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The School Play to End all School Plays!

Joshua Copeland

    “You will all amount to nothing! Do you know how hard it is to become a successful actor? Oh, the pain, the agony of waiting in line to try out for the simplest part, the most cardboard, most minor character, with the teeny tiniest bit of dialogue! Or a tryout to be an audience member?! Like with Michael Moore, all the audience cheering him, do you think they really love him?! They’re paid to be there, to applaud and hurray, like love struck puppies! And you need skin as thick as an elephant’s! All acting is rejection after rejection! And to top it all off, you can’t work at it here, in Pittsburgh! You all want to work in the movies?! You have to move to LA! Do you know what kind of a hellhole LA is?! A bunch of Type A Personality cracker crackpots! Scrawny-necked spoiled brats! And honestly, I don’t see any talent in any of you! Give up your hopes of being an actor! Try anything else, anything but acting! Cause any attempt to pursue a job in Hollywood will only kill, it will lead to suicide! You’ll pay and pay and get no play and get nowhere! Better you hear it from me than from some scumbag LA director with his skin stretched halfway across his scalp!”
    Or so the drama teacher said to the ninth graders in the Taylor Allderdice School auditorium on the top floor of the building. Maybe not in those exact words. Later, when the teacher left, the students vented. “He breaks my heart to death,” said Daryl, the actor who was going to play Hamlet. “That’s all we wanted to be: actors. How life is black.”
    “Won’t happen, Daryl,” said Claudius. “Become an accountant, or get a specialized degree in Existential Philosophy. The teach is right.”
    The actress meant to be Ophelia shed tears all over her blue and white flowered shirt. “This is not an act,” she sobbed. “I’m really sad.”
    Polonius said, “No, I will not let the teach crush my hopes. It is not within my best interests to defer from my goal, Daryl. I think your membership in the Trench Coat Mafia is making your judgment too bleak.”
    “No Polonius, he’s right,” Hortatio said. “There is no hope. Right, Hamlet?”
    Laertes said, “It’s only one man’s opinion. Still, I’ll back you guys up on whatever you want to do.”
    “But the teach is an expert,” Fortinbras said. “He has the knowledge, he knows the technique. If he says we’re talentless, we’re talentless.”
    “I’ve always wanted to be an actor since I was five,” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern said. “I don’t even know what I want now.”
    Hamlet said, “Let’s all get on the same channel first: So we’re failures. We’ll never achieve our dreams. Let’s all sober up and admit this to ourselves. Our dreams are worth nothing. Let’s say it all at once, “I give up!”
    “I give up!” they all screamed.
    Hamlet said, “Okay, now that we got that out of our system, let’s think of a way to go out with a bang, an exclamation point, instead of a whimper, like an ellipsis.” He walked up to the chalkboard by the stage and screeched in giant letters, “PHAMOUS!”
    “Why not spell it right?” Gertrude asked with a smile at Hamlet, red, puffy, candy hearts for pupils.
    “Because it’s totally different than ‘Famous’ with an F.”
    “So what do you have in mind?” Fortinbras asked.
    “Let’s do the play,” Hamlet said. “But for real. We die in the play, we die in REAL LIFE. Someone will tie up teach, so he can’t stop it. By the time they’re on to us, it’ll be too late.”
    “Yeah, I have access to weapons,” Horatio said. “My granddad was in the October war in the early seventies. He keeps grenades under his bed. We can find a use for them, somehow.”
    Rosencrantz and Guildenstern said, “My dad keeps a whole roll of extension cords under his workbench. We can use them. He also has a shit load of duct tape. I think. If I remember right.”
    Claudius said, “I’ll take care of the swords. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
    “Remember, you go twice,” Hamlet said to Claudius. Stabbed and poisoned.”
    “Oh God,” Claudius said. “Hamlet, make it short. I don’t want to die, oh man...”
    Gertrude said, “My dad owns a pest control business. I’m sure I can find a poison.”
    Hamlet said, “LET’S DO IT! GO GO GO!”
    Claudius asked his parents for money, and with that, added to the money he had saved up, he walked down to USA Karate and bought three Shaolin Pearsteel 100 Longevity Swords, one butterfly knife, and a Linkrock grinding stone. Later, his mom walked into his bedroom while he was sharpening the swords against the grinding stone. He said, Not to worry, that they’re for the play, and that no one will make actual contact.
    Gertrude snuck down into the basement of her dad’s store, looked around, and came up with a gray bag with a green “Mr. Yuck” sticker stuck on it. Then, under that, the words, “Imiprothrin tablets. Mix in water before distilling.” She Googled “Imiprothrin” and found out it’s a form of Cyanide. She went back downstairs with a brown lunch bag, dumped a bunch of pellets in, and traipsed out of the store.
    Rosencrantz and Guildenstern walked down to his dad’s workbench, fiddled around, found extension cords and rolls of duct tape. He put them all in a few wrinkled lunch bags and trampled upstairs gaily.
    Horatio reached under his parents’ bed and came up with three, sand-camouflaged, very heavy, Phosphorus grenades. He decided to take three. That should be enough. He placed each grenade into a brown paper bag, and carried them one by one into his room, and put them under his bed.
    Back at school they rehearsed. “From the chest! From the chest!” the drama teacher yelled. “Doing Shakespeare comes from the chest! You breathe the lines!” He exercised them by tapping on their backs as they spoke. He had them jog in place while saying their lines.
    At times the teacher would scream, “Eyeballs! Goddamnit! Eyeballs! They wander! Look at who you are talking to!”
    Then, later, “Cut, Goddamnit, cut! Daryl, you’re not unhappy enough! What’s with the smile?! You need to feel sorry for yourself! You must mope and moan! AAAAAGH! They warn you never to work with kids or animals! And your Pittsburghese accents! Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick! They’re abominable!”
    Now, Horatio, Fortinbras and Osric, you three have the most important roles. It’s your jobs to establish order at the play’s end. That’s what makes Shakespeare so brilliant. In his plays things may go south, there could be chaos and total pandemonium, but at the end, no matter how bad the discord, Shakespeare winds it up with order. Everything is resolved! Safe and cozy! Happily ever after! Do you understand?!”
    Laertes asked, “But teach, going through the play the other day, I thought, “Man, this play is violent, and not appropriate for a high school.”
    “SHAKESPEARE IS NOT VIOLENT! VIOLENCE IS FOR THE UNEDUCATED MORONIC MASSES, YOU KIDS WITH YOUR VIDEO GAMES, M FOR MATURE! AND YOUR CDS, WITH EXPLICIT LYRICS ADVISORIES! SHAKESPEARE IS SWEET AND CLEAN! YES, THERE MIGHT BE A STABBING OR TWO! BUT SO WHAT?! SHAKESPEARE IS A GENIUS! DON’T YOU DARE COMPARE HIM TO YOUR SCHLOCK AND GORE RATED R MOVIES YOU SNEAK INTO AND RENT OFF NETFLIX! 400 YEARS OF FANSHIP BY THOSE OF US LITERATI CAN’T BE WRONG!”
    After the teacher left, the kids huddled. “I don’t want a slow death,” said Claudius.
    “Don’t worry,” said Hamlet. “I’ll make sure you go down for the count.”
    Gertrude said, “With the Imiprothrin tablets, you put them in water, and they dissolve, like Alka Seltzer. So that’s what I’ll drink and what Osric will dip the Shaolin Pearsteel sword into.”
    Hamlet said, “Ophelia, your ass goes down in the school pool in the basement. Laertes, it’s your job to drown her.”
    Laertes said, “No problem. Consider it done.”
    “That’s okay,” she said. “I can drown myself.”
    Hamlet said, “No, trust me. You say that now, but your body will fight. The life reflex will kick in. And you two, R & G, you got the electric cord off your dad’s workbench?”
    “Yeah,” he said.
    Horatio pulled a grenade out of his lunch bag. “I don’t think I can throw these too far. Oh well. I’ll do my best.”
    Claudius picked up a garbage bag and dumped out the three Paolin swords and a butterfly knife onto the floor. The kids just stared.
    The night of the play came. Before the curtains opened Laertes led a group prayer session. They prayed they’d all meet again in heaven. Osric and Fortinbras wrestled the drama teacher to the ground—both of them were on the wrestling team. They tied his hands and legs with duct tape, and taped up his mouth. They didn’t understand his labored breathing was due to a deviated septum.
    “Just watch this, teach,” Fortinbras said. “This will be the play to end all plays.” The teacher’s eyes wobbled fiercely in their sockets as he struggled and wormed like a maggot held between a child’s fingertips. He wheezed violently through his nose. “This is going to be R-Rated, teach,” Fortinbras said. They moved the teacher to a position not visible to the whole audience but where he could see the whole play.
    The curtains opened.
    Everything went according to plan, the audience looked pleased. Until the murder of Polonius. He stood behind the curtain and Hamlet jabbed him with the butterfly knife, digging it, twisting it. Polonius bellowed for real. “AGGGH! I am slain!” Then he screeched and fell through the curtain. He had worn five shirts, but still some red blood and green gastric juices oozed through his clenched hands like a squeezed, soggy towel.
    A few parents stood up: “What the hell are those special effects? This is a high school play! It’s supposed to be PG-13!” And one of them even screamed, “What the fuck is this shit?!”
    Hamlet dragged Polonius, who was clasping his guts (a little pale yellow intestine peeked through) backstage to die.
    Meanwhile Gertrude talked to the teacher. She told him she’d degag him if he kept his mouth open. He nodded his head Yes violently. She pulled the tape off slowly and tried to shove a funnel in his mouth, but he turned away and close his lips. She pinched his nose shut, forcing him to open his mouth, grabbed him by the chin, and shoved the funnel in. She stuffed raw hamburger meat into it and pushed it down the funnel with a wooden spoon. Polonius lay beside them, moaning, moaning, “Oh man, the pain is too much, too much for my body to take, for my soul to take.” He touched his wound, and the leaking stomach acid burned his fingers.
    Laertes and Ophelia walked down to the school pool in the basement. “Okay, here I go,” she said, and crossed herself. “Let’s do it.” Laertes threw her in the pool and jumped in beside her and held her head down, putting all his weight on her as she struggled violently. He kept checking his watch. Finally a huge bubble popped up and out like popcorn, and she stopped struggling. Then, at the twenty minute mark, he pulled her out. Her face was swollen, blue vomit dripped down her chin, her eyeballs were up in her head. She dripped water and was limp like yellow kelp as he dragged her up to backstage, leaving a trail of water. The reek of chlorine filled the room.
    In the backstage coatroom stood a row of hooks about six feet off the floor. Horatio watched as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern placed two stools under the hooks. The two stood on the stools, took the extension cords—which were tied in a hangman’s knot, and stretched them around their necks. Horatio kicked away the stools, and R & G choked. They uttered guttural sounds as they wrestled for their lives, like marionettes with a drunk handler, and they evacuated in their pants.
    So the scene of Ophelia’s funeral arrived. Everything went okay until she came alive. All of a sudden she exploded in a huge, gaping, giant gasp of air and her body began to struggle for Oxygen, for life; she breathed hoarsely. Gertrude, embarrassed, grabbed Ophelia’s pillow and shoved it over Ophelia’s face and pushed down with all her weight. The whole time Gertrude smiled in fluster at the audience. Ophelia struggled and bucked in reflex as Gertrude did her best to hold her down. Finally Ophelia stopped struggling. The parents were outraged and called for the play to end. They yelled for the drama teacher, but he was choked to death backstage. “This is totally inappropriate for kids this age!” Fortinbras stood with his sword, his real sword, keeping the parents away. They had begun to gather round the stage.
    Laertes and Hamlet fist fought in Ophelia’s grave and Hamlet broke Laertes’s jaw—not an intended part of the play. For the rest of the play Laertes talked through grit teeth, drooling saliva and blood.
    They skipped the scene with Osric and went straight to the climactic duel. The kids were not sure they could hold the parents back much longer.
    Osric, backstage, dipped the two Paolin swords in Gertrude’s Imiprothrin, then he handed Laertes the sword, and brought out onstage the goblet of water, bubbling, mixed with the poison and placed it on the table between the king and the queen. The duel began. Gertrude mouthed a prayer and drank from the goblet. Laertes stabbed Hamlet. Hamlet yelped. They wrestled. Hamlet stabbed Laertes with Laertes’s sword. Gertrude, pale as a ghost, clawed at her throat like an animal, and collapsed onto the floor.
    Hamlet: “Oh villainy! Ho! Let the door be locked! Treachery! Seek it out!”
    Laertes: (Through clenched teeth): “It is here, Hamlet. Thou art slain. No medicine in the world can do thee good...” He was too stressed out to remember his lines, so he paraphrased, “It’s the king that pulled the whole stunt!”
    The actor playing Claudius looked scared—not an act. Hamlet charged him with the sword, shouting, “I’m going to kill you, Larry!” He stabbed him and tried to pour the poison down Claudius’s throat. The actor in turn did his best to turn his head and shut his mouth, then he tried to shove Hamlet away.
    “Don’t kill me, Daryl! Please!”
    With one hand Hamlet choked Claudius, forcing his mouth open, and then he poured in the goblet of Imiprothrin. Then Hamlet hacked away at the king like chopping wood, blood leaking everywhere, dripping down the improvised wooden throne. Then he jabbed Claudius in the carotid artery, and shortly the king passed out.
    Fortinbras swung away at the parents; now even they were injured and bleeding. Hortatio dragged out the drama teacher’s corpse, leaving a trail of chunky vomit and hamburger meat. Then he dragged out the fish-eyed R & G, and then Polonius (either dying or dead), then Ophelia in her wooden coffin. The parents kept dialing 9-1-1 on their mobile phones. Hamlet collapsed into a fetal position on the stage floor, rolled around, gurgled, and died next to the body of Laertes. Horatio went backstage and walked back out cradling in both arms the three Phosphorus grenades. He laid them out by his feet, picked one up, depinned it, and like a discus thrower, did his best to lob it as far out into the audience as possible. It did not fly far, only blowing up the parents who were trying to rush the stage. What’s it like to watch a phosphorus grenade explode? First there’s a flash, like someone taking a picture. Then an ear fissuring Boom! And then, a ghost cloud of green, skin-searing vapor everywhere.
    Gargled screams. “It’s a fucking Phosphorus grenade!” a father yelled. Horatio tossed out a second grenade. Then he let the third grenade detonate onstage. And the white phosphorus, at 1500 degrees Fahrenheit, enveloped the good and the bad alike.



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