Playella | The Fittest by Ruben Carbajal

HAROLD and LEA, middle aged. Can be seen only by a weak flashlight. Clothes torn, faces dirty.

HAROLD: Do you think we’re the last ones left?

LEA: Hard to say. (Beat) Maybe. (Beat) Flashlight’s barely holding out.

HAROLD: We did a pretty good job.

LEA: Yes.

HAROLD: We used our brains. We’re survivors. No one can say otherwise.

LEA: (Checking backpack) Yes. (Beat) Tuna. One tin. Nothing to open it with. No water.

HAROLD: You surprised me.

LEA: Yeah?

HAROLD: You’re tougher than I realized. I mean, you killed a man with a fork.

LEA: Had no choice. He would’ve killed us. Taken our food.

HAROLD: I’m afraid we’ve run out of options.

Slight pause. LEA sighs, then suddenly takes hold of HAROLD, hands around his throat. He struggles but her grip is strong.

LEA: (Deliberately) I honor you. I cherish you. I love you. You’ve been a good husband.
But I love myself, just ever…so slightly…more.

—–

Playellas are Descent’s series of tiny plays for your new writing quick fix.
Would you like your mini masterpiece to be featured on our blog? Find out how.

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