The house lights dim. The curtain comes up. A door opens and the light from the hall gently
caresses the contour of a woman in her forties at stage left. Her hair is stubble. A limp wig
lay lifeless on the lamp stand to her right. Her face is predominantly covered with a mask.
Not so long ago mascara and makeup complemented her beauty. However tonight she has
none. Small penlights flash and beep. Her left arm that once dripped with gold and precious
jewels now hangs lifeless off the bed adorned with wires an I.V’s. Her right arm is in a cast.
Her limbs and torso leaves no question of her skeleton to the imagination. On the nightstand
to her left stands a picture of a family on a beach. Monitors and lights circumscribe her bed
flashing and beeping…and flashing…and then they stop…all is still No music, just murmurs of
disbelief from the audience. All Is still and still nothing. Some people in the front get up and
leave. The door slowly closes. Curtain comes down and lights come up. End of act one.
By Robb A. Kopp
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