Previous | Home | Next

Go to Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

3

ACT I: 

SCENE 1: 

A small grassy hill with a large, leafy tree at the top. It 
is a beautiful, sunny, spring day - early afternoon. The 
surrounding fields are sprinkled with flowers of all shapes 
and colours and birdsongs fill the air. A gentle breeze 
blows. 

There is a BOY dressed in the simple garb of a bygone age - 
breeches and a cotton shirt with a leather vest. He sits 
under the tree playing a haunting yet uplifting tune on the 
pan pipes. 

Seconds later, a girl, CYNTHIA, in a school uniform appears 
enters and moves to the foot of the hill. She looks 
distraught at first but her looks soon soften as she listens 
to the lilting tune and approaches the BOY. 

So engaged with his music is the boy that he is unaware of her 
presence until she is quite close to him. He stops playing 
and stands. 

BOY: Hello, pretty lady. You visit me again. 

CYNTHIA: Hi. 

BOY: This sunny day seems so much brighter now, 
Such is the joy that your visits bring me. 

(A slight smile flickers across CYNTHIA's face) 

BOY: Is that your only greeting for me, friend? 
What wicked spirit paints your face so mournful? 
Your smile seems banished as the sun by clouds. 
Come sit by me I have a patch of shade 
Which this tree kindly gives day after day 
(He takes her hand and they sit) 
And we'll see if we cannot find your smile. 
And in finding that we may also find 
Your laughter, sweet as music from my pipes. 

CYNTHIA: I'm sorry I interrupted your music. It's beautiful. 

BOY: My music lives inside my imagination 
And I can find it anytime I choose. 
But if you turn your back upon a friend 
Who has seen fit to share their time with you 
Upon rebuff that friend may well decide 
Their time, like yours to them is not for you; 
When next you look that friend may not be there. 
So as my friends are precious unto me, 
My time is yours and my music must wait. 

CYNTHIA: I don't know what to say. 

BOY: (brushing a tear from her cheek) 
Your tears speak for you, friend why do you cry?

Copyright Ó Craig J. 2006, All rights reserved.

Previous | Home | Next