Jared McDaris

A spotlight rises to reveal three queens: GONERIL, REGAN, and CORDELIA. They are standing shoulder to shoulder. Each has her right arm stretched out and up before her. They are grasping a single brilliant coronet between them. After a moment’s struggle, the coronet breaks in three. Each queen clutches a fragment to her chest.

Slowly, the lights expand to reveal a barren heath. There we see three resplendent kings and three resplendent coteries of nobles. Conveniently, they are color-coordinated: green for Goneril, red for Regan, and (disappointingly) gold for Cordelia.

They look at each other.

GONERIL
Let’s never let power come between us.

REGAN
Seems like an odd thing to say right out the gate.

CORDELIA
Charles. (her king approaches) Expand our troops to the northern and western lines. Recreate the third division as my personal guard and bring them up at once.

CHARLES, the King of France, nods and leaves, taking two French soldiers with him.

GONERIL
Expand your troops?

REGAN
Don’t you trust us?

CORDELIA
“Trust, but verify” is the motto de jour. I am seizing central Britain. The contested lands are contested no longer. Goneril, you and your lord Albany shall march North and return to Scotland: you have ruled there happily for several years and may continue to do so. Regan, you and your lord Cornwall shall reboard your ships and turn back to Ireland. See that no rebellion is fomented on that green isle. I shall reign in the central Britain and Wales. Any disputes that arise between the two of you shall be mediated by me, here on our central throne. Seeing as there is a literal sea dividing you, no such contentions are anticipated.

GONERIL
Why come you get France and England and Wales?

REGAN
Daddy said the land should be divided up equally.

CORDELIA
Equality is a myth, or at best a philosophical axiom. It has little application in the real world.

GONERIL
Nuh uh!

CORDELIA
While we stand here bickering, my forces are solidifying. I have made my decisions. You are free to make yours. We shall see whose worldview prevails.

CORDELIA’S private guard arrives. They are intimidating.

REGAN
Well, my worldview is that you’re a asshole!

CORDELIA
Noted.

GONERIL
How come you get the throne?

CORDELIA
I am the only queen who makes decisions using reason. Because of this, I believe I deserve central power. I will make more rational and balanced decisions than either of you.

GONERIL
Are you calling me stupid?

CORDELIA
If that’s the word you want to use, then fine.

GONERIL
I can’t believe you called me that! You are so mean!

CORDELIA
Do you think you would make a better ruler than I would?

GONERIL
Yes!

CORDELIA
Why?

GONERIL
Cause I wouldn’t be such a cock-head!

CORDELIA
And that’s your definition of a good ruler? Someone who is nice?

GONERIL
Yes!

CORDELIA
Well let’s test that theory. Men! Hold this ground (indicates a spot). Repel my sisters from this immediate area.

The French troops advance and drive the other sisters away.

REGAN
Stop!

GONERIL
Don’t be a cock-head! Why is everyone such a cock-head! You’re all head-cocks.

CORDELIA
It appears my methods are more effective.

REGAN
Can’t we all just get along?

CORDELIA
If you are content with Ireland, and you with Scotland, then yes, we can get along.

GONERIL
That’s not fair!

CORDELIA
I already addressed that issue.

REGAN
Come on, be real. Why are you being this way?

CORDELIA
It is effective and efficient.

REGAN
Why are you so upset?

CORDELIA
I am not upset. I am a superior ruler, and I am taking this land. I have already explained why.

REGAN
Is it cause Goneril called you a cock-head?

GONERIL
Cause she is one!

CORDELIA
That didn’t happen until after I made my claim.

REGAN
So what’s wrong?

CORDELIA
The only thing wrong is that you are refusing to accept my terms, yet you have offered no justification for your counterclaim.

REGAN
I think this would all smooth over if we could all just be respectful of one another.

GONERIL
Yeah, fucker!

CORDELIA
I am not the one calling anyone names.

REGAN
There’s no need to be offended.

CORDELIA
I am not offended. You are making irrational and unfounded claims, and I am pointing them out. Moreover, you are distracting from the central point of this argument. You want the central throne, but still have offered no justification for why you deserve it.

REGAN
Why are you being this way?

CORDELIA
I want the throne, and I believe I deserve it. If there are not counterpoints, I will consider it mine.

GONERIL
Fuck you, you fucking Nazi!

REGAN
Why are you being so inconsiderate?

CORDELIA
I have already addressed that issue. You are refusing to listening to me while simultaneously projecting your own irrationalities onto me.

REGAN
If you would just apologize, we could lay this whole thing to rest.

CORDELIA
I have done nothing that warrants apology. I have work to do, and I want to get to it.

REGAN
Well fuck you! You fuckin’… Cock-head! Cock-head!

CORDELIA
All right, well, when you’ve calmed down, we can reopen negotiations. Until then, I insist you retreat to your own seats of power. Men!

The Troops push the sisters back. They continue to shout the same insult over and over. Eventually, they vanish.

CORDELIA
Oh, what a fertile promontory.

END

Lights up on a five-tiered stage: a ground floor and four bridge-like platforms. The top tier is paved, the rest wood. On the bottom four tiers are several WASHERS, each of them part of an elaborate circle. Used towels are taken from the railings of the top tier at SR, slowly handed along, cleaned, inspected, and so forth, passed along to the bottom tier, where tubs and washboards are used to clean. They are then passed back up along the SL side, where they are dried and folded by various other WASHERS. Eventually, they are handed to a tall WASHER on the fourth tier, who stands and holds towels up toward the top tier. Along the top tier, 19th century french aristocrats promenade along, SL to SR. Each one takes a towel, uses it to dry their face, then dumps it on the railing near the SR side before exiting.

Post-industrial, vaudevillian music is playing, evoking the spirit of the assembly line.

Time passes, and the rate of passing aristocrats increases, producing more used towels. The WASHERS increase their pace, and it soon becomes impossible to keep up. The music speeds up to highlight this. In time, the aristocrats start to notice imperfections in their towels, but merely sneer at them. Soon after that, they respond to the outrage by spitting on the WASHERS as they arrive. It is worth nothing that most of the spitting is reserved for the Tall WASHER that is handing them the towels.

Soon after, a WASHER collapses from exhaustion. Those nearby attempt to help, but cannot stop for more than a second or two. Again, the job becomes more exhausting. More WASHERS collapse and are glanced at then ignored. The job becomes unsustainable, and the music reflect this.

Finally, halfway across the top tier, an ARISTOCRAT notices a stain on their towel. The ARISTOCRAT howls in horrified terror mingled with a touch of outrage. Foppishly, the ARISTOCRAT flails about the top tier, expressing disgust, horror, and utter disbelief. Other Aristocrats eventually come to understand the situation and express similar terror. Examining their towels, the minor imperfections that caused them to spit are now reviling poisons that cannot be endured. One by one, each ARISTOCRAT starts to flail and fop about in haute horror and dandyish disbelief, even as more ARISTOCRATS clog up the line behind them, taking towels and joining in the tempest.

Finally, the WASHERS have run out of towels. Several ARISTOCRATS have taken extra towels, dumped towels in places they don’t belong, worn towels as hats, etc. The WASHERS no longer have work, and are now staring up at the ARISTOCRATS and their histrionics. Some WASHERS reach up for towels. Some slowly emulate the foppish flailing. Some sit and ponder. Some lie down with their exhausted brethren.

One ARISTOCRAT bends over the railing to wretch and notices the WASHERS below. This ARISTOCRAT, a true HERO, stands up and throws out their arms.

HERO
My brothers and sisters!

Silence. Everyone looks at the HERO.

HERO
Why do we flail and fop amongst ourselves? Why do we bewail our misfortune, to suffer a befouled and bespattered towel, when we might turn our ire upon its rightful source and just recipient? (points down) Look at them! Indolent! At rest! Lounging about as we suffer! Do we ask too much of them? To wash a towel? Is this so terrible that they, so many they, cannot endure it? I say no!

ARISTOCRATS
Quite, yet, very quite, quite yes, hear hear, very much quite yes, etc…

HERO
Do not go quietly into that good night, but stand up for your rights! Boooooooo…

ARISTOCRATS
Boo, yes, quite boo, very boo, quite quite, boo boo, very quite boo, etc…

WASHER
We need towels.

HERO
What? Hold, hold my heroic brethren!

Quiet is restored.

ANOTHER WASHER*
We need towels. To wash them.

*No WASHER is allowed to speak more than once.
Disbelieving, insulted silence. And then…

HERO
You need towels!? There are towels everywhere! Look that them! All over! Here for the grabbing. And you say you need towels!? Boo! Boooooo…

ARISTOCRATS
Boo, yes, quite boo, very boo, quite quite, boo boo, very quite boo, etc…

ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t reach them.

HERO
What? Speak up!

ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t reach the towels.

HERO
Learn how to speak, you cretin. Hold, my friends, hold.

Again, quiet is restored.

ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t reach the towels from down here.

HERO
What what! What!? Now you want us to do your job for you? Now they want us to do their job for them? Why should we give you towels when you can’t even be bothered to clean them?

ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t clean them if we can’t reach them.

HERO
Bosh! Flimshaw! They’re everywhere! Everywhere for the grabbing! Boo! Boooooooo…

ARISTOCRATS
Boo, yes, quite boo, very boo, quite quite, boo boo, very quite boo, etc…

ANOTHER WASHER
Just put the towels on the railing where they belong!

HERO
Speak up, for the love of God! Speak up you subhuman!

ANOTHER WASHER
PUT THE TOWELS ON THE RAILING WHERE THEY BELONG!!

Shocked, indescribable silence.

HERO
How… DARE you!? The impertinence.

ONE ARISTOCRAT
Boo–

HERO
No no! Not this time. THIS time… oh, ho ho ho… THIS time… We have attempted to be reasonable. We have attempted to be merciful. We have extended the hand of friendship, upon which you spat. We have extended the olive branch, which you have soiled. But now… now… I demand… to speak to your manager!

Gasp!

A rumbling. Then, divine light shines down from the heavens. The clouds part, and the DEVIL descends from fly wires. It is obviously the DEVIL in a business suit, every bit the cliche.

DEVIL
Good morning. What seems to be the trouble?

HERO
The trouble is this creature (points to a random WASHER), in addition to refusing to do a simple job, that is its job let’s not forget, has responded to my polite parley by insulting my person! Harumph, sir! Harumph I say!

DEVIL
I’m very sorry to hear that.

The DEVIL points at a random WASHER, maybe the same one the HERO pointed out. There is a flash of light, and the WASHER collapses, writhes in pain, and dies. Only the WASHERS notice this.

DEVIL
First of all, I would like to being by saying that I am sorry.

Again, the DEVIL points to a WASHER, to dies in a flash of light and agony.

DEVIL
We’re a family here, and I recognize that by hurting you, we have hurt ourselves.

Again, the DEVIL murders another WASHER.

DEVIL
I have taken definitive steps to ensure this mistake does not happen again.

As the DEVIL speaks, a DEMON in a suit emerges on the top tier. The DEMON, silent and unnoticed, collects some (not all) of the errant towels and places them on the railing at SR. When this work is finished, the DEMON quickly vanishes offstage.

DEVIL
We are a family, and we are sorry, and we have taken definitive steps, and we are a family, and thank you for being part of our family. Family.

There is an enormous flash of light. As the DEVIL ascends back into heaven, a single ARISTOCRAT is struck by the light and tumbles over the railing. This single ARISTOCRAT falls onto one of the lower tiers. Drunk with disorientation and injury, the long ARISTOCRAT looks around. Slowly, the reality of the situation dawns. The ARISTOCRAT tries to shout and express the horror, but find they have no voice.

As the shock subsides, the WASHERS slowly get back to work. They are fewer in number and have fewer towels, but they are quickly able to provide fresh towels to the backlogged Aristocrats. The Aristocrats slowly get back to promenading. The HERO stands at the center of the top tier, looking out over everyone. The lone ARISTOCRAT in the lower tiers continues to shout and resist, but eventually is taken over and becomes part of the Washing Machine.

A passing Aristocrat hands a large hat to the HERO, which the HERO dawns. It is a huge, Napoleonic hat, with the word “HERO” on it. The HERO looks out over the audience with great dignity.

There is now a backlog line forming at SL as Aristocrats wait for towels. Each Aristocrat now has their own personal towel that they wear as a piece of clothing, possibly two, in addition to the towels they take, use, and discard. The WASHERS below have never worked harder: there are fewer Washers, fewer towels, and the lone ARISTOCRAT is jamming things up with their whining and incompetence. The post-industrial music returns, but now a glorious anthem is drowning it out.

The HERO looks out nobly over what they have wrought. Divine light shines from above.

Slowly, the lights fade out.

END

We hear screaming winds and manic chanting. Red lights rise on a jutting black promontory at CS. Surrounding the promontory are numerous figures in black robes, their hands stretched up; unsurprisingly, they are the source of the chanting. Standing atop the promontory is a single figure, presumably their LEADER, whose robes are purple.

The chanting reaches its apex. Lights flash. Flames shoot from US. The storms and shouting climax with a final brilliant flash of light, and suddenly there this Blackout and silence.

The silence goes on for several seconds.

Dim, golden light slowly fades up on the same promontory. The same people are there, their hands limp at their sides, staring up at the LEADER. More silence follows, until…

LEADER* 
Now… I realize of course that last night was… disappointing. I’m sure I need hardly append that this has never happened to me before. I think it’s important we all recognize as well that the Book of Berethrax, though inspired by our perfect and malevolent master, was after all, written by people, and people are after all, fallible. That is, after all, why we hope to summon the Dark Beast Berethrax into our world, that he or she or it might subdue and consume the human race: we are, tragically, only human.

*It is the playwright’s opinion that the Leader, regardless of age, sex, gender, or type, should resemble, in action and speech, Robert East in his performance as Prince Harry in Series 1, Episode 1 of The Blackadder: “The Foretelling,” with a special focus on his monologue to the troops during the Battle of Ralph the Liar’s Day.
Sparse, half-polite chuckles from the crowd.

LEADER 
I’m reminded of something Berethrax said to me when only a child. This was, of course, before the Dark Beast rallied his or her or its infernal armies of revenants and shadow serpents to march against the tall and haughty Gates of Heaven. He, or she or it, said to me, “Chris,” he or she or it said (we were on a first-name basis, even then), “Chris, being a mere and petty mortal, you will of course find yourself prone to frequent mistakes. You are imperfect, which is after all why I intend to one day expunge your petty and insignificant species from the Earth and cast you down into eternal torment. Until then, however, it is vitally important that you do not allow your obvious shortcomings to shunt you into despair. One day you will summon me, and I shall return – or not! – but until that time, you’ll just have to muddle on as best you can, always put a bright face on things, and never let yourself become discouraged.” Inspiring words, I felt, and still feel. So, I think it’s in our best interest if we all gather up our things, return to the compound, and settle in for another quick decade of servitude, worship, and of course preparation. We’ll try this again on the next third blue moon. Not to worry, the time will flow so quickly, I expect we’ll feel as surprised and unprepared as we did for Gladys’ birthday party last week. So in summation: stay positive, put your noses to the grindstone, and let’s make this next decade even more productive than the last! Hands in!

The LEADER puts an outstretched hand down toward all the cultists. They do not react. Another tense silence follows.

RANDOM CULTIST
This is bullshit!

ANGRY CULTIST
I been working on this for seven years!

FURIOUS CULTIST
I’v been working on this for twenty-three years!

RANDOM CULTIST
When the hell is Berethrax gonna get here already?

DISGRUNTLED CULTIST
Yeah! I told my ex-girlfriend I was gonna experience the ecstasy of my ego-death by Berethrax’ sublime mastication. If she sees me next week while she’s out getting smoothies with that douche-bag lawyer, I’ll look like an idiot!

Suddenly, more jets of fire burst up. The LEADER hits the floor. Everyone else stairs in awe. Great, brassy trumpets sound a clarion call, and the rattle of marching boots can be heard. As the trumpets let out a final sennet, BERETHRAX appears on the promontory. The Great Beast’s features are largely obscured, as he or she or it is clad (yes clad) in armor the color of blood and bones. Choral music, the sort found in modern fantasy movies, is now playing. BERETHRAX reaches down and partly lifts up the LEADER. The cultists all kneel before the sight as BERETHRAX inadvertently creates a quasi-imitation of The Lion King. This moment is soon quashed, however, as BERETHRAX tosses the LEADER down into the throngs. The LEADER is, presumably, caught and, presumably, unharmed.

BERETHRAX
My people! I have returned from conquest!

Silence. Much shuffling of feet. In time, the LEADER leaps up and cheers emphatically, clapping hands and stomping feet. Eventually, everyone takes the hint and starts cheering. This goes on for some time. When satisfied, BERETHRAX raises a fist in the air and stops them cold.

BERETHRAX
Heaven has fallen!

Again, uncertainty. The LEADER again gets everyone to start cheering. When satisfied, BERETHRAX opens the closed fist into a “stop” command, silencing everyone.

BERETHRAX
The Kingdom of Heaven is mine. The few that remain of the holy shall be cast down upon your despoiled land and kept imprisoned as befits their station. You creatures shall be charged with the erection of the fortresses, strongholds, and (for the meanest among them) keeps that will house their lot.

Yet again, silence.

RANDOM CULTIST
Like… construction workers?

BERETHRAX
What?

LEADER
Yes, we… construction, in a sense, I mean. I’m sure the Great Beast Berethrax intends for us to rule over the peasants and wards who will do the actual lifting and building and… construction… ing. Yes?

BERETHRAX
I don’t care.

LEADER
Yes! See? Of course. And naturally, once the Earth gets a taste of Berethrax and the eternal fury of holy hellfire, I’m sure we’ll have little trouble convincing them of just who’s calling the shots here.

BERETHRAX
I do not intend to stay.

LEADER
Yes great – what, huh now?

BERETHRAX
Heaven is mine. I ascend my golden seat. Do what you want with this pit, so long as I get my prisons.

LEADER
… Yyyyyeeeeesssss… I wonder, uh, Great Beast Berethrax, if we might–

BERETHRAX
Farewell!

More gouts of flame. BERETHRAX leaves. Utter silence ensues. Everyone slowly turns to stare at the LEADER. Silence. The LEADER tries to climb back up onto the promontory, but fails, several times. Eventually, the poor LEADER has no choice but to turn and face the unimpressed throng.

LEADER
So… the great day has come at last! We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, but I think it’s important we take time to celebrate our victories. Let’s all return to the compound for a thirty-minute Tex-Mex luncheon–

DISGRUNTLED CULTIST
Where’s the hellfire!?

FURIOUS CULTIST
Where’s the smiting of our enemies!?

ANGRY CULTIST
Where’s the illusory sense of importance and the inflated impression of vindication that comes from watching others outside your immediate sphere of influence suffer misfortunes from a pedestalled ideologue with whom you loosely associate?

Silence.

ALL CULTISTS
Yeah!

LEADER**
I think it’s important that we of course remember that the Great Beast Berethrax… has a lot on his shoulders… or hers… or its… And I think we must once again reflect that the Book of Berethrax, although inspired by our infernal and now (let us not forget) divine leader, is in fact written by humans, who are (as we agreed) fallible. So it is entirely understandable and, I should dare say, expected, that certain of the prophecies and predictions may come out slightly differently than we may have been led to what are you doing? Wait!

**During the above, the CULTISTS slowly close in on the LEADER. By the end, the LEADER is completely swarmed by followers. The lights quickly fade out as they seem to rear up as a single unit, ready to collapse on their erstwhile LEADER.

END