The Fugitive Ate My Mother (A Short Play)
The unfurnished living room of a boxy, brown suburban house with greenishshag carpeting. Stacks of flattened cardboard boxes sit in one corner. A lawnchair and a small desk lamp are the only other objects in the room.BLUNT sits on the lawn chair, toying with an Etch-A-Sketch. He’s 17, lanky, withlong brown hair. He wears a T-shirt and ripped jeans.DEIRDRE walks in from the kitchen. She’s 16, in a black tank top and marooncorduroy slacks.DEIRDREWe’re out of ketchup.BLUNTWhaddya mean, we?Deirdre toys with the desk lamp with her bare left foot.DEIRDRED’you ever wanna visit Rome?Blunt stops toying with the Etch-A-Sketch.DEIRDREYou know, with the Pope and all.BLUNTWhat for?DEIRDREI bet I’d see lots of angels there. My sister’s into angels.Deirdre knocks the lamp over.BLUNTDon’t do that shit. You might mess up my helicopter.DEIRDRE(morosely)Huh?Blunt stands up, scanning the carpet.