Apple is a crazy satire about
the perceptions that people create and project upon
art. It explores,
in an absurd way, how some people mistakenly think the
work of art is
responsible for their perceptions, and how sometimes
this thinking can
culminate in an act of censorship. Make it larger than
life, and over
the top. Some of the characters in this play can be
played by either
gender. The paintings and sculptures found in the art
museum should be
created by the players, an art student, or crew. Make
them abstract and
simple. The melodies of the songs sung by Elvis should
be made up by
the actor playing him. It's a creativity fest.
This play has been performed by casts as small as 8 players taking on multiple roles.
(most of the characters can be played by either gender. Have fun.)
Janitor: wants to be a great
Moocher: wants a pen real badly
Intercom Voice: needs a mop on the floor a.s.a.p.
Sisky: an art critic
Ebee: an art critic
Rope: an art critic
Moonshot: eccentric, intense
Elvis: An Elvis impersonator?
Peevish: spontaneous art patron and fishing enthusiast
Petula: spontaneous art patron and fishing enthusiast
Mime: a silent threat to "The Apple"
Curly: crazy and fun
Mona: the boss of Lara and Curly
Cally: a protester
A wing of an art museum.
A big red apple, a few
pedestals, a white pedestal, a large plastic turner, a
mike, a boombox,
a tape or CD of a drum beat, a few benches, a broom, a
cardboard signs with slogans and blank spaces like:
"DOWN WITH __________" and "STOP _______",
magic markers, a janitors cart with mop, bucket, broom, and miscellaneous items.
The Apple was first published in 2003
Lights up on a the
of an art museum. A janitor mops
floor. He shares with the audience that "someday" he
would become a
great artist, just needing to find the right medium.
He takes out an
apple and, before he can eat it, is interrupted by
fast-talking patron who needs a pen very badly. The
janitor puts the
apple down on an empty pedestal and searches his
pockets for a pen. He
is called away to mop up a spill. He forgets the
Along come three art critics, Sisky, Ebee and Rope, who mistakenly believe the apple is a work of art. They criticize the unknown artist's work. Enter Moonshot, an eccentric and energetic patron, who believes there are love beams emanating from the apple. He dominates the others by threatening to "flip" them with something hidden in his coat. He won't let them name or "label" the apple, yet gives it a name ("the-one-who-must-not-be-labelled"). He gets them to sit and feel the beams coming from the apple.
Enter Elvis, who probably is an Elvis impersonator, but maybe not. The art critics offer their perceptions on Elvis, who is inspired by the apple to sing some songs. Elvis leaves the building. Enter Peevish and Petula, who improvise perceptions about the apple that ultimately inspire them to go fishing. They exit. Enter a mime who mimes eating the apple. Moonshot mimes a battle with the mime, finally warding him off and protecting the apple. Afterwards, he convinces Sisky that it was a real battle, not pretend, by having a mime battle with him.
Enter Curly, Lara, and Mona, three young students. Curly discovers that when she comes between Moonshot and the apple, he moans in anguish. She plays with Moonshot's main beam and gets him to moan "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." Mona is very moved by the apple and confesses her anguish that her teacher (on whom she has a crush) rebuffed an offering of an apple (apples give him hives). She goes through a list of foods she could possibly give to him, but Curly and Lara negate each idea by listing all the ways each food bothers the teacher.
Enter Cally who perceives the apple to be a dangerous work of art, because there is no "Organically Grown" label stuck on it. She convinces the others that's it's alright to stick an "Organically Grown" label (that she just happened to be carrying) on it and censor "the-one-who-must-not-be-labelled" for the "love of the children." After revealing the threatening rubber spatula hidden in Moonshot's coat, she convinces everyone to protest the apple outside of the museum. They leave chanting "sauce the apple, sauce the apple", and holding generic, fill-in-the-blank, protest signs (that Cally just happened to be carrying). Everyone exits. Enter Elvis, Peevish, Petula, The Mime, and Moocher. Moocher chases them across the stage. They exit. Enter the janitor, who has been oblivious to everything that has transpired. He picks up the apple and eats it, again telling the audience that he would someday be a great artist. "Someday."
(LIGHTS UP ON
ART MUSEUM. THERE ARE VARIOUS PAINTINGS ON THE
WALLS. UPSTAGE, THERE
ARE A FEW BLACK PEDESTALS WITH FUNKY SCULPTURES
ON THEM. AN EMPTY,
WHITE PEDESTAL LIES CENTER STAGE. IT IS BRIGHTLY
LIT FROM ABOVE. THERE
ARE A FEW BENCHES ON EITHER SIDE OF THE WHITE
PEDESTAL. A JANITOR
SWEEPS THE FLOOR. HE LOOKS AROUND AT THE ART. HE
CHECKS TO SEE IF
ANYONE IS LOOKING AND THEN SPEAKS TO THE
JANITOR: Hello, invisible spectators of my life. I know you're there, mocking my simple existence. All you see is a menial servant, but that is an illusion. For within this—shell—is an infinity of creative potential. This—art—that you see surrounding me will someday bow down in fear and respect of the works I will someday manifest. My creations will move people to take action, not only in their lives, but to change the world for the better. I just need to find my medium. Is it painting? Comedy? People made of macaroni? Nah, no macaroni—my mother spoiled that one. I made an elbow made of elbows. She didn't get it. Gave me a triple time-out for wasting food. No matter, I will be a great artist someday. Someday. I will. Ah, who am I fooling? (TAKES AN APPLE FROM HIS POCKET AND RUBS IT ON HIS SHIRT) Such a beautiful, beaming apple. I will eat you now. (MOOCHER ENTERS AND INTERRUPTS HIM JUST AS HE IS ABOUT TO TAKE A BITE)
MOOCHER: (QUICKLY AND NERVOUSLY) Hey gotta pen-gotta pen? Needa pen.
JANITOR: Why do you need a pen?
MOOCHER: Gotta have a pen needa pen.
JANITOR: What for?
MOOCHER: Don't gotta pen needa pen.
JANITOR: You know, sir, there's no PEN-handling allowed in the museum.
MOOCHER: Thatta joke thatta joke? Don't needa joke.
JANITOR: Panhandling for pens. PEN-handling.
MOOCHER: Don't wanna laugh wanna cry needa pen.
JANITOR: (TO AUDIENCE) I think I'll take comedy off the list.
MOOCHER: Needa pen needa pen needa pen.
JANITOR: Oh, sorry. (PUTS APPLE DOWN ON EMPTY PEDESTAL AND SEARCHES POCKETS) Gee, I don't have one.
MOOCHER: You don't like me you don't like me disdain disdain disdain.
JANITOR: I usually have one but—
MOOCHER: (A CRESCENDO) Janitors are mean mean mean, the ones at school, hated them, scary scary scary, lurking in the hallways, waiting to prey upon unsuspecting students who finally got a pass to go to the bathroom after asking the teacher a million times, there they were waiting waiting waiting, pretending to be mopping as you walked down the empty hall and when you passed them they'd look up with a toothless evil grin and say "if it ain't the good little citizen, the A student, the teacher's pet, well let me tell you, you're gonna be one of us someday, one of us, so ask your mom for a mop and start practicing", and they'd cackle cackle cackle and I'd run run run to the bathroom and couldn't even go, and I'd try try try for minutes upon minutes without success and I get back to class way too late and get detention and then my parents would ground me and my so-called "smart" friends dropped me because they thought I was a delinquent and so I went through my last six years of school completely isolated from my peers even though I was smart enough to get over 1400 on my S.A.T.'s and it's your fault, Mr. Janitor, you you you, now I needa pen needa pen needa pen I prefer a "clicky!" (PAUSE A BEAT)
INTERCOM ANNOUNCEMENT: Will the janitor—oops, sorry—will the "Maintenance Artist" please report to the museum lobby. There is a major spill that needs mopping—oops, sorry—I mean "absorbed" with your large "brush."
JANITOR: I'm a maintenance artist, not a janitor. So, you don't have to be afraid. Follow me. I'll get you a pen that clicks at the lobby desk.
MOOCHER: Oh, good. I love clickies, click click click click click click click click click...(THEY EXIT. ENTER SISKY AND EBEE. THEY CIRCLE AND LOOK AT THE APPLE)
SISKY: Why, Ebee, I do believe this piece is absolutely brilliant in its...simplicity.
EBEE: Sisky, I must disagree.
SISKY: You must, Ebee?
EBEE: I must, Sisky. It's absolutely brilliant in its complexity.
SISKY: No, no, Ebee. It's plain, bare, and simply red.
EBEE: And so are my cheeks, Sisky, as I am embarrassed to be standing near a person who could utter a criticism with such little sense, intelligence, worldliness, ornamentation, elegance or sophistication. This piece is complex. I see skin that wraps a delicious fruit that contains sustenance, fiber, seeds, vitamins A, E, C—
EBEE: I was just getting going—
SISKY: No, no, Ebee. Red means stop.
EBEE: If it were a green apple, Sisky?
EBEE: If it were yellow?
SISKY: Speed up before the apple turns red!
EBEE: Ah, your double digit IQ is again rearing its ugly head. Don't you see that it represents nature and all its goodness. How that within the simplest little fruit—
SISKY: Ah, simple!
EBEE: How that within the most COMPLEX collection of ingredients there are seeds. And within each seed there lies a potential to repopulate the whole planet with apple trees. From California to Maine, Paris to Moscow, Bombay to China. It celebrates renewal in all its forms. The revitalization of all orchards— and yes—even streets, towns and cities—(ROPE ENTERS AND CLAPS)—OOH.
(EBEE STOPS SHORT AS IF TRAINED. EBEE'S "OOH" IS QUICK—LIKE A HICCUP—AND LOOKS AS IF IT IS PAINFUL TO STOP SO IMMEDIATELY—LIKE AN ELECTRIC SHOCK)
ROPE: Hello. Your reluctant mentor is here.
SISKY AND EBEE: (WITH DISDAIN) Oh, it's you.
ROPE: Where are your manners?
SISKY AND EBEE: Oh, it's Rope.
ROPE: Excuse me?
SISKY AND EBEE: Oh, it's Mister Rope.
ROPE: Very good, Sisky and Ebee. Again, I have come to teach you the proper way to look at art—and how to think about it as well. And for now, I provide this service free of charge. Mmm, what is this piece called, Ebee?
EBEE: There is no sign or label, Mr. Rope. If I were to name it, I'd call it "The Fruity Symbol Of All That Has Existed, Does Exist, And Will Eventually Come Into Existence, Before, After, And Now, In The Present, Growing And Changing, Forever, And Ever, And For All—(ROPE CLAPS)—OOH!
ROPE: That is so you, Ebee.
SISKY: I'd call it "The Apple."
ROPE: That is so you, Sisky. But—I cannot believe I'm saying this—I agree. "The Apple." Mmm, whoever made this piece has no talent. It took no craftsmanship and very little effort to make. A janitor could make something like this.
EBEE: Excuse me, Mr. Rope, but my grandfather was a "janitor." He preferred to be called a "scrubby dubby."
ROPE: I am sorry, Ebee. Being a "scrubby dubby" is an honorable job. It is just that this piece is too simple.
SISKY: Ah, simple.
EBEE: (A CRESCENDO) But what if the artist started with more than just the apple? Let's say, 20 items, 100 items, 6000 items, a million, a billion, a gillion—(ROPE CLAPS)—ooh—all arranged in a pattern that took weeks to create, maybe months, years, decades, centuries, millenniums, eras, eons—(ROPE AND SISKY CLAP)—ooh—then items were stripped from the piece, one at a time, maybe he took away a remote control, then a baseball, a quarter pounder, a pogo stick—(CLAP)—ooh—a skateboard—(CLAP)—ooh—a Pontiac—(CLAP)—ooh—a papier-mache minstrel—(CLAP)—ooh—a marble countertop—(CLAP)—ooh—granite grannies—(CLAP) busses—(CLAP) trains—(CLAP) gargantuan cruise ships!
SISKY & ROPE: EBEE!!!
EBEE: (SOFTLY) And finally, a cute, cuddly kitty...I always wanted a kitty...why did I have to be born being allergic to the one thing I would end up desiring with every ounce of my being? Why? Why? Why? (PAUSE A BEAT)
SISKY: You were saying?
EBEE: All those things just stripped away until only this apple remained. A complex series of choices. A complex work of art.
ROPE: Your imagination exceeds only that of the codfish. (ENTER MOONSHOT. HE WEARS A TRENCH COAT, SUNGLASSES AND ARMY BOOTS. HE MOVES DIRECTLY TO THE APPLE)
MOONSHOT: Whoa! Oh, maaaan! Do you see it? Do you see it? Whoa! Oh, maaaan! Everyone stand back. Quick. Stand back. (THEY STAND BACK. MOONSHOT CIRCLES THE APPLE WITH HIS ARMS OUT, AS IF HE IS FEELING AN ENERGY BEAM COMING FROM IT. HE FALLS BACK INTO A CHAIR AS IF PUSHED BY THE ENERGY)
ROPE: Are you okay?
MOONSHOT: I've never been this okay. It's overwhelming. I no longer have confusion. My whole life is clear. The beam of love emanating from this—I don't even want to name it, something this beautiful should never be labeled.
EBEE: I call it—
MOONSHOT: Red! Red! Stop! Stop! It's speaking to me. Red means stop.
SISKY: Need I say more.
MOONSHOT: I will translate. (KNEELS. PUTS ONE HAND ON THE APPLE AND SPEAKS FOR IT THROUGH HIS OTHER HAND, LIKE A PUPPET) Stop, do not label me. For if you label me, you will cease to see me as I am. A label would be an impenetrable wall existing only to cut off the beam of love that connects me with this great-looking person who speaks for me now.
SISKY: But I—
MOONSHOT: STOP! No labels.
ROPE: Excuse me, Mr. MOONSHOT, but everything needs a name.
MOONSHOT: How'd you know my name?
ROPE: "Moonshot" is not your real name. I was just being—
MOONSHOT: It could be my real name.
ROPE: Not likely. I'm just trying to say that names are—
MOONSHOT: You don't know what my name is, do you, Mr. Smartysocks?
ROPE: Do not call me that.
MOONSHOT: You look like a smartysocks. Smartysocks.
ROPE: I am not a smartysocks.
MOONSHOT: (OVERLAP) Smartysocks. Smartysocks. Smartysocks...
ROPE: (OVERLAP) Stop.
MOONSHOT: (OVERLAP) Smartysocks. Smartysocks. Smartysocks...
ROPE: (OVERLAP) Stop. Stop. I AM NOT A SMARTYSOCKS!!!
MOONSHOTS: Then what are you?
ROPE: I AM A "SMARTYPANTS!" (PAUSE A BEAT) Excuse me. What I am saying is that this piece should have a name, even though it is worthless.
MOONSHOT: (TO ROPE) I know your type. (TO SISKY) And your type. (TO EBEE) Even yours. You look at art and criticize it and actually believe that your words make you equal or greater than the artist. Sit. (PAUSE) SIT!
ROPE: I am not sitting.
MOONSHOT: You will sit and repent and you will feel the love beams that are full of love particles—yet—are still love beams. Lose yourselves in them and find redemption.
EBEE: We don't have to listen to you.
SISKY: We are famous art critics.
ROPE: At least one of us is. We will not sit, Mr. Moonshot.
MOONSHOT: (PATS COAT) I have something inside here that will make you sit.
ROPE: What is that?
MOONSHOT: I will turn each of you into batter, pour you in a pan, and flip you over and over like the crepes that you are. I will, you know. I'LL FLIP YOU! NOW SIT! (THEY SIT QUICKLY, FULL OF FEAR) Cool. Okay, now relax and just let the beams wash over you. I'm going to sit right over here and absorb the giving life from the MAIN beam. (ENTER ELVIS WEARING AN OVERCOAT AND SUNGLASSES. HE SEES THE APPLE)
ELVIS: This wonderful thing here makes me recall my sweet momma, and the apple pies she baked, and how they always made me feel good inside, which always made me dance with style and grace, and always made me sing like a god (HE STRIPS OFF OVERCOAT TO REVEAL A SEQUINED JUMPSUIT). Elvis has entered the wing. Thank you very much. It's good to be here. I ain't dead, I'm as alive as a hog rolling in the Memphis mud. To honor my momma, I will perform my first comeback concert, and you'll be my first audience. I'd like to sing a song I wrote while out on the road enjoying sweet anonymity (SINGS A MADE-UP MELODY):
I've fished in the waters of Tupelo
Caught catfish with which I had to grapple
But the town that had the best soup I know
was the town they call The Big Apple
ROPE: Excuse me, sir, but I think you are making that up as you go along, and you are not Elvis. Not really.
ELVIS: What's your name, sir?
SISKY AND EBEE: MISTER Rope
ELVIS: Well, Mr. Rope, if you don't see Elvis, who do you see?
ROPE: A person who needs to get a life.
EBEE: I see a budding performance artist expressing the spirit of Elvis of Tupelo, of Memphis, of Graceland, oh sweet land of grace, the mecca of true soul-seekers—(EBEE CLAPS, STOPPING HIMSELF)—OOH
SISKY: I see sequins.
MOONSHOT: I seeeeeee, man, I SEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!
ELVIS: Well, what can I say? Y'all are people with big brains—I can see that. And I love y'all anyway, because you're my fans. I'd like to finish with one of those hippy-hoppy rapping songs that I wrote to stay modern and cool: (RAPS)
I'm still a hound dog puppy,
though born in '35
y'all thought I was a corpse,
but here I am alive
you don't think I'm really Elvis
I can see it in your eyes
you see a big lost loser
who's feeding you big lies
I can tell you I'm successful
yeah I gotta lotta cash
and I got a big addiction
to spicy corned beef hash
the real me is wonderful
I learned that from my shrink
I refuse to be a puck,
I refuse to be a rink
I am an open field,
I am the endless sky
but I am not a god,
I am just a normal guy
you see what you want to see
there's nothing I can do
but shake my hips around the floor
and rap my rap for you
(DANCES) what you see is what you get. (MOONSHOT, SISKY & EBEE APPLAUD)
ELVIS: Thank you. Thank you. I am Elvis, and it's time for Elvis to leave the building. Thank you very much. (RUNS OFF. EXITS)
ROPE: (SARCASTIC) Gee, I never got his autograph.
EBEE: Excuse me, Mr. Moonshot, why does Elvis get to leave?
MOONSHOT: He was real—you're not. Focus and imbibe the imbibe-able beams. (ENTER PEEVISH AND PETULA. THEY STOP AT THE APPLE)
PEEVISH AND PETULA: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORMS !!!!!! (PAUSE A BEAT)
PEEVISH & PETULA: Let's go fishing!!!
(THEY EXIT QUICKLY. A MIME ENTERS, PLAYS. STOPS AT THE APPLE. THE MIME MIMES REACHING FOR IT, GRABBING IT, BITING INTO IT. MOONSHOT GETS UP FROM HIS SEAT AND, WITHOUT TOUCHING, MIMES PUSHING THE MIME AWAY. IN SLOW MOTION, THE MIME FALLS BACK AS IF PUSHED. AGAIN, IN SLOW MOTION, THE MIME COMES BACK TOWARD THE APPLE. MOONSHOT PUTS HIS HANDS NEAR THE APPLE AND STIFFENS HIS ARMS AS IF HE IS GETTING ENERGY FROM THE APPLE. HE FLINGS THE ENERGY AT THE MIME, WHO MIMES BEING PUSHED BACK. MOONSHOT KEEPS FLINGING ENERGY UNTIL THE MIME IS BLOWN OFFSTAGE. *NOTE: The actors can get really creative and wacky here!)
SISKY: (CLAPPING) Bravo, bravo. Good show. Good show.
MOONSHOT: That was real, man.
SISKY: That wasn't real.
MOONSHOT: You ever do battle with a mime?
SISKY: Well, no, but I could. It's just pretend.
MOONSHOT: Stand up. Come on, stand up. What's your favorite hobby?
SISKY: (STANDS) What's this have to do with anything—
MOONSHOT: What's your favorite hobby?
SISKY: I have a garden. I like growing mums. Maroon mums
MOONSHOT: Okay, right in front of me is your garden, and it has many maroon mums. Now, without moving from that spot or saying anything, I want you to try to stop me from mangling your many maroon mums.
SISKY: I don't want to—
MOONSHOT: Or else (PATS POCKET). Okay, I will now mime the mangling of your many maroon mums. (MIMES PICKING ONE MUM AT A TIME, SLOWLY AND METHODICALLY. MOONSHOT TIES ONE IN A KNOT AND FLICKS IT AWAY. EATS ONE. *NOTE: The actor should explore the many ways to mime mangling a mum, and choose the funniest)
SISKY: This is stupid.
MOONSHOT: Stop me. Now. (SISKY RELUCTANTLY THINKS FOR A SECOND THEN TRIES TO KNOCK MOONSHOT OVER WITH A PUFF OF AIR. MOONSHOT DOESN'T MOVE. SISKY THEN TRIES PUSHING HIM. MOONSHOT DOESN'T REACT. SISKY THEN MIMES SCREWING A HOSE INTO A FAUCET. HE TURNS THE FAUCET ON AND OPENS THE HOSE ON MOONSHOT. MOONSHOT REACTS AS IF BEING SPRAYED. SISKY OPENS UP THE FAUCET MORE AND MOONSHOT GETS BLOWN ACROSS THE STAGE. SISKY IS CLEARLY ENJOYING HIMSELF)
MOONSHOT: Okay, enough, enough.
SISKY: You promise to stay away from my mums?
MOONSHOT: I promise. I promise. Just turn it off. Please. (SISKY TURNS IT OFF AND WRAPS UP THE HOSE. MOONSHOT MIMES DRYING HIMSELF OFF. SISKY HANGS UP THE HOSE) You conquered the muminator.
SISKY: (SITS) I am the muminator—inator.
MOONSHOT: (SITS. CONNECTS TO THE BEAM) Was that real or what?
SISKY: (COCKY) Doesn't get more real. (ENTER CURLY, LARA, AND MONA)
CURLY: (SEES THE APPLE. DANCES ON HER TOES WITH EVERY SYLLABLE) Look at this piece. Wow! Dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee... (AS MANY AS NECESSARY)
MONA: Stop that, Curly. Show some dignity. This is a museum.
CURLY: But Mona, it makes me feel like dancing. How about you, Lara?
LARA: Well, I...(CHECKS WITH MONA)
MONA: No, it doesn't.
CURLY: You wanna dance, Lara. I can tell.
LARA: But Mona says...
CURLY: Come on, sweetie, I know you want to express yourself. Dee, dee, dee, dee, dee, dee...(CURLY DANCES. LARA STARTS TO MOVE A LITTLE. SHE IS VERY AWKWARD. CAN'T DANCE AT ALL. TRIPS HERSELF AND FALLS)
MONA: That's enough. It's embarrassing. (CURLY WANDERS BETWEEN MOONSHOT AND THE APPLE)
MOONSHOT: No, no. The beam. The beam. Ahhhh, ahhhh... (WRITHES)
CURLY: What's with him.
ROPE: Dear miss, I think you are standing in his beam.
CURLY: His what?
ROPE: Just back up a few feet. Please. It is the MAIN beam. (CURLY BACKS UP. MOONSHOT INSTANTLY ENTERS HIS BLISSFUL STATE. SITS) I think that is better. (CURLY STICKS HER FINGER IN THE BEAM)
MOONSHOT: (WITH A SPASM) Ah—(CURLY POKES THE BEAM TWICE. ONCE ON THE LOWER PART OF THE BEAM. ONCE ON THE UPPER. MOONSHOT HAS TWO SPASMS, ONE LOW IN PITCH, ONE HIGH) Ah, Ah—(CURLY POKES THE BEAM SEVEN TIMES, FROM LOW TO HIGH. MOONSHOT MOANS THE FIRST SEVEN NOTES OF A MAJOR SCALE—JUST "DO, RE, MI, FA, SOL, LA, TI" MOONSHOT DOESN'T FINISH IT OFF. NO LAST "DO")—Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhhhhh—(CURLY IMMEDIATELY POKES OUT THE SONG "ROW ROW ROW YOUR BOAT" STARTING ON THE HIGH "DO") Ahh, ahh, ah-ah-ah—ah-ah-ah- ah-ahhhh (ETC., ETC.)
MONA: Curly, that's enough. You're embarrassing me. (CURLY STOPS. MOONSHOT GETS BLISSFUL)
MOONSHOT: (WITH CLOSED EYES) You're very beautiful.
EVERYONE: (THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER, THEN SPEAK TOGETHER) Why thank you! I think he means me! No, he means me!
MOONSHOT: I was talking to Mona. But you're ALL very beautiful.
EVERYONE: Thank you. (ENTER CALLY, CARRYING A PORTFOLIO. SHE WATCHES FROM A DISTANCE)
MOONSHOT: Tell me your feelings, Mona.
MONA: What do you mean?
MOONSHOT: When you look at it.
MONA: Do you mean the—?
MOONSHOT: Don't label it! It must not be labeled. What do you feel, Mona?
MONA: Leave me alone.
MOONSHOT: Ah, you feel anger. It reminds you of something.
CURLY: Last week, she gave one of those "ones-who-must-not-be-labeled" to our science teacher, Mr. Bucket, and was rebuffed.
LARA: Just gave it right back to her.
MOONSHOT: Tell me more.
LARA: But Mona, it's true.
MONA: Alright, but I'll tell the story—
CURLY: Mona is so old-fashioned. Like no one gives "ones-who-must-not-be-labeled" to teachers anymore. She walks right up to his desk before class starts and puts it down right in front of him.
MONA: I said I'd tell—
CURLY: And then he flicks it back to her and says they give him hives. That was one harsh flick.
MONA: I just thought it would be nice.
LARA: No one, but you, likes Mr. Bucket. He's mean and scary and is always going to the bathroom.
CURLY AND LARA: And he never comes back!
MONA: He's not mean. He's intense.
MOONSHOT: Ah, so the "one-who-must-not-be-labeled" is bringing up the rejection and hurt inside you.
MONA: No, I'm over it already.
MOONSHOT: Look at it.
MONA: I can't.
MOONSHOT: Face your feelings.
CURLY AND LARA: Come on, Mona.
MOONSHOT: You can do it. Come on. Just look. It won't harm you. (MONA LOOKS) That's it.
MONA: (CRIES) I'm so sorry, Mr. Bucket. Please don't hate me. I'll bring grapes next time.
CURLY: Grapes give him indigestion.
MONA: Then I'll bring you kumquats.
LARA: Those give him eczema.
MONA: Crab cakes.
LARA: Cold sores.
CURLY AND LARA: Carrots?
CURLY AND LARA: Craters.
CURLY AND LARA: Craters.
CURLY AND LARA: Steak?
CALLY: NO! You mustn't give him steak. Eating animals is wrong, let alone helping others to eat them. (LOOKS AT THE APPLE) What is this?
MOONSHOT: Ahhh. Watch my beam please.
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