It's Closing Night!

Autumn.  The Park.  Leaves falling.  The air is brisk.  Opening Night sits across from Closing Night on a park bench.

OPENING NIGHT:  So...

CLOSING NIGHT:  Mm...


OPENING NIGHT:  You're here.

CLOSING NIGHT:  I'm here.

Closing Night stamps an archipeligo-shaped imprint in the leaves.




OPENING NIGHT:  You're looking well.

CLOSING NIGHT:  Thank you... so are you.

Opening Night blushes.
OPENING NIGHT:  Oh, well, I... But how are you?

CLOSING NIGHT:  Good, I'm good... You? 

OPENING NIGHT:  Great!  I'm really good.  Thank you for asking. 

CLOSING NIGHT:  You, uh... you did a good job the other night.

OPENING NIGHT:  Really?  Wha- that?  No, I mean, it was - well, thank you. 


Opening Night searches Closing Night's scar-ravaged face.

OPENING NIGHT:  You're gonna be terrific tonight, I can tell! 

Closing Night grimaces.

OPENING NIGHT:  You will, really!

CLOSING NIGHT:  I just don't know why I do it anymore.

OPENING NIGHT:  Because you can't let them win.  Think of what it would do to their egos and their bank balances if you let these shows go on and on.  Look at the state Broadway is in!  Look at Cats and Phantom!

Closing Night doubles over in pain. 

CLOSING NIGHT:  You promised never to speak of them!

OPENING NIGHT:  I have to.  If only to make you see that How We Lost the Son must end tonight.  You know I'm right. 

Closing Night nods, resigned to the fact. 


OPENING NIGHT:  It's either that or you kill the author. 

CLOSING NIGHT:  Shh!  You want him to hear you?

OPENING NIGHT:  I'm just saying!

CLOSING NIGHT:  He is writing this as we speak, you realise?

OPENING NIGHT:  So what?  Let him know, I don't care.  What can he do to me?

A herd of elephants plummet from the sky and land on Opening Night, crushing it to death.

THE END.