed me to be.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“What are you talking about, child,” Clifford asked with a dubious lift of one eyebrow. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">The Viscount stood silent, staring intensely at Sara, not betraying any emotions. She shuddered, for she knew how he would welcome the news of the hoax. Though she was not responsible for it, he would still blame her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“To speak the truth, my father left me without a penny. It was my Lord Sherrington’s notion not to utter a word on my circumstances to the world, and since he is my guardian I merely complied with his advice, though I now see I have acted very unwisely.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Lord Clifford stared blankly at her, and she smiled her laughing smile at him. She could see on his face his mixed feelings: incredulity, annoyance at the pointlessness of his journey and good-natured amusement. Finally he bowed to Sara, smiling back into her eyes with a twinkle in his own. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Miss Shaw, I shall go back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> this very moment, and leave you in the care of your guardian’s son.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">Then he added in a low voice, in response to her blazing eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Oh, Sara, it is just what you deserve for leading me on this dance! I hope you will enjoy the journey back. Wentworth, I'll meet you at Watier’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">On this light note, he left the inn. Only minutes later a curricle was seen taking the <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">London</st1:city></st1:place> road. The room remained silent. Sara did not trust herself to speak to his lordship. She was still in such a rage. Maybe, she thought, she should have waited for blood to be shed before unveiling the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“As soon as I am of age, I will seek a post in a respectable house. I won’t trespass very much longer on your parent’s kindness,” she said stiffly. “So, will you be so kinds, My Lord, as to not remind me </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB"> in the meantime </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">of this awful masquerade.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">She did not lift her chin, but heard his lordship cross the short distance between them in a few strides. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“I won’t,” he said softly. “But you will not become a governess.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">She stared harshly into his dark eyes, wrath growing in her bosom once more.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Oh, what will you have me be, My Lord, a milliner perhaps?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">His lordship's coldness and contempt had vanished, leaving place for warm amusement. As he looked at her, his little spitfire, she looked so much like a vengeful Greek deity he could not help but laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Since you are no longer a great heiress, I thought you might like to take care of my house,” he offered with a laugh spreading to his usually cold eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">He took her hand gently in his. Fury consumed her. <i style="">How could he? How dared he?</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Oh, you’ll have me be a housekeeper?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">At this, his lordship burst out laughing, before giving her a look that drew an even deeper blush from her already reddened complexion. Suddenly she was at a loss. His grey eyes had been, from the very beginning, what she had been unable to handle. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">“Oh, you little nonsensical spitfire! Do you think I could decently marry the heiress under my father’s guardianship?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="" lang="EN-GB">He kissed her roughly, and for the first time she realised that his harsh treatment of her might just be what would suit her </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">character </span><span style="" lang="EN-GB">. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-87697199271445007862008-11-27T12:19:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:25:50.341-08:00The Blue Bouquet - from another point of view<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CADELIN%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" 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5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0cm; mso-para-margin-right:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0cm; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US">I woke covered with sweat. Although I couldn’t find sleep anymore, I remained lying on the hard, damp mattress, listening to the silence. Outside, the town was asleep, but I could feel her breathing, the very soft groaning of living beings dreaming together. The window was wide open. There was nothing between me and the outside night except an old mosquito net dangling from the window frame. The lack of streetlights made the room dark yet familiar, like an old coin in your pocket whose shape and touch you know without needing to see it. I finally rose up and crossed the room to the window, avoiding carefully the stool and the jar of water standing at the foot of the bed. I pushed aside the mosquito net and sat down, my back leaning against the window jamb. The air was slightly more fresh and breathable here. As I lit a cigarette, the moon suddenly appeared out of nowhere and showed me the bare street at my feet. <o:p></o:p>
<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US">I smoked my cigarette slowly and silently, still listening to the sleepy town, then lit another one. The street was empty, except for a man coming from the plaza, walking quietly along the white crumbling wall. Then, all of a sudden, another man sprung out of the shadow of a porch. He looked rather small and fragile, and was wearing a palm sombrero. As he hurried to catch up with the first man, there was a flash of moonlight in his right hand. I held my breath as they both stopped walking, the short one facing the back of the other, who was standing without a movement. They were talking, but too softly for me to hear what they were saying. I imagined the fear of the tall one, the cold touch of the unknown weapon at his back, and hoped they wouldn’t see me staring at them.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US">Then the tall one turned around, and I clearly saw the large machete the short one was holding. To my surprise, the tall man lit a match and held it close to his eyes, looking as if he wanted to burn himself. The light made him squint, and the other one forced his eyelids open with two of his fingers, standing on tiptoe, with the threatening machete still in hand. The flame burned the fingers of the tall one and he dropped the match, leaving the moon as the only source of light. Then another match was struck, and the strange scene replayed itself. This time the one with the machete grabbed the other’s sleeve and forced him to kneel down, then brought his weapon close to the eyes of the man. For a split second I thought he was going to kill him, but then he had let him go and had vanished into the darkness, as if he had never been here at all. Alone in the dark street, leaning against the wall, the tall man was holding his head in his hands, stumbling and falling like a newborn. He staggered along the street, and then was gone too. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US">I lit another cigarette, listening to the silence.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 35.4pt;"><span style="line-height: 115%;font-size:100%;" lang="EN-US"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> Adelinehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05970128705413354995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-23905634732059309532008-11-25T14:08:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:27:22.077-08:00WritingI wrote letters to my boyfriend every day while he was away. Love letters when I felt lonely, angry letters when I resented his absence, funny letters when I wanted to share a joke, passionate letters when I desired him.<br />When he came back, he told me that he hadn't read any of them, because my handwriting was unreadable.World Wide Women Webhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17877093616247451941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7628467153400170746.post-9738349986311220082008-11-16T07:48:00.000-08:002010-01-03T08:27:44.182-08:00Another friday nightMan's P.O.V.<br /><br />Like every week at this hour, the metro was overcrowded. I had managed to occupy the last space remaining in the car at the previous station. I really could not afford to take the next train or else I would have been late for my train back home. Someone tried to push his way in after me and I was this close to kicking him. The heat inside the metro was unbearable. Outside it was snowing but here it felt more like the Sahara or rather some tropical forest. The man next to me _ maybe I should say below me providing how much packed together we were _ stinked horribly. I wondered how many days had passed since he last took a shower. I thought I would faint a few minutes later if I could not get farther away from him. I tried thinking about Mary that was waiting for me back home and the wonderful week end we would spend together. This was my only weekend off for about a month and it was the only thing I was thinking about for a week.<br />At last the door of the train was opening. I still had twenty minutes to get my ticket and step into the train. I took a few seconds to get myself together and concentrate on what was important. A ticket machine was free right in front of me, so I rushed to it and started entering my ticket information. A message appeared on the screen. <br /> Due a to a central server error, it is impossible to retrieve your ticket from this machine. Please use the ticket office to retrieve your tickets.<br /><br />This was not a big problem, as there was a booth over there with just one person. This should be very quick. The man before me appeared to be the slowest man in the whole world. I know this sounds like a cliché but this one really was a contender to the world title. When it took his wallet from his pocket, it looked like the super slow motion they show on TV during sports. Now he was starting to count his coins, but he had trouble seeing them, so it took him about ten seconds to find the right focal point where he could see clearly.<br />Excuse me sir, do you mind if I help you, I'm in a hurry, maybe I could help you with your coins...<br />Are you insinuating I am too old to be able to handle this on my own ? he replied while staring at me. <br />No sir, of course not, I'm just saying that ..<br />So please mind your own business and be a patient, he said with a remarkable confidence.<br />He may have been old and slow but he still looked very strong and I decided it was maybe not a good idea to continue this conversation. The anger was starting to grow inside of me and I didn't want to end up fighting an old man.<br /><br />A few minutes later, the old man finally stepped away and I could start explaining my situation to the young woman inside the booth. A few meters away, a young black man was playing his guitar. I had no idea what he was playing or whether it was beautiful or not, because all I could hear was a noise that was preventing me from hearing her answers. I tried talking louder and louder, but I did not seem to work. The young woman remained calm and kept asking me the same question about some card that I still could not understand. At this time I was almost sure that I would miss my train, the last train going to Brugges this day. <br /><br />Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder. I don't remember what passed trough my head at this moment but I gave a large swing in the air with my elbow, hitting with a strength I did not know I had the man behind me. When I looked back, I realized I had hit a policeman that probably only wanted to tell me to be a little more quiet. On the distance, I saw his two colleagues running in my direction. My weekend was definitively ruined.<br /><br />************************<br />Woman's P.O.V.<br /><br />By the window I could see the snow slowly falling on the city. I had been working inside this tiny booth for four hours, doing the same task again and again. I would just enter the information the client would give me, collect the money and give them the ticket. I don't know if it was due to the weather or to the beginning of the weekend but the clients were particularly ungrateful. I had already been insulted five times this day, even once in a language that I didn't know but was not very hard to understand what was meant. I had been working here for a month so I had become accustomed to this type of attitudes and I did not even react to this kind of provocation. Only the music of a young talented man playing Soul music with his guitar was helping me staying awake. He was playing here every Friday since I started working here and I really enjoyed hearing him.<br /><br />I was helping a nice old man to buy his ticket to Paris. He told me that he was going there to meet some old friend he had not met for ten years, when he retired from his job as chief financial officer in a car company. You could see the years on his face but it was easy to see at first glance that he was still active and full of strength and dynamism.<br />While helping this man, my eyes were attracted to a middle-aged man that was trying to retrieve a ticket from a ticket machine. He couldn't stand in place and kept oscillating like a boat during a storm. His foot kept hitting the floor frenetically. He clearly was in a hurry and on the verge of becoming crazy of anger. He hit the machine, then looked around and ran to my booth.<br />I continued helping the old man to buy another ticket while keeping an eye on the other man as I had a bad feeling about him. He kept looking at his watch every ten seconds and doing some kind of dance like when you have an urgent need to pee, but in a much more violent and jerky way.<br /><br />He started talking to the old man. I could not hear what they said of the window separating us but I suppose he was telling him to hurry up. The old man answered very firmly and went on as if nothing had happened. Behind him, the nervous man stepped backward and stayed there quiet for a few minutes, like a child punished by his parents. I finished helping the old man who kindly thanked me for my patience and complimented me. <br />As soon as he left the booth, the man rushed to the booth and started talking so fast that I almost did not understand what he wanted. I gently asked him to calm down and repeat slowly. He kept shouting louder and louder that he needed the ticket to Brugges he had bought trough the Internet. I tried asking him that I needed to see his reduction card to be able to give him his ticket. But it was almost useless as he never stopped talking. I made a small gesture to one of the policeman in the area asking for help, as I had no idea how to get out of this situation. I kept the same inexpressive face I had learned during my first month here because I was afraid that showing my fear would only make him angrier. I had see on Discovery channel that you should never show your fear to an angry animal and I don't know why but this is the first thing that popped into my mind.<br /><br />The policeman put his hand on the man's shoulder to try to calm him down. The second he had done that, the man hit him directly in the face with his elbow, like a professional kick-boxer. I used the communication system to alert the other policemen in the area to come and neutralize the man. My boss told me to go home early because I had reacted the right away and avoided a bigger problem.Cédric Pasteurhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17744759203261686943noreply@blogger.com0