The Writers' Circle

 

 

Act I

Scene 1

A Cubicle

A small dark room with two people in the room. One of them [Kashim] has a computer, and is frantically typing. There is a green glow all over everything. The other man [Hamed] is smoking a cigarette behind him, only partially lit by the screen’s glow.

Kashim. (shot of fingers typing) You are sure they cannot trace this computer?

Hamed. (blowing out cigarette smoke like a dragon) Positive. That is the wonder of this little monster. It cannot leave traces on the land lines because it eats the land lines. And everything else that gets in its way.

Kashim swivels around in his seat, looking nervous.

Hamed. (lowering the cigarette) What.

Kashim. (bringing a fist to his chin as he thinks) I do not know how good an idea this is. Real life is one thing, but Cyberspace is tricky. What if it blows up in our faces?

Hamed. Then we die for the cause. We are honored to be the ones to accomplish this.

Kashim. (swiveling back to face the computer) True.

Several more minutes of silence as the computer screen loads. Kashim begins praying in Arabic under his breath. Finally, a box pops up on the screen: “CTVirusUploadComplete_Proceed?”

Hamed. (blowing out smoke) Is it ready?

Kashim. (clenching his fists nervously) It has been ready for nearly a year now, just waiting for the go ahead.

Hamed. (lowering his cigarette) Go ahead.

Kashim presses “Proceed”.

 

Scene 2

A Library

Outside, on the library’s steps which are stone and covered with fallen leaves. A girl, Harley Linden, is sitting there under the statue of a carved lion, a book propped on her knees. Ignoring the people walking around her, she turns the pages eagerly, scribbling notes on a pad beside her, eyes glued to her work. A girl [Chelsea] and clique come trooping down the stairs.

Chelsea. (sneers at clique and motions for them to watch her)

Chelsea steps down, apparently unaware of what she is doing. She steps on Harley’s open notepad, crumpling the page of notes and half tearing it from its binding.

Chelsea. Whoops. Sorry.

Clique. (giggles)

Harley. (picks her notepad up and drops it into her lap, then continues reading. She speaks but doesn’t look up from her book) If you hate me so much, just say so and get it over with.

Chelsea. (puts her hands on her hips) Alright. You have no right to be here or anywhere else in the radius of my presence because I hate you.

Harley. (flicking her hair out of her eyes) Well, at least I know where I stand. So, why do you hate me?

Chelsea. Because you live in a trailer in a dumpy park.

Harley. What’s it to you?

Chelsea. You wear sweat socks with holes that haven’t been washed for weeks.

Harley. I never wash the holes. Just the socks.

Chelsea. (growing flustered because she cannot seem to shake her) Because you have absolutely no fashion sense. (points to the baggy I Love USA shirt and tattered jeans Harley is wearing)

Harley. (shrugging) So call the police, fashionista.

Girl. (about to say something. She changes her mind and smirks) And because your dad is a lazy drunk who takes up the government’s money and our taxes sitting around on his big fat . . .

Harley stands up, fuming, gathering her books.

Harley. You’d better not say anything about my dad, Chelsea. You’re going to get me really mad one of these days. And then you’re going to be sorry.

Chelsea. (smirks) Yes. I am terrified of you, little hick. You’re really scary. Now all you need are pointy little ears to complete the picture.

Harley. (grits out) I swear . . . (glances down at her big wristwatch, which has just started beeping like crazy) . . . Oh, crap! Crap, crap, crap!

Harley dashes down the steps and onto the sidewalk, moving quickly from a jog to an all out run, leaving Chelsea laughing behind her.

Chelsea. That’s right, run away.

Clutching her books to her stomach, her backpack bouncing up and down on her shoulders, she slaloms in between garbage cans, hops over piles of boxes, and looks in all other ways as though all hell is going to break loose if she doesn’t get where she wants to be as soon as possible.

*cut*

Trailer Park

The park is in the middle of a dumpy looking wood. Harley greets several people as she runs by them, then runs up to the trailer where she lives with her father. It’s a small dirty thing that shows that it’s been a lot of places with little or no maintenance whatsoever. Harley practically falls into the trailer, hurries to her bed, slings off her backpack, and flops down on the kiddy-flowered comforter. Pulls out her laptop from the backpack, flips the cover, and slams her fingers on a few keys. A chat room window opens. She logs in and it begins loading.

Harley. (glancing at her watch) Oh, man. Wait for me, people.

She switches on the desk light next to her bed, reaches under her pillow, and pulls out a packet of M&Ms. Tears it open and pours a pile of candy into her mouth as she waits for the chat room to open. As she chews, the screen lights up. “Linden, Harley has entered the chat room” the screen declares, showing her avatar of a gun-toting elf. She glances at the attendance pod, sees that – unbelievably – she’s one of the first people.

Harley. (typing) *voiceover* Hey, Beth! How’s my girl? Can’t believe I’m not the last one in here.

Switches to the computer, shows “Eldridge, Bethel” post a message and the avatar accompanying the name: a pegasus.

Beth. *voiceover* lol I was wondering if I was going to be the only one here today. How’s life?

Harley. (showing screen) *voiceover* Lousy as usual. There’s a girl at my class who is making my life miserable

Beth. (showing screen) Aw, poor kid

Harley. (laughs out loud) Me or her?

A small message box pops up on Harley’s screen: “Rabbitfreak has just entered the chat room”. The avatar of a large, scrawny jack rabbit with glowing red eyes and metal patches all over its white fur also pops up on screen.

Harley. (typing) Hey, freaky.

Beth. (typing) Hello, Nolan, how’s things.

Nolan. (typing) *voiceover* Life is boring, as usual. But hey I’m alive that counts for points, right? Someone bothering you, Harley? Is it that b**** you were telling us about before?

Beth. (typing) *voiceover* Please, Nolan. The asterisks don’t change the word.

Nolan. (typing) *voiceover* I didn’t say it.

Beth. It still means the same thing.

Nolan. Well asterisks are better than saying the word right out.

Beth. And not saying the word at all is better still.

Harley. U 2 are crazy. Kudos to Beth, tho.

 Another message box: “DearAgony has just entered the chat room”. A manga character with a huge scowl and long, limber-looking limbs fills the avatar box.

Dex. (typing) Love pull me down, Hate lift me up, Just turn around, There’s nothing left.

Harley. Somewhere far beyond this world . . .

Beth. I feel nothing anymore . . .

Nolan. Drat. Would’ve gotten it if I weren’t getting rid of the darn typos . . . Hi, Dextra.

A red message pops up on the lower right-hand corner of Harley’s screen: “Virus detected_Click OK for ActivWizard to block it”.   Harley hits Cancel and goes back to the chat room. “Vardon, Mitchell” has entered the room and is talking. His avatar is a Medieval knight complete with armor and sword.

Mitch. (typing) *voiceover* . . . but that is purely speculation. I’m sure it’s nothing, the media likes to blow things up big to get more viewers.

Harley. Sorry I missed that, what were you talking about?

Mitch. Something was on TV today – someone claimed Cyberterrorism was planning on unleashing some kind of new virus thing to crash the internet.

Dex. Freaky . . .

Nolan. Yeah?

Dex. No. I meant the situation was freaky.

Nolan. Oh.

Harley is about to type when the message flashes up, bigger this time: “7 Viruses detected_Click OK for ActivWizard to block them”. Harley clicks Cancel.

Dex. Hello? Harley – we are talking to you . . .

Harley. Sorry, my computer’s screwing up.

Mitch. Try refreshing the screen.

Nolan. Here too. Wow – ten at once?

Mitch. Ten what?

Nolan. Vir

Harley pauses, staring at the screen, waiting for Nolan to finish his word, even though she knows what it is going to be.

Mitch. Hello, Nolan?

Dex. This is so weird.

Mitch. He probably had to step away for a minute.

Dex. In the middle of a word? Mitch, Freaky’s parents can’t DRAG him from the screen when he’s chatting with us.

Harley. Hey does anyone know where Beth got to?

Dex. Bethy? Are you out there in cyberspace?

 Another message. This time 137 Viruses are detected. Harley finally clicks OK instead of Cancel and waits as the loading bar fills with blue. Halfway through, the blue light turns green and jams. Harley tries hitting Ctrl+Alt+Delete to abort the action. Another screen pops up: “ActivWizard temporarily disarmed. Please shut off your computer.” Harley does as she is told, slamming her thumb on the Power button, but nothing happens. Suddenly, a blue light whites out the screen. Harley holds up a hand to shield her eyes. The light gets brighter and she squeezes her eyes shut.

*white out*

Harley’s bed is empty, the laptop dead.

 

Scene 3

The Cubicle

Kashim. (swivels around, face full of fear) Something went wrong.

Hamed. (stamping out his cigarette) What do you mean?

Kashim. There is something the matter with the CTV . . .

Hamed shoves Kashim’s chair away from the computer and bends over the screen, staring hard at it, pounding the keyboard.

Kashim. (folds his arms) You can pound on the keyboard all you want. You cannot tell a nodule from a noodle. If you want to get things done . . .

Hamed. (pushes away from the screen) Well then get back over here and try to fix whatever it is needs fixing!

Kashim rolls over, the levity gone from his face. After several seconds, the throws his hands in the air.

Kashim. (swears)

Hamed. (clenches his fists) Well?

Kashim. (whips out a cell phone) I am calling Gavron.

Hamed. Why? What is wrong?

Kashim. (glances up at his companion while waiting for the person on the other line to pick up) You remember when I said the CTV has been incubating for a year waiting for the go ahead?

Hamed. (grunts in affirmation)

Kashim. Yes. Well I think we should have said “go ahead” a little sooner than we did.