Goth-o-generians

Scene:
Pancake house. Assorted elderly folk around a table. All are dressed as goths with pale, powdered skin, dark eyes and hair,and black fingernails. The character Flash should appear to be in the last stages of dementia, glassy-eyed and out of it. Among the old folk is Matt, a young Goth barely eighteen years old.

Matt:
(To Waitress) Darkness. (Pause) I have come to cherish the darkness. Do you know why? Why I have come to cherish the darkness? Because darkness is all that lasts. Light is a hoax. A hoax perpetrated on fools. Before the light there is the darkness and after the light will be the darkness again. There is light for an instant only. Do we love the blink of an eye, or the soul within the eyes? Darkness is the soul within the eyes of life, that is what I have learned. That is why I cherish the darkness.

Waitress:
That’s swell. Coffee for you boys?

Tom:
Coffee, yes. Bitter ichor of the gloom-filled morning for all.

Waitress:
Cream?

Dick:
Cream? Never. We want our coffee dark! Dark as the blood of Asmodeus that gouts and streams in freshening currents to fill the lakes of hell! But decaf.

Harry:
Could use some more Neutra Sweet, too.

Waitress:
Gotcha. (Exits)

Tom:
I abhor the pleasure coffee brings me, but in my anguish I know I am alive and so I drink. Helps me pee, too.

Dick:
When I pee it burns, burns like the fires of hell. Mine is a jittering, sputtering, magmic stream that spits into my bedpan of despair.

Tootie:
Meanwhile, I can neither piss not dump, but can only seep like a fetid, Celtic bog into my sammet colostomy bag.

Matt:
Hail the darkness.

Flash:
The abyss!

Waitress:
Here you go, boys. (Pours coffee. Sets out extra packets of sweetener.) Ready to order?

Matt:
I will have two eggs, cooked hard as the life that sucks our hopes, with white toast, burnt and black as my bilious phlegm.

Waitress:
Grits of grief?

Matt:
Hash browns of hopelessness.

Tom:
Same for me.

Tootie:
I’ll have the short stack of shame. No sides.

Dick:
I’ll have a single, hot sourdough biscuit buttered with the tears of an orphan.

Harry:
I’ll have a Denver omelette.

(Everyone stares disapprovingly at Harry. He is embarrassed.)

Harry:
Scratch that. Make it a Columbine omelette filled with the detritus of dreams denied, the anger of the alienated, the peppers of perdition, the onions of odium, the cheese of the cheated, and the sausages of simmering scorn. And an English muffin.

Waitress:
And you?

Flash:
The abyss.

Waitress:
Gotcha. One bowl of the oatmeal of oblivion. (She gathers their menus, smiles, and exits.)

Tom:
(Staring after the waitress) I wonder if she puts out.

Flash:
(Suddenly coherent) I had her.

(All eyes on Flash.)

Matt:
How was she?

Flash:
The abyss!

(blackout)

—Don Whittington

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2 thoughts on “Goth-o-generians

  1. lovely, from yr damn near beautiful (& yikes, shiny) “That’s why I cherish the darkness”
    Waitress: “That’s swell”
    to
    thee abyss
    I commend you, yr in the hash browns of hopelessness, CG

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