(A and B, two average men, sit in comfy chairs. A has no legs.)
A: I am sad because my legs got cut off yesterday.
B: You don't need to be. I'm just happy. (Smiles.)
A: Easy for you to say--you're dead. Here I am, alive, with no legs.
B: (Smiling.) I'm just glad.
A: About my legs? (Growls threateningly.)
B: About being here, now. Just stop talking. Stop growling. Just stop doing everything you're currently doing. Pick new actions.
A: (Suddenly obedient.) But how will I choose the right actions? There are so many of them?
B: Nope, wrong. Stop asking me questions.
A: But this will ruin our chances of becoming friends.
B: I don't know how to be a friend.
A: Have you ever tried?
B: I'm dead. (Dies, slumping over in chair, but A does not notice.)
A: Too dead to try?
(Door opens and C enters, dressed exactly like B but female.)
C: (To A.) Do you know what dying even is? (Checks B's pulse.) Yes, this is for sure a dead human being right here… (Turns to A and makes eye contact.) Right now. Just stay here and maybe start journaling or something. It will help you process this death that has just occurred right in front of you.
A: (Looks blankly at C.) I don't need to. I'm just glad. (Smiles.)
C: Ew! You sick fuck. I am going to remove this body from this place.
A: Where are you gonna take it?
C: Don't ask questions. I'm sure you will be happier without this decaying corpse here right in front of you. And don't you want to talk to somebody who isn't me? I do not feel qualified to be having a conversation with a human who has just witnessed a death.
A: (Calmly.) You seem perfectly qualified to me. I like having conversations. Why don't you just sit down? (Gestures to the chair where B's body rests.)
C: (Visibly disgusted.) Ew, gross, stop talking to me. (Picks up B's dead body and carries it offstage. C's voice yelling from offstage.) Actually, can you help me carry this?
A: (Excited.) Sure! (Suddenly looks glum.) Oh, actually, I got my legs cut off yesterday, so I can't.
C: (Yelling from offstage.) What?
A: (Louder.) I got my legs cut off yesterday.
(No response from C.)
A: Ugh, I feel so incapable. So… dead. How can I choose actions if I know I cannot act? Well, I guess my actions are just more subtle now. Maybe I should buy a gun. Then I could have a powerful impact on my environment.
(Lights and music off. Lights up on A in a wheelchair at a store counter. The clerk, dressed in drab clerk attire, sets a gun down on the counter, rings up A at the register, A hands the clerk bars of gold. The clerk picks up the gun, which turns out to already be loaded, and shoots A in the face. C immediately walks in the door of the store, this time dressed as A.)
C: (Pointing at A, shocked, but not getting too angry in fear of the CLERK, who is still holding the gun.) That human was supporting this whole narrative!
CLERK: It's not my responsibility to me to keep this going.
C: Well whose is it then? We all must hold ourselves equally responsible for everything that happens.
(Lights out. Lights up on the clerk, now dressed in a much more fancy, ornate outfit.)
