John J. Rambo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theydrewfirstblood) wrote2025-04-16 12:35 pm
theydrewfirstblood) wrote2025-04-16 12:35 pm
[notepad] PUMPKIN HOLLOW OPERA
1921
THE SOLDIER: John Rambo
THE COMMANDER:
[LIGHTS UP; SCENE: SHERIFF'S STATION]
[Enter stage left THE SOLDIER, bullet belt slung across his chest. He is clad in jeans and tank top, a scrap of burlap tied around his head. Filth and dried blood streak his face and bare skin, a set of dog tags hanging around his neck. He is tearing open cabinets, pulling out guns, batons, boxes of bullets and heaping them on a desk in the dimly lit office/operations area.]
[Enter stage right THE COMMANDER, cast in shadow. His stature is square and solid but far removed from action, leaner than THE SOLDIER. The music swells--not the orchestral strings and drums of the classical alone, but punctuated by the harsh wail of an electric guitar.]
THE COMMANDER
You did everything to make this private war happen! You've done enough damage!
[THE SOLDIER continues stockpiling more weapons. His eyes are wide, staring--both somewhere else and present in the moment against his will. He is still on task, still on the mission. A heavy bass line is playing, punctuated by the occasional kick of a bass drum.]
THE COMMANDER
This mission is over, Rambo! Do you understand me?...Look at them out there! Look at them! If you won't end this now, they will kill you. Is that what you want? It's over Johnny. It's over!
[THE SOLDIER whirls on THE COMMANDER. The guitar squeals again, with distortion--undiluted pain and fury.]
THE SOLDIER
NOTHING IS OVER! NOTHING!!... You just don't turn it off!
[THE SOLDIER begins to pace slowly, a caged animal looking for a way out when there is none to be had. It's barely audible, but voices are running under the sound of his dialogue, a chorus of shades singing in time with the ambient melody playing just beneath his words. Gradually, they grow louder, more audible, more discernible...over and over as the volume grows...]
THE CHORUS
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it
You never heard it, not a word of it
You won't say nothing to no-one
THE SOLDIER
It wasn't my war! You asked me, I didn't ask you! And I did what I had to do to win! But somebody wouldn't let us win! And I come back to the world and I see all those maggots at the airport, protesting me, spitting. Calling me baby killer and all kinds of vile crap! Who are they to protest me, huh? Who are they? Unless they've been me and been there and know what the hell they're yelling about!
[THE CHORUS is gradually joined by THE COMMANDER, soft but clear, joining THE SOLDIER'S speech in quiet, reasonable song without drowning him out. THE COMMANDER separates from THE CHORUS to speak in similar tones.]
THE COMMANDER
It was a bad time for everyone, Rambo. It's all in the past now.
[THE CHORUS divides now, THE COMMANDER rejoining their refrain. The other half begins a new melody between each line, less a song and more a chant that remains quiet, overpowered by the refrain but unquestionably clear]
THE CHORUS ONE
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it
You never heard it, not a word of it
You won't say nothing to no-one
THE CHORUS TWO
We're not gonna take it
We're not gonna take it
We're not gonna take it
We're not gonna take it
THE SOLDIER
For you! For me civilian life is nothing! In the field we had a code of honor, you watch my back, I watch yours. Back here there's nothing!
THE COMMANDER
You're the last of an elite group, don't end it like this.
THE SOLDIER
Back there I could fly a gunship, I could drive a tank, I was in charge of million dollar equipment, back here I can't even hold a job parking cars!
[The guitar squeals again as THE SOLDIER slams one of the guns onto the desk and staggers back, overcome. He's no longer in the present, but worlds away as he slumps to the floor, back pinned to the wall. His broad, muscular shoulders heave with sobs he can't stifle, his voice is cracking.]
THE SOLDIER
I can't--I just--oh, my God, where is everybody? Oh, God...
[THE SOLDIER drops his head into his hands and begins to sob. The spotlight narrows onto him, the figure of THE COMMANDER no longer visible as he weeps bitterly--harsh wails of fear, of grief, of pain. THE CHORUS TWO is now silent, the original refrain of THE CHORUS ONE taking over completely, a whisper in the background.
THE SOLDIER lifts his head, chest heaving but seemingly, just barely, calmer. Beneath his words, a melody plays--an instrumental of the refrain.]
THE SOLDIER
I...I had a friend--it was Danforth. I had all these guys, man. Back there, I had all these fucking guys, who were my friends. 'Cause back here, there's nothing...remember Danforth?...He wore this black headband, and I took one of those magic markers, and I wrote on it, and it said 'if found, mail to Las Vegas'--'cause we were always talking about Vegas, and this fuckin' car, this red '58 Chevy convertible, he was talking about this car; he said we were gonna cruise 'til the tires fall off...
[THE SOLDIER pauses, breath hitching with a fresh sob...and his voice lifts, quavering...]
THE SOLDIER
...see me...
[He starts to sob as he speaks again, pausing between sobs to sing.]
THE SOLDIER
...we were in this bar in Saigon, and this kid comes up, this kid carrying a shoe-shine box. And he says, uh, "Shine, please, shine!" I said "No." He kept askin', yeah, and Joey said "Yeah." And, I went to get a couple beers...
...feel me...
...and the--the box, the box was wired, and he opened up the box--fucking blew his body all over the place. And he's laying there, and he's fuckin' screaming, there's pieces of him all over me, just...
[THE SOLDIER tears the bandolier off his body and flings it across the room with a piercing wail of song before he continues speaking--shouting, screaming.]
THE SOLDIER
...TOUCH ME!...
...and I'm tryin' to pull him off, you know, and I--I--my friend! That's all over me! I got blood and everything and I'm tryin' to hold him together I put him together, his fuckin' insides keep comin' out, and nobody would help! Nobody'd help, and he's sayin' "Hey, I wanna go home! I wanna go home!" He keeps calling my name! "I wanna go home, Johnny! I wanna drive my Chevy!" I said "With what?! I can't find your fuckin' legs! I can't find your legs!"...
[THE SOLDIER dissolves into harsh sobbing that goes on and on and on. THE CHORUS never stops singing.]
THE CHORUS
Oh, how absurd it all seems
Without any proof
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it
You never heard it, not a word of it
[Gradually the sobs quiet, THE SOLDIER huddled on the floor, his head in his hand, eyes screwed shut against the moment he is reliving, one of many he has been reliving for days. For weeks, months, years, all coming to a head in one instant brought on by two full days of being forced to return to the battlefield he's never been able to escape from--the one that's left him so isolated he came to this place starved for physical touch to a point where he broke in horrific and damaging fashion.
The one that's left him so crowded by the corpses of his most beloved comrades he's choking on the smell and the stillness of it, and has been for years.
The one that's left him so bereft that he is as he appears: alone in the dark, under a single spotlight, with a shadow no one can see as his only companion, his only solace.]
THE SOLDIER
...I can't get it out of my head. I've dreamed this seven years...Every day, I have this. And sometimes, I wake up and I don't know where I am...
...heal me...
...I don't talk to anybody. Sometimes a day...a week...I can't put it out of my mind...
[THE SOLDIER begins to cry again, to sob. Deep, wracking, heaving. The sobs of a child newly orphaned, the sobs of a lover holding his partner's fresh body, the sobs of a farmer watching his crops and cattle burn without a cent or a seed to his name.
He finally reaches into the shadows, sobbing out the words this time instead of singing. The music is silent.]
THE SOLDIER
See me...feel me...touch me...
...heal me...
[LIGHTS DOWN; sobbing continues, trailing off into dead silence.]
FIN
THE SOLDIER: John Rambo
THE COMMANDER:
[LIGHTS UP; SCENE: SHERIFF'S STATION]
[Enter stage left THE SOLDIER, bullet belt slung across his chest. He is clad in jeans and tank top, a scrap of burlap tied around his head. Filth and dried blood streak his face and bare skin, a set of dog tags hanging around his neck. He is tearing open cabinets, pulling out guns, batons, boxes of bullets and heaping them on a desk in the dimly lit office/operations area.]
[Enter stage right THE COMMANDER, cast in shadow. His stature is square and solid but far removed from action, leaner than THE SOLDIER. The music swells--not the orchestral strings and drums of the classical alone, but punctuated by the harsh wail of an electric guitar.]
You did everything to make this private war happen! You've done enough damage!
[THE SOLDIER continues stockpiling more weapons. His eyes are wide, staring--both somewhere else and present in the moment against his will. He is still on task, still on the mission. A heavy bass line is playing, punctuated by the occasional kick of a bass drum.]
This mission is over, Rambo! Do you understand me?...Look at them out there! Look at them! If you won't end this now, they will kill you. Is that what you want? It's over Johnny. It's over!
[THE SOLDIER whirls on THE COMMANDER. The guitar squeals again, with distortion--undiluted pain and fury.]
NOTHING IS OVER! NOTHING!!... You just don't turn it off!
[THE SOLDIER begins to pace slowly, a caged animal looking for a way out when there is none to be had. It's barely audible, but voices are running under the sound of his dialogue, a chorus of shades singing in time with the ambient melody playing just beneath his words. Gradually, they grow louder, more audible, more discernible...over and over as the volume grows...]
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it
You never heard it, not a word of it
You won't say nothing to no-one
THE SOLDIER
It wasn't my war! You asked me, I didn't ask you! And I did what I had to do to win! But somebody wouldn't let us win! And I come back to the world and I see all those maggots at the airport, protesting me, spitting. Calling me baby killer and all kinds of vile crap! Who are they to protest me, huh? Who are they? Unless they've been me and been there and know what the hell they're yelling about!
[THE CHORUS is gradually joined by THE COMMANDER, soft but clear, joining THE SOLDIER'S speech in quiet, reasonable song without drowning him out. THE COMMANDER separates from THE CHORUS to speak in similar tones.]
It was a bad time for everyone, Rambo. It's all in the past now.
[THE CHORUS divides now, THE COMMANDER rejoining their refrain. The other half begins a new melody between each line, less a song and more a chant that remains quiet, overpowered by the refrain but unquestionably clear]
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it
You never heard it, not a word of it
You won't say nothing to no-one
THE CHORUS TWO
We're not gonna take it
We're not gonna take it
We're not gonna take it
We're not gonna take it
THE SOLDIER
For you! For me civilian life is nothing! In the field we had a code of honor, you watch my back, I watch yours. Back here there's nothing!
THE COMMANDER
You're the last of an elite group, don't end it like this.
THE SOLDIER
Back there I could fly a gunship, I could drive a tank, I was in charge of million dollar equipment, back here I can't even hold a job parking cars!
[The guitar squeals again as THE SOLDIER slams one of the guns onto the desk and staggers back, overcome. He's no longer in the present, but worlds away as he slumps to the floor, back pinned to the wall. His broad, muscular shoulders heave with sobs he can't stifle, his voice is cracking.]
I can't--I just--oh, my God, where is everybody? Oh, God...
[THE SOLDIER drops his head into his hands and begins to sob. The spotlight narrows onto him, the figure of THE COMMANDER no longer visible as he weeps bitterly--harsh wails of fear, of grief, of pain. THE CHORUS TWO is now silent, the original refrain of THE CHORUS ONE taking over completely, a whisper in the background.
THE SOLDIER lifts his head, chest heaving but seemingly, just barely, calmer. Beneath his words, a melody plays--an instrumental of the refrain.]
I...I had a friend--it was Danforth. I had all these guys, man. Back there, I had all these fucking guys, who were my friends. 'Cause back here, there's nothing...remember Danforth?...He wore this black headband, and I took one of those magic markers, and I wrote on it, and it said 'if found, mail to Las Vegas'--'cause we were always talking about Vegas, and this fuckin' car, this red '58 Chevy convertible, he was talking about this car; he said we were gonna cruise 'til the tires fall off...
[THE SOLDIER pauses, breath hitching with a fresh sob...and his voice lifts, quavering...]
...see me...
[He starts to sob as he speaks again, pausing between sobs to sing.]
...we were in this bar in Saigon, and this kid comes up, this kid carrying a shoe-shine box. And he says, uh, "Shine, please, shine!" I said "No." He kept askin', yeah, and Joey said "Yeah." And, I went to get a couple beers...
...feel me...
...and the--the box, the box was wired, and he opened up the box--fucking blew his body all over the place. And he's laying there, and he's fuckin' screaming, there's pieces of him all over me, just...
[THE SOLDIER tears the bandolier off his body and flings it across the room with a piercing wail of song before he continues speaking--shouting, screaming.]
...TOUCH ME!...
...and I'm tryin' to pull him off, you know, and I--I--my friend! That's all over me! I got blood and everything and I'm tryin' to hold him together I put him together, his fuckin' insides keep comin' out, and nobody would help! Nobody'd help, and he's sayin' "Hey, I wanna go home! I wanna go home!" He keeps calling my name! "I wanna go home, Johnny! I wanna drive my Chevy!" I said "With what?! I can't find your fuckin' legs! I can't find your legs!"...
[THE SOLDIER dissolves into harsh sobbing that goes on and on and on. THE CHORUS never stops singing.]
Oh, how absurd it all seems
Without any proof
You didn't hear it
You didn't see it
You never heard it, not a word of it
[Gradually the sobs quiet, THE SOLDIER huddled on the floor, his head in his hand, eyes screwed shut against the moment he is reliving, one of many he has been reliving for days. For weeks, months, years, all coming to a head in one instant brought on by two full days of being forced to return to the battlefield he's never been able to escape from--the one that's left him so isolated he came to this place starved for physical touch to a point where he broke in horrific and damaging fashion.
The one that's left him so crowded by the corpses of his most beloved comrades he's choking on the smell and the stillness of it, and has been for years.
The one that's left him so bereft that he is as he appears: alone in the dark, under a single spotlight, with a shadow no one can see as his only companion, his only solace.]
...I can't get it out of my head. I've dreamed this seven years...Every day, I have this. And sometimes, I wake up and I don't know where I am...
...heal me...
...I don't talk to anybody. Sometimes a day...a week...I can't put it out of my mind...
[THE SOLDIER begins to cry again, to sob. Deep, wracking, heaving. The sobs of a child newly orphaned, the sobs of a lover holding his partner's fresh body, the sobs of a farmer watching his crops and cattle burn without a cent or a seed to his name.
He finally reaches into the shadows, sobbing out the words this time instead of singing. The music is silent.]
See me...feel me...touch me...
...heal me...
[LIGHTS DOWN; sobbing continues, trailing off into dead silence.]
FIN