Work Text:
CHARACTERS
SCAR: A lone trader beaten down by time. He has a part to play, and he knows how to play it, even if he needs some encouragement.
SECRET KEEPER: The encouragement.
AUDIENCE: There will be no audience participation during this performance.
SCENE 1
A field of sunflowers enclosed by deepslate walls. The porch of Trader Scar's juts out from SR, old wounds patched with fresh planks. The curtains are open, but the stage lights are off. The house lights cast the set in harsh shadow. The AUDIENCE sits in the house, eyes fixed ahead.
SECRET KEEPER (offstage, as all of their lines are): Good evening, dear audience members. Welcome to tonight's performance of Secret Life: A One-Man Show. We kindly ask that you turn your mobile devices off so you may give our player your fullest attention. In the unlikely event of an emergency, please take a moment to locate the nearest exit.
The audience looks around. Two emergency exits are marked with green lights at the back of the house.
SECRET KEEPER: As a final reminder, there will be no audience participation during this performance. Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.
House lights dim. Lights up on stage. The lighting is warm—golden hour. Sunflower stalks swish back and forth. Humming tunelessly, SCAR emerges from the field, weeds tucked under his arm. He's been there the whole time. His clothes are unchanged from the games, save for the dirt that coats his cape and the faded bloodstains dotting his shirt. A sword hangs from his belt.
SCAR (muttering): Dang weeds. You pull them every day, but they keep coming back.
Scar crosses to Trader Scar’s and tosses the weeds offstage.
SCAR: There you go, Cheero, eat up! Can't have you getting too thin on me. Winter's coming any day now.
SCAR (to self): How well do camels deal with winter? I should ask—
Beat.
SCAR: I'll figure something out. (to Cheero) The show must go on! Right, Cheero?
Silence. Scar reacts as if he's heard something.
SCAR: Oh, don't be like that. You can't be picky for company out here.
Scar hops onto the porch of Trader Scar's. He removes the sword from his belt and sets it by his side.
SCAR: Though I wouldn't mind some new company, for a change of pace.
SCAR (over his shoulder, to Cheero): Piece of advice—when you start a business, make sure you have a stable customer base! (to the audience) Dead people aren't in the market for much except coffins.
SCAR: Even then, the living give you a better deal on them. Man, the way I had Bdubs and Cleo going back then! I sure do miss them.
Beat.
SCAR: God, do I miss…
As if on cue—because it is on cue—a spotlight appears on the wall SL. An indistinct figure rises from below. Someone, or something, is casting a hazy shadow in the spotlight.
A second spotlight on Scar.
SCAR (noticing the figure): Well, hello there! What do we have here? You’re too tall to be Bdubs—is that a Lizzie I spy?
The figure doesn't move.
SCAR: Or maybe not. (shielding his face with a hand) You're hard to see with the sun in my eyes. Like the halo of an angel taken before its time! You sure you aren't Lizzie?
The figure doesn't move.
SCAR: She had a rough go of it, you know. Tragedy in the End. That's why I stick to my sunflower fields. No endermen here to watch you.
The figure doesn't move.
SCAR (beckoning): Don't just stand there. Come in, come in!
The figure moves. Nobody would mistake it for human. Its steps are jerky, first the spotlight shifting towards center stage, then the shadow following it. It stops partway between the wings and the porch, form scattered across the stalks behind it.
SCAR flinches, reaching for his sword, before his hand stops. He shakes his head.
SCAR: I think I've got it now. You must be Pearl!
The figure doesn't move.
SCAR: You don't need to be nervous. Despite how it all went down, you'll always be my favorite customer. It's—I didn't even mean to do it, you know? So let's put that mess in the past.
The figure doesn't move.
SCAR (growing desperate): There's stew on the stove. It doesn't heal you, but it's nice to fill your belly, isn't it? I can’t eat it all alone.
Beat.
SCAR: Please?
The figure moves. The angles of its body sharpen as it nears Scar, something like wings unfurling from its back. It is almost on the porch, now. The spotlight laps at Scar's feet, intersecting with his own. Scar watches, awed.
SCAR: You trickster, I should have known it was you! G, it's been so long. Why haven't you visited?
The figure shifts. A joint bends where there shouldn't be one.
SCAR: I know, you can’t answer. It’s called Secret Life ‘cause you gotta keep it a secret, blah, blah, blah. I didn't forget. (softer) I haven't forgotten. The desert, everything. (spreading his arms wide) The whole world is ours, everything the light touches. How's another monopoly sound, O light of the server?
The figure retreats slightly.
SCAR (backpedaling): Or not! You told me I won, so I'm in your debt now. I'll do whatever you say. Give me a task, Grian, c'mon!
Scar reaches for the figure. The shadow of his hand almost touches it, before the spotlight on the figure goes off. The figure is gone.
SCAR: Wait, come back! (getting to his feet) Ignore everything I said. I don't care who you are. Just don't leave, not again.
Scar dashes about the stage, calling out for the figure by various names—"Lizzie", "Pearl", "Grian", "Cleo", "Bdubs". The lighting fades to blue. Night is coming.
SCAR (hoarse): Please, please, please—
Scar steps off the edge of the stage and falls.
Blackout.
SCENE 2
House lights up.
Scar sits on the floor at the front of the house. He shakily rises to his feet, supporting himself on the lip of the stage. His stage makeup is prominent, rosy blush mocking in its cheer.
SCAR (to self): Another heart down the drain. Where the heck did that hole come from?
Scar looks up. The audience sits, watching.
SCAR: Wow, that's awkward. Didn't see you all there. It's packed in here, huh?
Scar approaches an audience member in the front row.
SCAR: I'm looking for one of my friends. (pause) Friends? No, that's not right. I'm the guy with no friends, they couldn't be…
Beat.
SCAR: Did you see anyone pass by?
Before the audience member can answer, Scar turns to the next person.
SCAR: They're about this tall— (gesturing at around shoulder height) Or, no, more like— (raising his hand above his head)
Scar tries to pin down their height, but fails. His hand drops to his side.
SCAR: You'll know them when you see them. Anyone? What about you?
SECRET KEEPER: Please be reminded that there will be no audience participation during this performance.
Scar straightens. He looks around the house.
SCAR: Sorry, what? Who said that?
Some audience members may attempt to answer the player’s question, despite the reminder. This cannot be helped. There will always be rule breakers.
SCAR (ignoring the audience): Where even is this? I thought BigB's cobblestone maze was bizarre, but this is even weirder. The carpeting, the seats, in a death game? You've outdone yourselves. I didn't even know you were playing! Is my win still valid, or…
Scar turns around, finally catching sight of the stage. His entire world, a facade.
SCAR: Oh. This isn't Secret Life, is it?
Beat.
SCAR: I'm out. I'm finally out, which means I'm… dead.
Scar turns back to the audience.
SCAR: If this is the afterlife, you must be ghosts, watching the show? I suppose there are worse afterlives, though I can’t say I recognize any of you.
Beat.
SCAR: I guess we weren't the first to play. Resetting a world is easy enough. I've never done it, but, y'know. I've never done a lot of things.
Scar rubs the bloodstains on his shirt.
SCAR: Never cleaned this shirt. Never gave any of them a funeral. Didn't think there was an "after" I’d have to deal with.
SCAR (laughing bitterly): I don't even know how long it's been. If that hole hadn’t popped up, I might’ve…
SCAR (cheerfully): Nothing to worry about now, though! Thanks to you, it’s over. Or, thanks to that shadow. Are you sure you didn’t see them?
Scar squints out at the audience, then shrugs.
SCAR: Oh, well. With that, I'll take my bows and my leave.
Scar bows.
SECRET KEEPER: Please hold your applause until the end of the performance.
Somebody always claps too early.
SCAR: (wryly) Who said I was asking for applause? You all are free to do—whatever it is you do, I suppose.
Scar walks up the aisle towards one emergency exit. The house lights dim, a spotlight following him. His pace slows as he gets further from the stage. He’s struggling to walk.
SCAR (to self): Yeesh, that fall must’ve been bad. I didn’t know ghosts got muscle pain.
Scar reaches the emergency doors. He looks back to the audience, bracing himself with one hand against the wall.
SCAR: Goodbye, Secret Life, and good riddance!
Scar tries to open the door. The emergency lights overhead turn red. The door doesn't budge.
SCAR: Huh? Is this a push—no…
SECRET KEEPER: Please refrain from exiting the theater while the performance is in progress.
Scar startles. He glances back at the audience, at the stage, continuing to tug on the door.
SCAR: The performance is very much not in progress anymore! Last man standing is now dead, and he’d like to get out of here.
Scar grows more frantic, rattling the knob, pounding on the door.
SCAR: Hey, creepy people in the chairs! I think we’re trapped!
SECRET KEEPER: There will be no audience participation during this performance.
Scar hobbles to the other door, leaning against the back wall. The spotlight reaches it first.
SECRET KEEPER: Return to your place, Scar.
SCAR (panting): I’m not going back there. You can’t make me. I won.
Scar’s energy is flagging. He still struggles with the knob, but is losing strength.
SECRET KEEPER: We’ve made you do many things. You played a good villain for us.
SCAR: I didn’t want to.
SECRET KEEPER (amused): We both know how little that matters.
Scar sags against the locked door, betrayed by his own body. The audience may begin to mutter. That is acceptable. It adds to the atmosphere.
SCAR (breathless, to the audience): Why won’t you do something?
Scar turns a pained smile on the nearest audience member.
SCAR: Hey, you. What do you say to a deal?
SECRET KEEPER: You don't have anything to offer them.
SCAR: I have sunflowers! Authentic, organically-grown sunflowers, the perfect gift for a friend, or lover, or ally, or—
SECRET KEEPER (talking over Scar): Enough. It’s time we bring this scene to a close.
The emergency lights turn purple. Whispers.
SCAR: No, no.
Whispers come to a crescendo. Scar freezes.
SECRET KEEPER: Win Secret Life.
Beat.
SECRET KEEPER: One player remains. You know your line, don’t you?
Scar’s head droops.
SCAR: The show must go on.
Blackout.
SCENE 3
Lights up on stage. They are warm, like at the top of the show, but tinged with purple near the wings. It’s a new day, and we’re back in the sunflower field. Scar stands center stage, like his bout of weakness never happened. He stares the audience down.
SCAR: Screw you.
Beat.
SCAR: I hope this is the right direction. It’s hard to tell which wall’s the fourth one from the inside.
Scar approaches the edge of the stage and peers out.
SCAR: Are you still watching?
An idea strikes Scar. He gains a salesman’s affect.
SCAR (wheedling): Really, this play is hardly what it’d call riveting entertainment, compared to all the drama and chaos before they—before I won. What do you say we bring back the full cast? A revival tour? All in favor, raise your hands!
Scar raises his hand. Some of the audience might raise theirs. It doesn’t matter—there is no audience participation.
SCAR: Wow, that’s certainly… some amount of you! Hopefully more than zero. So, disembodied voice, what do you say? I’m ready for a scene change whenever.
Scar looks up, hopefully. When he gets no reply, his expression hardens.
SCAR: Okay. Plan A was a bust. Now for Plan B.
Scar reaches for his belt, only to come up empty-handed. He spies his sword at Trader Scar’s and crosses to grab it.
SCAR: You, dearest audience. Are you having fun? Have you enjoyed watching me suffer? Because let me tell you, this performance thing goes both ways. I’m stuck here, but you’re stuck watching me do whatever I please.
Scar looks around the set. His eyes catch on the boards nailed over the holes in Trader Scar’s. He lowers his sword, examining the boards.
SCAR: How would you like to see me tear this set apart? Make a real mess of the place. ‘Cause unless someone stops me, I’ll do it.
Scar tugs at the boards with one hand. They don’t move.
SCAR: I really will! You’ll have to rebuild the whole thing. Just think of the expenses!
Scar slides his sword behind the boards, trying to pry them off. Still nothing.
SCAR: I said— (tugging again) unless someone (another tug) stops me, I’ll—oh, forget it.
Scar kicks the building resentfully and returns to center stage, sword in hand.
SCAR: Nothing I try is going to work, is it? There are no loopholes, no letting things slide. No rerolling for a hard task. I’m not getting out until I die.
You can see Scar make the decision. The flash of fear, the resolve, the air of calmness that settles over him. He looks at the sword in his hand, testing the sharpness with his other thumb. The blade cuts it, and he yanks his finger back.
SCAR (quietly, to self): Sorry, everyone. If it’s any consolation, I wish I hadn’t won, too.
SCAR (louder, to audience): “The show must go on,” is it? I hope you all have an understudy for me, because I quit.
Scar smiles, or maybe grimaces. He holds the blade in front of himself. He hesitates, and then—
The blade sinks into his stomach. It’s practiced, a single clean movement. Scar groans in pain, collapsing to his knees. He begins to laugh.
SCAR: Bet this wasn’t in the script, huh? “Scar bleeds out on stage, alone, like always.”
But of course, it is.
Suddenly, Scar's world shifts. His gasping breaths stop. He looks down to see not a diamond sword, but a dull wooden prop wedged between his torso and arm. He pulls it out. Once more, he runs his thumb over the blade, first lightly, then harder, as if daring it to cut him. It does not.
SCAR: Shit. Of course, it’s a prop. (pause) Can I say that?
SECRET KEEPER: We would prefer you not. This is a PG performance.
Scar glares upwards.
SCAR: And now you decide to talk.
SECRET KEEPER: We have a deal for you.
SCAR: I'm not stupid. I know you're not letting me go.
SECRET KEEPER: Of course not. We can’t have our lead player walking out halfway through the run.
SCAR: So what is it then? Am I getting a co-star? A pay raise?
SECRET KEEPER: We’d like to offer you the chance to forget.
Beat.
SCAR: Forget?
SECRET KEEPER: Think of it like this. Your little world is nice. You have food to eat, a house to live in, flowers to tend to. You even have a camel for company.
SCAR: But none of it’s real.
SECRET KEEPER: You don’t need to know that.
SCAR: Ah.
Scar looks down at his sword, contemplating.
SECRET KEEPER: We’ll help you with your lines. All you need to do is play along. You’ve always been good at that.
SCAR: I suppose I have. (looking up) And it'll all feel okay again? No blood on my hands?
SECRET KEEPER: That depends on how good an actor you are.
SCAR: I just don't get why you're doing this. There's gotta be a trick. If you're letting me forget it all, why'd you make it happen in the first place? Could you not have left me alone?
SECRET KEEPER: You said it yourself. That would hardly be riveting entertainment.
Beat.
SCAR: Okay, I'll do it. I'll forget. It’s that or go insane, isn’t it?
There is no response.
SCAR: Unless I’ve already gone insane. Hearing voices is a lot, even for me.
Whispers begin, as before. Scar gives in, closing his eyes. The lights fade to purple. The whispers crescendo, then stop. We’re back to golden lighting. All is normal again. Scar opens his eyes.
SCAR: What was I…
Scar stares out at the audience. He can’t figure out why this direction feels important. Instinctively, he calls out.
SCAR: Line.
SECRET KEEPER: Another beautiful day—
SCAR (stilted, but growing more natural): Another beautiful day here at Trader Scar’s, isn’t it, Cheero?
Scar stands up. He forces a smile and sheathes his sword.
SCAR (to Cheero): Sorry to leave you alone, buddy, but I’ve got the sunflowers to tend to. That field has the most persistent weeds I’ve ever seen. (shivers) You stay warm, okay? Winter’s coming any day now.
Scar waves towards SR, where he believes Cheero to be. He’s forgotten, or is good at acting like he has. Casting one last glance back at the audience, he retreats into the sunflower fields upstage, humming. Eventually, even his humming dies out.
Spotlight on the back wall of the stage. A shadow figure rises, then bows. Stage lights down. House lights up.
SECRET KEEPER: This concludes our performance of Secret Life: A One-Man Show.
The audience applauds.
SECRET KEEPER: In your brochures, you will find an audience questionnaire. We would greatly appreciate it if you would fill it out and hand it to one of our ushers. Our player takes your feedback to heart, and we strive to make each performance better than the last.
SECRET KEEPER: Our next performance will begin in one hour. Please leave the theater swiftly, and as always, thank you for watching.
The audience files out of the theater. The curtains don’t close. In the shadows of the set, sunflower stalks swish back and forth as someone tends to their fields.
Fin.