ACT I
SCENE 1

OPEN on an old man, CARLOS, standing center stage with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. The stage is naked and dark save for a single spotlight which shines directly above him. For a moment he stares at his feet, then looks into the audience, and pulls a gun out of one pocket. SMITH is a product of CARLOS's multiple personality complex and is to be spoken by the same actor. Do you want CARLOS to change face when he becomes SMITH? Is he staring straight at the audience, or at an angle? With such little else, you have an excuse to be very very specific with this direction. And the tiniest thing here could make or break your play. Think about which way he faces and how he stands.

CARLOS [staring at the gun]: Seems like cheating.

SMITH: It's just speeding things along. Helping nature. Fertilizing the soil.

CARLOS: Feeding the maggots.

SMITH: If that's the way you want to look at it.

CARLOS: It's gotta be cheating. Godssakes, life's a Russian roulette wheel, so why play a round in miniature? What? If I'm confused when reading, a live audience will be confused in the saying.

SMITH: Do you really want to keep this up?

CARLOS [quietly]: No.

SMITH: I didn't think so.

CARLOS: It'll hurt.

SMITH: Nah. Over in seconds. Milliseconds. The instant you pull that trigger, you've got a piece of iron nailing its way out the other side of your skull, making an exit wound. Won't hurt a bit.

CARLOS: Not me. It'll hurt other people.

SMITH: What other people? Buddy, you don't have anyone else. You're full of yourself if you think anyone's even going to feel a pinprick when you hit the ground. Stop flattering yourself, Carlos, and just get it over with. It's like jumping off a airplane or into a lake filled with icecubes. The more you think about it, the less likely you are of actually doing it.

CARLOS: I've worked hard. I think there are a plethora of emotions that could be acted here, and I'd prefer more direction on which to choose. Little things, that are magnified by your chosen staging. Some guidence is good.

SMITH: Sure you have. Real hard. Sweat of your brow, the bread on your table, and all that good stuff. A regular Caeser Chavez.

CARLOS: I'm serious.

SMITH: So you've worked hard. All the more reason for a little rest. A little peace and quiet.

CARLOS: What about the consequences?

SMITH: There are none.

CARLOS: What about heaven and hell?

SMITH: I would have never pinned you for a believer, kid. I know you too well. If there hasn't been any reason for archangels and hallelujahs and bitter cups in the past, Godssakes, there's no reason for them now.

CARLOS: Yeah, well, I guess I feel I need to live up to deathbed standards.

SMITH: Nah. You're different. You're gonna show them. Besides, you've always been a sweaty, dirty little heathen. This bothered me because, it adds absolutely nothing and seems redundant.

CARLOS: So I've gone all this way, I've worked so hard, I've been so different, and it's all come down to whether I stick it in my mouth or upside my head?

SMITH: Mouth. Cleaner that way.

CARLOS: But I'm a dirty little heathen. why should I care... If I'm not around to clean up the mess?

SMITH: And you've always been one for a grand finale, right. Do you want a fat lady singing?

CARLOS: Stop talking like that.

SMITH: I can't help it. It makes me nervous when people can't make up their minds.

CARLOS: Or blow holes in their minds.

SMITH: Listen man, I'm getting sick of your God-awful melodramatics.

CARLOS [pausing]: It's gotta hurt somebody.

SMITH: Well, George Bailey, think of me as your Clarence. Forgive me, but I have no clue who you're talking about. I give you your wish, you've never been born, you take a look around, and you see that nothing's changed. In fact, the world's a better place.

CARLOS: A better place, huh?

SMITH: And somehow the earth will still turn. The sun will still be dying. The universe will still be collapsing.

CARLOS: Kind of takes the fun out of it.

SMITH: For you maybe. For the rest of this God-awful city, there'll be rejoicing in the streets, let me tell you now.

CARLOS: So I'm doing them a favor.

SMITH: All of 'em.

CARLOS [after another pause]: Maria will get a lot of money. No characterization? Really? Either use her or don't, but don't just throw her in like a harvard comma.

SMITH: And she'll be out there in the middle of the street throwing confetti.

CARLOS: I'm really tired.

SMITH: Want a lullaby?

CARLOS: Hell, no.

SMITH: No reminiscing, I see.

CARLOS: Have I ever struck you as a Hallmark kind of guy?

SMITH: I'm waiting, Carlos.

CARLOS is staring at the gun again. He weighs it carefully in his hand and then slowly cocks it.

CARLOS: Okay.

SMITH: Are you ready?

CARLOS: I'm ready.

SMITH: Any last words?

CARLOS [after thinking]: Revenge is like bleach. It's alright for cotton and linens, but when you swallow it, it turns your insides into swiss cheese.

SMITH: Have you been practicing that?

CARLOS: Read it out of a book when I was 16. Always thought it sounded nice.

SMITH: That belongs inside a greeting card, my friend. Can't tell me you don't indulge your sentimental side every once and a while.

CARLOS: Cheers.

SMITH: Think of home, Dorothy. Pull the trigger and think of home.

CARLOS pulls the trigger and stiffens, closes his eyes and bows his head. The spotlight dims. END scene.

ACT I
SCENE 2

OPEN on a room with five sewing machines operated by five boys, with ages ranging from ten to twelve. Their names are EFRAIN, VINCENT, MANUEL, RICO, and CARLOS. This scene takes place fifty years prior to scene one and in an orphanage on the outskirts of Mexico City. The five boys are busy sewing non-descript bolts of cloth and tossing them into piles next to their machines and are obviously tired and undernourished.

MANUEL: Godssakes, Mario is such a maricón. I swear, if he lays another hand on me I'm going to cut his throat with a sewing needle.

EFRAIN: They're all bastards.

MANUEL: And Mario is the biggest bastard of them all.

VINCENT: I've heard stories about him. Some kids say if he catches you slacking off, he'll rape your sister. And if you don't have one of those, he'll beat you with his belt buckle until blood comes out of your pores.

EFRAIN: Good thing I have a sister. I found this funny. Black humor is hard to come by, try for some more...

VINCENT: I'm serious. Why do you think he wears that God-awful buckle? I've seen a kid with a welt in the shape of it on his back. Sleeps right below me. He's know his name if he slept below him.

MANUEL: Juan? Nah, his father gave that to him. Beat him every night before prayers. Helped him get in touch with Jesus he said. Nothing like a bottle of beer and giving your son a broken bone or two to commune with God, right? K

VINCENT: He's probably watching us right now.

MANUEL: Then we had better give him something worth looking at, yes?

MANUEL makes a rude gesture with his middle finger in the direction of the audience. Some of the kids laugh. Very nice. Audience participation is always good.

EFRAIN: If we find you dead butchered K in your bedsheets tomorrow, I'll be sure to pray for your soul in hell.

MANUEL: You're a maricón, too, you know that Efrain?

EFRAIN: I try.

MANUEL: Yeah, and you're the reason why your mother – God rest her soul – decided to get drunk, light herself on fire, and throw herself in front of a truck.

CARLOS: Shut up, Manuel.

MANUEL: Ah, deaf, dumb, and stupid here has something to say. What's that estupido? You say something to me?

CARLOS: Shut up.

MANUEL: And what are you going to do if I don't, huh? Stab Gore K me with a needle? Strangle me with a thread? What about your mama, you little bastard? We don't know much about her, do we? All we know is that her son is such an embarrassment maricón that she drops him here in this hellhole with nothing more than a name.

VINCENT: I think he's coming.

MANUEL: You're just being paranoid. Mario gets so borracho sloshed K by lunchtime so that he can't even button his own pants, and you know that.

EFRAIN: Drinks like a baby from his mother's tits.

RICO: Wish I could get my hands on some cold tequila.

MANUEL: Yeah, and you take one sip and you're out for a month.

RICO: I had a whole can once.

VINCENT: My papa says that alcohol is rotting brimstone and that when Satan urinates that brewers stand underneath his pee stream with a bucket. And then they put it in cans and bottles and sell it to men who want a little taste of purgatory.

MANUEL: Your father is a corpse.

EFRAIN: Now I'm not praying for you.

MANUEL: Like I ever needed any help.

EFRAIN: Saint Manuel! Glory to him on the highest.

MANUEL: I'm not going to be the one waking up tomorrow drowning in bloody bedsheets. [s/] with blood all over my sheets.

EFRAIN: And I'm getting really sick of your threats, Manuel. And teaching respect to little bastards is not just for nuns and drunk fathers.

MANUEL: You wanna say that again?

VINCENT: Come on you two. If we don't sew enough seams bad things are going to happen. [s]our heads are gonna roll. [color=red]This line is better in some mob movie. Besides, think about last Sunday. Remember what the priest said? Do unto others –

MANUEL: I can't believe you listen to that crap.

VINCENT: It's the Word.

MANUEL: And the Word is just as dead as your parents. Why should I listen to what all of those dead men tell me? I do what I want to do, and they don't stop me. I don't need a bunch of wrinkled, water stained pages filled with stuff spoken by men whose bones are being burrowed in by maggots telling me what to do. These are 100% your words

RICO: I can smell your skin burning up already.

MANUEL: Piss off.

Immediately, RICO stands up and lunges for MANUEL, catches him around the midriff and throws him to the ground, the rest of the children stand up and either join the fight or cheer them on. Unnoticed, CARLOS slips around his sewing machine, heads for MANUEL's, scoops up his pile of sewn cloth, and heads back to his own machine where he adds what's in his arms to his own pile. From stage left, MARIO stumbles in, obviously drunk, and clutching a bottle

MARIO: What in hell's name do you think you little pigs are doing? Get off! Get the hell off of him I said!

MANUEL: It was his fault!

EFRAIN: You gutless –

MARIO: Shut up or I'll do things to you that'll make the Virgin Mary shiver in her grave, for God's sake! How many bones do I need to break until I get it through your thick skulls that you don't screw around when I'm on duty?

RICO: He said things about God that –

MARIO: I will kill you. I don't care. I don't care what the other maricón did. Unless someone is dying or their machine is broken, I do not want to have to come here. And when I do have to come, I will make Job's situation look like the Pope's. There will be blood, there will be bruises, there will be broken bones and welts and tears and I am God here because no one cares about you because you are alone. My words are scripture and if you aren't doing your job you're a worthless waste of good clean air and organs and skin. You have been given a simple task. You have been told to sew. You have been told to earn your food and your bed and your clothes. If you meet a quota, you may live. That sewing machine is your heartbeat. The thread is your blood. If you're not using them, you are as good as buried behind the kitchen. Do you understand? Does ths sound like a drunken speech to you? It doesn't to me, but it's your call on whether or not to switch. It's a fairly vital speech, so I'm not going to demand you to rework it.

ALL: Yes.

MARIO [after a pause]: Who sits here?

MANUEL: Me.

MARIO: Sir. You are to address me as sir. How the hell do you expect to survive without some basic manners? You'll be shot in the streets by good self-respecting men , if I don't butcher you first, maricón.

MANUEL: I do, sir.

MARIO: Where's your cloth?

MANUEL: My cloth? Sir, there's a whole pile there, for God's...

MANUEL looks behind him and sees that his pile has vanished.

MARIO: You deaf, dumb, and blind?

MANUEL: It was right there. I was sewing for hours. I was sewing just as hard as –

MARIO: A waste of skin and air. Come with me, you lazy pig. Maybe a tattoo of my belt-buckle will help your fingers move faster, yes?

MANUEL [pointing at Carlos, who stares back at him impassively]: You! Godssakes, it was you! Give it all back or I'll beat your skull into clay, you bastard!

MARIO: Another lie and you won't wake up for a week. And when you do it'll be in a confessional. Struggling makes it hurt worse, child. Struggling makes the bruises show up on your face.

MANUEL: I'll kill him! I'll break every bone in his body, I swear on my parents grave I will!

MARIO drags MANUEL off stage as he struggles and screams curses in CARLOS's direction. The rest of the boys hesitate for a moment and there is a short silence.

EFRAIN: Too bad he doesn't have a sister.

The boys laugh, some half-heartedly, and return to their machines. The lights dim. END scene