ACT I.

Scene II.--A barren moonscape.

No one is on stage. All voices come from offstage.

Matt. Lilly is a complete nut. She'll run up to you, whine like she wants to be petted or picked up, then when you attempt to comply she'll affix herself to your nearest body part with her jaws. Then the chewing begins. Very endearing, really. Mom has all sorts of wounds from her. It's funny. I think I took Lilly by surprise when I simply offered her my arm to chew on. She quickly lost interest. I wish I could have run around and played with her, but it was not meant to be, I suppose. She's really cute and fluffy. I think she'll make it in the Harding household. Oh, before I forget- are you ever going to add to your play?
Mitch. Ah, my play. I had almost forgotten about it. Do you think it is bad form to refer to the play from within the play?
Matt. Only a true cad would be guilty of such an atrocity.
Mitch. I can write you out of this play faster than you could bat an eyelash, brother dear. Tread carefully.
Matt. Harf.
Mitch. That's what you always fall back on, isn't it? Harf this, harf that. All you ever say is harf!
Matt. Maybe if I could write my own lines then I would say more interesting things. Am I to be blamed for your lack of creativity?
Mitch. Yes.
Matt. I humbly accept the blame and admit that it is truly my fault. My shame is immense.
Mitch. That's much better. You're really far more agreeable when you have no free will.
Matt. How very clever of you to say so. And witty also, I might add.
Mitch. No... Do you really think so?
Matt. [Nodding vigorously] Yes indeed! And how!
Mitch. I'm flattered.
Glo. & Kent. [In unison] Look you two, enough of this prattling on. We've got a play to act out! And besides, the audience is going to get bored looking at a barren moonscape, listening to your absurd chatter!
Mitch. How in the world did you say all of that in unison? That's not possible...
Glo. As I believe Matt pointed out earlier, you're the one writing this abomination, not us.

Enter Edmund.

Edm. [Surveys his surroundings, quite surprised] Hey, what the hell am I doing on this moonscape? And Mr. Playwrite, you forgot that we all know that my name is Fenwick Albatross, so kindly refer to me as Fenwick, not Edmund!
Matt. I wouldn't reccomend making demands of Mitch right now -- he's in a pissy mood.
Mitch. Edmund, Fenwick, whatever your name is: you might not be aware of this, but you require an atmosphere to survive.
Fen. Alas!
[Curtains close as Fenwick is drops to the ground writhing.]
Narrator. Will Fenwick survive? Will the playwrite continue to call him Edmund? Will Matt ever get some good lines? You'll have to wait and see.
[Exeunt.]

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