Day 8: No Strings

Today you could write whatever you wanted with no concerns for others perception etc. So I wrote a small, free form piece that uses light, puppetry and dance. It was written in a stream of conspicuousness style and I have not gone back to edit it.

                                                No Strings

Behind a screen, using shadow puppetry a man enters pushing a cart. He stops in the idle of the stage. Beings to pull various things out. A cloth, which he sets upon the ground. Small puppets. Colours. Sounds. Smells. A universe.

He begins to tell a story, using his props to illustrate

We are all familiar with the tale of the kidnapped princess and the man that followed her. Of the hardships braved and the dragon overcome. That through hard work and determination we can earn any woman’s love.

Of course we know these are a lie.

Pleasant to listen to but ultimately terribly worthless.

Entertaining to children and pleasantly reinforcing to adults.

He sets fire to everything used so far. The smokes rises and the ashes gather, a pattern forming through the haze.

And yet we continued to tell them.

To speak around the fire and amongst the water.

Taking these discarded playthings and forging new lies.

We can peer though it as it rises

Bottle it.

And preserve to be passed on.

He produces a large preserving jar and lets it fill with the swirling smoke. When he shuts the lid it glows with the most wonderful colours

He assembles a large puppet/mannequin using materials in his cart. When it is finished he presents in the jar. It comes to life and dances a looping, sloping elegant fall about the stage.

Those we give it to will not understand what they have been given.

But they will appreciate it.

For it will inspire them.

The stories we use, full of heroism and bravery despite their darker elements

Flashes of sickly green in the jar

However.

He starts to act out a second story

A story of a man protecting his land.

The invaders were neighbours from a faraway land

The puppets used are indistinguishable

A clash inevitably occurred.

But understanding who won or lost is a task left to one smarter that I.

The dead littered the field.

It all soon turned to ash and the man’s land was lost.

Because of his neighbours.

Again he burns his props and as the smoke rises he traps it. This time it glows with a putrid unpleasant colour, difficult to look at.

He constructs a second fellow. Upon completion he hugs the first. There is joy and they move to celebrate their kindred spirits.

The man hands the second puppet the new jaw.

The puppets fight. They tensely stalk and erupt in to violence.

The man laughs and begins to pack up his things

Sometimes it’s not the stories we tell that are entertaining.

But the effect on others.

Don’t blame them.

They were both good men.

And did the best with what they had

END