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Zap by Paul Fleischman Chapter Sampler

Zap by Paul Fleischman Chapter Sampler

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Published by Candlewick Press
author: Paul Fleischman

Aimed at a generation of short attention spans and a taste for razor-sharp comedy, the rapid-fire ZAP is a smart, farcical new play for high-school students (age 14 and up).
author: Paul Fleischman

Aimed at a generation of short attention spans and a taste for razor-sharp comedy, the rapid-fire ZAP is a smart, farcical new play for high-school students (age 14 and up).

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Published by: Candlewick Press on Apr 30, 2014
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved


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questionnamely, whether your nervous laugh is a regularhabit or especially in my honor.
(Pause. He turns towar
Odd how my presence, like yours,Reverend, leads many to anxious recollection of their sins.We are walking confession booths, you and I. Mr. Freud hasdealt with the topic in fascinating detail, inquiring as toplease stop me if I’m boring you.
(The others all encourage
to continue,with “Not at all,” “Please go on,” etc.) 
. Very well. He began by
(Zap sound. Blackout. Lights come up on
, act 1, scene 1.
, hunchbacked, stands alone.The actor portraying him delivers his lines with great pride in Shakespearean oratory.) 
. Now is the winter of our discontentMade glorious summer by this sun of York;And all the clouds that lowr’d upon our houseIn the deep bosom of the ocean buried.Now are our brows—
(Zap sound.
appears stunned. Blackout.Lights come up on the
. The time is the present.
, twenty-two, idressed in black, from her motorcycle boots to her lipstick.She wears a bandanna on her head. She stumbles onstage 
in slight confusion and ops onto the couch. She addressethe audience directly throughout.) 
. Whoa. This is too weird. Totally. I can’t believewe’re really doing this. And that I’m in it. That we all are.And with barely rehearsing, so we could hurry up and openand bring in some money. Talk about opening-night jitters.You should see it backstage. Bunch of chickens with theirfreaking heads cut off. And the director—totally ballistic.Not that that’s exactly a change of pace. And RonThrockmorton, the guy who runs the company, he’s likeoozing around telling everybody, “It’s just for a little while,to help balance the books.” Except we’re always short ofcash, even with none of us getting paid. And we’re alwaysabout to lose our lease on the building, like right now, whichis always gonna be the way it is in theater as long as peoplecan sit at home and watch three million freaking cable chan-nels with the zapper in one hand and a bowl of bubble gumfudge swirl in the other. But you gotta compete. Which ishow Ron thought up putting on seven plays at once, some-thing for everybody, including my performance art piece,and giving you guys zappers. High art meets short attentionspan. Naturally, I came down with a cold two days before weopen, but who cares, you know? Acting’s not actually mything. Telling the truth is my thing. The whole truth.Nothing but the truth. The truth shall make you free!Somebody famous said that.
(She snifes loudly and wipes henose on her sleeve.
The truth shall gross you out! I said that.
(She displays her sleeve to the audience.) 
’Cause I’m going to
tell you about my repulsive family and my amazingly dis-gusting hometown and how I discovered theater and daredto tell the truth and how for the past five years I wouldn’tstop telling the truth no matter what anybody—
(Zap sound. Blackout. Lights come up on the
.The time is 1870, a morning in spring. The place is Russian country estate, home to the Volnikov family.
, thirty-five, rushes in and looks about in rap- ture. Actors use Russian accents.) 
. The sofa . . . Great-grandfather’s books . . . theview of the birches!
(Calling offstage.) 
Irina! We’re here!
(To himself.) 
Everything just as I recall it from my boyhood!Exactly!
enters, thirty and beautiful, sulkily surveying the rooms furnishings.) 
Darling Irina! Can you believe it?Never again the noise of St. Petersburg, the crowding, thegreed and moneygrubbing, the filthy air, the coarseness ofspirit. Here in the country we shall both be reborn!
(Trailing a finger on the furniture and staring at hedusty ngertip.) 
If that filthy ogre who brought our bags isour midwife, I believe I’d prefer a St. Petersburg specialist.
. Dearestyou’ll come to adore Gregor. Believeme.
. And frankly, Nikolai, I must confess that I feel nogreat need to be reborn. I leave that to the Hindus of India.

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