ONE MORE HOUR

BY

MARY ANNE BUTLER

Notes to casting:

The sex of each character is nominated below, but they can - in most cases - be interchanged. Feel free to adjust the relevant pronouns.
One More Hour can be performed with a minimum of three actors and a maximum of nine actors. Some productions have used a chorus approach, increasing the cast size beyond nine. One production had a cast of twelve.

The playwright actively encourages cross-cultural casting in all her work.

CAST

Part One – FATE

Fate – an eternally optimistic Irish Wolf Hound

Todd – a man

Dubs – a woman

Part Two - CHANCE

Chance – a fierce Great Dane

Scout – a woman

Harper – a woman

Part Three - HOPE

Hope – an old black Labrador

Morgan – a man

Parker – a woman

SET and PROPS

Sets are minimalist, interchangeable, and should segue smoothly into each other.

Minimal props. The Flying Fox can be a cardboard box. The rickshaws can be tricycles, or cardboard boxes with wheels painted on.

ERA

The Not-Too-Distant Future

PROLOGUE

A massive wall of dense, impervious dust the colour of rusted blood swirls across the world.

It builds into a dust storm: slicing through the air; gritty and brutal.

Everything is dead, and dry.

This could be Armageddon.

Three shadowy dog-ghosts appear.

They HOWL into the apocalypse.

Build to…

BLACKOUT.

***

PART #1 - FATE

FATE – a lone dog – mooches at the end of her master’s bed.

She farts. She spins around to sniff her own fart.

FATE: Christ, I need to shit. [Beat] Get up, Todd.

TODD: No.

FATE: I need to shit.

TODD: Too bad. Hold it in.

FATE: I can’t.

Silence.

It’s been three days.

Silence.

Come ON Todd. I need to shit. I need to piss. I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. I’m dog-gone lonely as well, but as far as Maslow’s needs go, that’s a long way down the list.

TODD: You can shit in the courtyard; I let you out there.

FATE: I hate shitting there. Besides it being the size of a postage stamp, it’s an extension of my space. Me shitting in the courtyard is like you shitting in your bed. Plus, I need a bit of a warm up before I shit. You know that.

TODD: Tough shit.

FATE: …and he’s not even trying to be funny… [Beat] GET UP!

TODD: No. I’m depressed.

FATE: It’s just the black dog.

TODD: …there’s another dog here…?

FATE: It’s a metaphor, Todd. You’re depressed because you’ve spent seven years -

TODD: Three hundred and sixty-three days, actually.

FATE: Seven DOG years in bed, in a dark stinking room. Let’s go for a WALK!

TODD: What’s the point?

FATE: The point is just DOING something, other than this nothingness. Plus, I get to shit somewhere other than my own courtyard. Anyway, what’s the option?

TODD: The numb-ness of sleep. The black-ness of forgetting.

FATE: You can’t keep hiding under the covers. It’s just SAD. You need to -

TODD: Yes, it is.

FATE: No; S.A.D. Season Affected Disorder. A body needs light. A soul needs light.

TODD: There is no sun anymore.

FATE: No, but there’s still some ambient light between the hours of noon and one pm. Which is now. Why don’t we get up, hey? Go out there and get some -

The earth beneath them trembles…

TODD: …is that the earth shaking in fury? Again?

…then tremors…

TODD: Feels like a big one.

…then rumbles…

FATE: And they’ll keep getting bigger.

TODD: …but this one is…

FATE: Bigger than the last one; yes. That’s the definition of something getting bigger, Todd…

TODD: The walls are crumbling.

FATE: The furniture’s tumbling.

TODD: Ornaments, falling off the shelves.

FATE: Glasses exploding.

TODD: Windows imploding.

FATE: Floorboards caving in on themselves.

TODD: Jesus, we need to get to a Safe Zone!

FATE: YESSSSSS! Walkies! Finally! [Beat] That’s it! Slippers on. Right foot. Left foot. Who’s a good boy, then? Dressing gown, over the top, and... dressed! Or near enough.

Todd runs around grabbing armfuls of neck ties.

Come ON Todd, we don’t have time for that!

TODD: No way I’m leaving my tie collection behind! Do you know how much this Stefano Ricci cost me?

FATE: Enough to feed a small village, from memory.

The earth rocks beneath them. The house sways.

TODD: Make yourself useful! Grab the tins.

FATE: I can’t. Non-opposable thumbs, remember?

Todd grabs tins of food, and chucks them into bags.

FATE: Come ON!

TODD: WAIT! My records!

FATE: TODD! NO!!! [Beat] Holy Bone-chewers!! Everything’s collapsing!

Todd clutches armfuls of vinyl records. He’s loaded to the hilt.

Oh, great. Now we can sing along to Engelbert Humperdinck while the world combusts around us.

TODD: It’s still in its original wrapping. It’s worth a mint!

FATE: Todd. There’s no electricity any more. How’re you hoping to –

The earth ROARS.

TODD: RUN! To a Safe Zone, quick!

They run. Fate stops suddenly short.

FATE: Hang on. I just need to… Aaaaarggghhhh. [Beat] Nothing. Constipated. See? Timing is all, when it comes to a good shit.

TODD: Come on!

FATE: Don’t PULL when I’m trying to poo! It’s distracting. Plus, it gets on my paws!

TODD; Jesus, seriously?

FATE: I’m nearly there. Just chill for a… Aaaaarggghhhh.

Fate poos.

See? All I needed was a little stretch. Did you bring a poo bag?

TODD: No.

FATE: …and you wonder why the planet’s gone to shit…

TODD: I can’t believe there’s nothing left. My coin collection. My cool Italian shoes. My train set. All… gone.

FATE: Todd, it’s just stuff. We’re alive, that’s the main thing. Look! There’s the safe zone! Look at all the people! And the Dogs! I can smell them from here!

TODD: Don’t PULL!

***

DUBS: The earth convulses again and again and again. Quaking tremors mount, shuddering. Chunks of dirt fall from the walls, the ceiling. Cracks gawp open in the dirt floor.

It’ll all cave in and we’ll be swallowed up inside one giant sinkhole. We moles without light; sucked into the putrid earth like a giant blender. Skulls and limbs and teeth and hair churned down, down into an endless, bottomless black pit. No-one will even bother to dig us out. There will be no ceremony. No acknowledgement. Just a convenient cleansing of the underclass.

And I’m not going to wait for that. Won’t give them the pleasure.

So I gather every evil plastic thing I can find: the ancient food tubes and shampoo bottles and bags from my scavenging days. Stray Tupperware lids without containers. The Pod-issued polyester clothing. Polyethylene cups and plates and forks. Chair, and table.

And I build myself a mountain of plastic.

Then I strike a hoarded match.

And I hold it up to a nylon t-shirt.

And I watch it flash

and flicker

and flume

and grow.

***

FATE: Wow! He’s cute!

TODD: Stop PULLING!

FATE: ...but there’s a really cute…

TODD: We’re not here to make friends, Fate. We’re here to seek refuge.

FATE: Why can’t I make friends?

TODD: Because they’ll only want something from us. [Beat] Sit.

FATE: Pour quoi?

TODD: Sit.

FATE: Why?

TODD: Stay.

FATE: …I’m sorry, I’m not following. Are you trying to TRAIN me?

TODD: On Guard. I need to find a toilet. Keep an eye on the stuff.

FATE: Seriously? “On Guard?”. Isn’t that a bit… fascist?

TODD: If anyone comes near, bite them.

FATE: Todd. I’m not a bloody service dog, okay? I’m a –

TODD: JUST DO IT!!!

FATE: Woah. Right. Go on then. Take a crap. Sounds like you need it..

Todd leaves.

FATE: Well; I’ll just… hang here, I guess.

Dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum.

Ohhhh, hey-up. That cutie’s looking over at me. Sexy smile. Nice canines.

Oh, yesssssss. Look at the size of that TONGUE! Now THAT’s what I’m talkin’ about!

Okaaaaaaay. He’s looking this way. He’s… wagging his tail at me. …he’s… he’s… he’s…

coming over here!

[Sniff sniff sniff]. Ohhhhhh, those pheromones!

Play it cool, don’t come on too strong.

Well Hello, sex-bomb. What’s your name?

***

DUBS: Smoke spills out from the plastic pile. Billowing out in dense, black waves.

Thick. Thicker. Blue, and black, and thunderous.

Plastics spurt up and over me. Shooting molten lava onto my clothes, polyester teardrops drip-dripping down my skin.

Holes in my flesh; the pain, it’s

Sharp, and brutal, and –

Real.

Lungs and eyes and nose and mouth, dense with fumes.

Stinging.

Acrid.

Burning.

Can’t see, can’t –

Breathe.

Everything going red. Insides overheating.

The earth quivers and shudders around me.

I hear shouting from outside myself. Voices, screaming.

…or is that just the world, exploding…?

***

TODD: What’re you doing? No. NO! Bad dog! BAD dog!

FATE: Todd, don’t hit him!

TODD: Git away, you mongrel!

FATE: TODD!

TODD: Go on, GIT!

FATE: Oh no. How humiliating. Todd! Me n’ him were –

- he was –

- we were –

- we were just getting to know each other!

TODD: He was eating our supplies!

FATE: I just gave him one tiny tin of -

TODD: Well DON’T! They’re ours.

FATE: He was hungry!

TODD: He’s just using you. [Beat] Listen. What you share, you never get back, okay?

FATE: Well; not literally - but you get it back in other ways. In pats, or licks, or –

TODD: When you’re smart enough to amass your own stockpile then you can do what you want with it. But while it’s mine, then you don’t get to give it all away!

FATE: It was one tin! Of dog food! It’s not like you’re going to -

TODD: I don’t care! I PAID for it! That makes it mine. MINE, understand?! MINE!! I worked for it, I saved for it, I stockpiled it, I – I – I -

FATE: Todd? [Beat] Are you crying? Over one tin? [Beat] Todd! Buddy! Come on.

I know it’s been a shit day, but we’re here now. We’re safe. [Beat] You just need a distraction. I’ll fetch something, okay? Throw me a stick, and I’ll –

TODD: There are no more sticks.

FATE: Yep, okay. Fair point.

TODD: No more trees. [Beat] No more anything.

FATE: Your shoe, Todd. Throw your shoe and I’ll fetch that. And I’ll bring it back, like a normal dog.

TODD: Maybe I should just call it quits.

FATE: What? What’re you talking about? Call what quits? Me? Call me quits? Call the pack quits? What quits are you…

TODD: Maybe I should just call life quits.

FATE: Life? LIFE!? No way. You just need to walk more. Shit regularly. Get a good belly scratch from time to time. Do you want a good belly scratch? Here, roll over. I’ll…

TODD: Get OFF me!

FATE: I’m just trying to help!

TODD: Well DON’T! These pyjamas are Gucci! I don’t want your dirty paws all -

The earth SHAKES wildly.

FATE: We need to blow this town, Todd. We need to get to the coast, where there are fewer buildings.

TODD: What about tsunamis?

FATE: Better off riding a giant wave into nothingness than being crushed under a gazillion tonnes of steel and concrete. [Beat] It’ll be better there, Todd. Come on. Just… trust me on this, would you? Please.

Attaboy. You’ll be okay, big fella. I’ve gotcha. You’re gonna be alright.

FATE takes Todd’s hand in her gentle mouth, and leads him away.

The earth snarls and creaks beneath them.

***

DUBS: People swarm in at me. Men in uniforms. Shouting. Screaming at me. Kicking dirt over the pile.

One of them aims a boot at my thigh, and I buckle down into a pile of pain.

‘Scum,’ he says. ‘Don’t know why we bother.’

He jerks me up by the arm and throws me into the pulley cage. Hoists me upwards through seven stories of dank-smelling vent.

Deep earth shudders around us, crumbling.

He hurls me onto the ground outside, where the Detail takes over. Oversized, sweaty woman and middle-aged, balding man strap me onto a stretcher. Trussed up. Can’t move. They wheel me to the rickshaw, heave me into the back.

…and I know where they’re taking me…

No. NO!

I’m not going back there!

Fat one eats from a tin in front of me. Watches the saliva drool down from my mouth.

Hungry. So, so hungry. Stomach turned inwards and eating on itself.

He laughs. Drinks from a bottle.

Mmmmmmm, he says. Deeee-licious. Bet you’re thirsty, hey?

Sandpaper throat can’t answer.

He chucks the bottle back at me.

It misses my head, smashes into evil shards on the floor.

They get in the front.

Laugh.

Peddle.

Laugh.

Belch.

Earth rumbles beneath us: the lonely planet’s death-growl.

***