One-Act Play in Which Please, Don’t Mistake This For a Fable

[The stage is an entire open field. You can’t see
where it ends, & neither can I. There is an owl, on
the ground, in what limited vision has decided is
the center of the field. The audience here, may
assume that whenever an owl is seen, death
should be expected. But maybe the audience
won’t assume that here. Maybe the audience will
never have heard of this connection, between
owls & death, & instead look for some connection
between this owl & you & me.]

You: I don’t remember what you look like.

Me: You look like a guillotine that refuses to work.

You: If you were here right now, I’d remember
exactly what you looked like.

Me: You look like a bridge where people stop to
look up instead of down.

You: When I try to think about what you look like,
the world diminishes for a second.

Me: You look like an entire forest has been cut
down, & inside each stump is an animal that was
once trapped, but is no longer.

You: To diminish isn’t to fade, I think.

Me: You look like a water fountain with an “out of
order sign” posted on it, & little green leaves
beginning to peek through the spout.

You: Once I told you that owls can’t digest the
bones of mice. The owl swallows the mouse
whole, & then later throws up the bones.

Me: I don’t remember what you look like.

You: Sometimes they throw up whole skulls.
Completely uncrushed.

[At this point in the play, the audience has
realized something. The owl is no longer there.
Maybe it flew away.]