The Case of the Supine Equine

[trof]

A short allegorical play in one act.

Props needed (4):
One dead horse
One 34" Louisville Slugger baseball bat, Model ADULT WOOD
A small notepad
A ballpoint pen

The cast (3):
The Horse
The Governor
The Reporter


Stage direction:
The curtain goes up on a bare stage, brightly lit, with no decoration or scenery.
There is no music, no orchestra in the pit.
At stage center is an emaciated dead horse. Flies are buzzing around the horse's eyes, nose, mouth and tail.
A concealed wireless microphone can be used near the horse so that the audience may hear the buzzing of the flies.
This opening milieu should last for a full five minutes before the remaining castmembers come onstage.

The Governor enters, stage right.
He is a large, florid man. He is wearing dark slacks, a white, long-sleeved dress shirt and tie. The top button is undone and the tie is loosened. His sleeves are rolled half-way up his forearms. He is carrying the bat on one shoulder. His face is flushed and he is perspiring.

The Reporter enters, also stage right, a few paces behind The Governor. He is dressed in a non-descript sport coat, slacks, and tie. He carries a small notepad and a ballpoint pen.

They approach The Horse.

G: Ah...here we are.
He takes the bat from his shoulder and grasps the handle with both hands. He waggles it back and forth, then take a couple of practice swings.
R: Governor, the horse is dead.
G: No...not at all...not at all. I detect a spark of life here. I'll have her up in no time.
R: Governor, the horse is DEAD. It's not breathing. It's not moving. There are flies all over it. It's DEAD!
G: Nonsense! I saw her ear twitch. There. Didn't you see that?
R: No sir. I didn't see the ear twitch. Sir, that horse is dead and evidently has been for some time. I can smell it. Can't you?
G: I don't smell anything. Look, there's plenty of life left in this old nag. Stand back a little there. I'll show you.
The Governor swings the bat and delivers a bone crunching blow to the horse's head. A huge cloud of flies arises from the carcass. The Governor fans the air in front of his face. Dozens of white, squirming maggots spill from the horse's nostrils and from one ear.

The Reporter shakes his head, puts his notebook and pen in a coat pocket, and walks away, stage right.
The Governor winds up for another swing.

The End.

[oneighty]

1. Wake up Jeb

smell the horses.

Nice job Trof

180

[JitterbugPerfume]

2. cool thread trof

bad business --beating a dead horse

keep it up Jebbie

[trof]

3. You two are my best critics.

Thanks.
;-)