Shared Joy is Twice the Joy, Shared Pain is Half the Pain

You Are Carrying…

Curtain rises, two boys sit center stage. A dilapidated building with a ladder propped against the side is in the background.

KHALID: Jamie, what are we doing here?

JAMIE: Sitting.

KHALID: But, I mean, why are we sitting here?

JAMIE: Because my bike tire is flat, but I don’t have my pump, so I can’t keep riding. And you’re supposed to be fixing that barn, but you’re lazy.

KHALID: I am not lazy!

JAMIE: Yeah you are.

KHALID: Am not!

JAMIE: Then why are you sitting here, doing nothing but staring at the sky with me?

Khalid stands, exits SL. He returns, carrying two buckets.

JAMIE: What’re those?

KHALID: Stuff.

JAMIE: Well, what’re you gonna do with them?

KHALID: Fix the barn. And you’re gonna help me.

JAMIE: No I’m not.

KHALID: Yeah you are. Do you want the tar or the stain?

JAMIE: What do I do with them?

KHALID: Well, one of us has to tar the roof, and the other one has to stain the walls.

JAMIE: Which one’s easier?

Khalid pauses.

KHALID: Tarring, definitely.

JAMIE: Well then, I want the tar.

Khalid smiles.

KHALID: Here you go.

He laughs and runs to the barn to begin staining the walls.

JAMIE: Khalid! You tricked me! Staining is totally easier than tarring, isn’t it?

Jamie slowly walks to the barn and begins to climb a ladder.


Lights up.

In blue light, a young girl wanders across the stage, staring up.

Time passes.

She walks across again, in the same direction as before.


The young girl begins across the stage again, nearly falls over a wicker basket that is on the floor downstage center. 


Mary sits. She looks around, then pokes her head in the basket. She lifts out a pen and puts it back. She lifts out a hand-held air pump and puts it back. She lifts out a piece of parchment, then reaches in and pulls out the pen again. She shifts, lying on her stomach, and begins to write.

Jamie and Khalid enter together, laughing.

JAMIE: Hey! What are you doing?

The boys run to Mary.

MARY: I’m writing a letter.

JAMIE: But that’s mine!

MARY: I just found it in the grass. I didn’t know it belonged to someone.

KHALID: Well who’d you think it belonged to?

MARY: Well… I don’t

JAMIE: Yeah! What, did you think aliens put it here or something?

MARY: No. I just thought…

KHALID: Hey, wait. What is this? He looks up from the parchment he has been examining.

MARY: That’s my letter. I’m writing a note to my dad.

KHALID: No, under the note. Not on the back. Just…under.

JAMIE: Let me see… It’s like a watch or something. Or a clock?

MARY: It’s a chronometer.

JAMIE: A what?

MARY: A chronometer.

KHALID: What’s that?

MARY: It’s kinda like a clock, but really really specific. Like, it is really good at telling time? I’m not really sure how to explain it. But my dad collected them before he died, so I could show you what they look like…

The three kids walk offstage, picking up the basket on the way.

Fade to black.

This post was my response to the Weekly Writing Challenge from a couple weeks ago, which was to make a post with a random list of words. My words were these:


One response

  1. Pingback: Blueberry Muffins & Red Wine [a letter] | Ramisa the Authoress

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