The Play

The Play was acquired in November 2007 by Mithra Antonescu from The Library.

Full Text

Untitled Introduction

A copy of Mithra's novel appears in the chute, looking identical to the original she gifted the Library — but upon closer inspection, it's much more likely a copy. In the margins, a hand has scribbled feedback and editor notes on every page — everything from praising her development of the antagonists, to asking probing questions about the world-building.

Should Mithra venture further into the library in the coming days, she'll find a mysterious shelf that sits empty, save for few copies of the same novel. A brass library shelf tag reads ANTONESCU, M.N. — FICTION, GOTHIC. To the right, another plaque sits under the empty space to the book's right, claiming: SPACE RESERVED. Any other copies fed to the library will happily appear there, though their covers are bound in hardback style, with painted scenes that closely resemble the early 90's obsession with Fabio.

Left on the shelf for her to find is another gift — perhaps a tale of the Library's own production, leather-bound, one commune swapped for another. Unrolling it reveals a playwright's scrip as follows, though no known author is credited. ]

THE SHEPHERD'S GAME
A PLAY IN PARTS

SCENE I: THE CHAPEL BURNING

REVEREND PEREGRINE ASHCROFT's chapel. PORTIA and JONTY BALFOUR stand in the doorway.

PORTIA (to JONTY, but loud enough): He listens when I speak. He understands passion. (pause) Not like some.
REVEREND ASHCROFT: Jonty, I never intended—
JONTY (striking a match): Intention doesn't matter. Only what remains. (He drops the match.) You've overstayed your welcome, Reverend.
ASHCROFT (backing away from flames): You can't — this is God's house —
JONTY: God can find another priest. Portia can find another... distraction. (He takes PORTIA's arm.) Come, darling.

(PORTIA glances back once at ASHCROFT, then follows JONTY without a word. The chapel burns. ASHCROFT watches, devastated.)

ASHCROFT (to the flames): I'll return. Somehow. I will.

SCENE II: THE PARCHMENT SIGNED

The ruins. Night. A shapeless ENTITY made of shadow and hunger coalesces.

THE WATCHER: Such delicious shame. Such rage.
ASHCROFT (on his knees): I have nothing left.
THE WATCHER: You have want, your God's favorite sin — vanity. You want Saltburnt. You want her — lust. You want him to see you weren't disposable, you glutton.
ASHCROFT: Yes. God help me, yes.
THE WATCHER: God doesn't listen to His sinners, but I do. Gather the discarded ones — the maids they ruined, the gardeners they broke, the lovers they tired of. Build me a flock. Feed me their fear, their blood, their choices. And I will make you powerful enough that the Balfours will beg you to return.
ASHCROFT: Then …
THE SHEPHERD (rising, transformed): Call me your Shepherd. I will bring you your Flock.

SCENE III: THE CENTER OF THE WORLD

Out in the woods. Midnight. NATALIE SCATORCCIO stands at the edge of the woods. THE SHEPHERD puts a hand on her shoulder.

THE SHEPHERD: If you want to help, you'll find the Heart.
NAT (visibly unsure): And everyone will be safe?
THE SHEPHERD: Everyone will be free. The boundaries will come down.
NAT: And we can all go home?
THE SHEPHERD: You will be home. You have to do this, Natalie. (paternally) This is your calling.

(Assured, NATALIE nods firmly. There's a match in her hand, like what lit up ASHCROFT's chapel so long ago. Internally, there's vindication.)

SCENE IV: THE TRIALS OF POWER

The commune. THE SHEPHERD stands before his congregation, desperate.

THE SHEPHERD: Seven among you have been chosen. They do not know it. They will not remember when dawn comes. But at night, they will hunt.

(Murmurs of fear ripple through the crowd.)

THE SHEPHERD: Others have been given roles. Doctors who may save. Guards who may sacrifice themselves. A martyr who could take vengeance in death. An inheritor who will claim power from the fallen. Witches who might resurrect the dead.

(He paces, voice rising.)

THE SHEPHERD: Each morning, you will vote. You will accuse, and the guilty will burn. This is how we grow strong.
TIM LAUGHLIN: And if we refuse?
THE SHEPHERD (cold, snappish): You won't.

(THE WATCHER's presence thickens like fog. The villagers fall silent, trapped.)

INTERLUDE: VIGNETTES

Several short scenes, side by side, during intermission. Unimportant.

(THE SHEPHERD approaches JAKE SERESIN and SPIKE.)

THE SHEPHERD: You're guards. If the wolves choose someone, you can take their place. Who do you protect?
JAKE (without hesitation): Ani.
SPIKE: Buffy.
THE SHEPHERD: You're certain? You could die —
JAKE: I said Ani.
SPIKE (lighting a cigarette): Yeah, heard you the first time, mate. Buffy. Always Buffy.

(They never have to make good on it. But they would have. Without question.)

—

(DOMINGOS CHOI throws up in a potted plant.)

DOM: What if it's me? I'm not. I can't, I'm not, I'm — I'm.
MELISSA, GALE, GILES (voices overlapping): You're safe, Dom. You always will be.

—

(Two bodies curve towards each other in a field of flowers.)

ASTARION: Lavender makes me think of you.
GALE (immeasurably fond) Everything makes me think of you.

—

(MISTY QUIGLEY leans close to REN O'NEILL, urgent.)

MISTY: I can hear them, you know. The dead. They tell me things.
REN: What are you talking about?
MISTY: Shauna. She's not one of them. I know. The voices told me. (pressing something into REN's hand) Here, this'll help you think clearly about the vote.
REN (suspicious): What is this?
MISTY (innocent): Just herbs. Trust me, I'm trying to help.
(REN takes it. Later, REN will be sick. SHAUNA will still die.)

—

(HARRY GOODSIR sits alone with his notes, haunted.)

GOODSIR (monologuing): If I must die, let it serve justice. Let me take one of them with me. I will find the truth, even if it costs me everything.

(He watches. Waits. The moment never comes. He survives, but the guilt of surviving weighs heavy.)

—

(DANNY JOHNSON stands accused. He grins, all teeth.)

DANNY: You really think I'm the monster here? That's fucking rich.
EMBRY (voice raw): You killed Ash. You murdered him and you — you fucking posed him like one of your sick photos —
DANNY: Hey now, I put real artistry into that shoot. Ash looked peaceful. Dignified, even. You should thank me.
HAWKINS (stepping forward): You're a predator.
DANNY: I'm a photographer who appreciates the human form in all its states. (to EMBRY, leaning in) And you knew exactly what I was, sweetheart. You fucked me anyway.
EMBRY (breaking): He's dead because of you —because I —
DANNY: Because you pissed me off. Actions have consequences. (shrugging) I went to jail for it, didn't I? We're even.
EMBRY: We will never be even, you piece of shit.

(They vote. DANNY is dragged to prison, still grinning.)

DANNY (as he's dragged away): Wrong choice, kids! But hey, I'll save you a seat in hell!

—

THE SHEPHERD: You kill who I tell you to kill, creature mine.
ARMAND: Do I? (He touches his own throat.) Is it your will following through my veins? Or does the thing wearing my skin at night control this story? It's made us puppets, Shepherd. Even you.

(THE WATCHER's laughter echoes. ARMAND exits. THE SHEPHERD is left alone.)

THE SHEPHERD: Let the hunt begin.

SCENE V: THE CURTAIN CLOSES

The final morning. Corpses are burning in the wolf's head. THE SHEPHERD preaches, unraveling.

THE SHEPHERD: Tomorrow! Tomorrow I return to Saltburnt! Portia will see me — really see me — and Jonty will fall to his knees and —

(ANORA MIKHEEVA moves through the crowd. A hairpin flashes. THE SHEPHERD clutches his throat, blood spilling. He falls, gasping.)

THE SHEPHERD (choking): No... not yet... I haven't shown them... Portia... I was supposed to…

(He dies reaching toward a smeared photograph. THE WATCHER looms over his corpse, cold and dismissive.)

THE WATCHER: Failure. Such small, human failure. You fed me well enough, Shepherd. But you were never going to take Saltburnt. You were never going to prove anything to anyone. You were always just... this.

(It turns away from the body as if already forgotten.)

THE WATCHER: But the breach is open now. And there are others — the alpha who led my wolves, such elegance even unknowing. The ones who killed of their own will, those who survived your little game with their cunning, the hand that struck you down with such feral teeth. The witches who chose which among their dead to return. The inheritor who stole power from a corpse. The guards who would have died for love. (Its attention shifts toward Saltburnt.) They survived. They chose. They fascinated me.

(A heartbeat begins, distant but growing stronger.)

THE WATCHER: And all the others — every guardian the house has claimed. Some who fought in my games. Some who arrived after. Some who know nothing of what transpired in the commune. It matters not. The house chose them all. And I will watch them all.

(The stage darkens. Only the heartbeat remains, and the glow of Saltburnt's many windows peering over the treeline, distant.)

(Blackout.)

THE END.

References

Mithra Antonescu's network post
Mithra Antonescu's Library request