The Promise

Ben doesn’t keep much company nowadays. When his neighbour, Phil comes over to play cards, Phil is concerned about the moans coming from the bedroom. Ben assures Phil that it’s only his wife, Doris. The only thing is that no one in the building has ever seen Doris. Does she even exist? And if she doesn’t, who is in the bedroom? When three burglars break into the apartment, they discover what really is in there in this drama thriller…

A harrowing tale of madness and delusion, or is it? What is real and what is a figment of imagination? A play for directors and actors to get their teeth into. If well directed it will create a lot of discussion in the audience.

Type:               Three act play
Genre:             Drama thriller scripts
Suitable for:   All ages as no actual violence is depicted
Length:           2 hours
Cast:                3M
2F (one is only seen once carried across the stage and moans offstage throughout the play), 2N
Ages of the actors: 3 middle aged to older, 4 young
Suitable for:    PG 10

Set: An apartment flat, one dining/living room with a rectangular table, one chair on each side. An open kitchen in the background, separated from the dining/living room by a sideboard filled with cookbooks. The dishes are stashed in the sink, an open milk carton and a microwave meal lay on the counter. Next to the entrance door are two large garbage bags which are tied up, plus a third one next to these which is untied and filled to the top with litter. Next to the dining/living room is the small bathroom; a toilet, sink, cabinet, mirror. The kitchen and the bedroom are connected to the bathroom. The bedroom isn’t visible, it goes off the left, offstage.

Level of difficulty: 8/10 – there is a build up of tension in this drama thriller to a climax at the end of the play. Challenge – taking the audience on that journey

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The last train

… Steven looked at her an d remembered how it felt to kiss her lies – to be close to her and to make her laugh. Then, the same guilt and pain that had accompanied his attraction for her fell upon him once again. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly one in the morning. He imagined Aimee lying on her side of the bed, fast asleep. All he wanted to do now was go home. …


Lonely birds and shadow figures

Jess and Betty work together in a typical office and rub along against each other as coworkers do that spend half their lives together. But both of them are lonely women. Betty is a widow and Jess craves chronic solitude based on her superiority complex and cynical view of the world. So when Jess accepts a bunch of flowers meant for Betty and then in a mean gesture, makes them out to be for herself, she never even considers that the messenger who brought them may have sinister intentions…

Both women are about to find what it is they really yearn for, or rather what they crave will find them in the most disturbing occurrences that infatuation can serve us. And he will follow them and watch their shadow figures as they move through their curtains at night…

Will the rules of right and wrong be clear when Jessica gets what is coming to her? And when she mysteriously disappears, will the principle of karma serve Betty well when she tries to make sense of what exactly happened to her “friend”, Jessica? Finally and more importantly; will anyone really care about the circumstances surrounding her “disappearance”?

Type:              Three act play
Genre:            Psycho thriller script
Cast:               2F 1M (2M – one is a voice)
Suitable for:   All ages as no actual violence is depicted
Length:          90 minutes

Set: In an office building. A large screen is placed in the office, referencing time, showing pieces of imagery in between. Overbearing gray its overwhelming neon and reflects onto various suits that are hung on coat hangers and blend into the surroundings like camouflage.

Level of difficulty: 8/10 – a psycho thriller in three acts that requires a slow build up of tension to a climax in a fairly routine office enviroment

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Auroras Erwachen

Tragische Komödie, die ins Absurde spielt: Eine absurde Mischung aus Beziehungsstress und dem kriminellen Gregor, der von außen in die Dreiecksgeschichte Tom-Aura-Lucy eindringt und vieles durcheinander bringt.

Type:                 Three act play
Genre:               Tragische Komödie
Suitable for:     Erwachsenentheater
Länge:               80 Min.
Cast:                 6, 4 M 2F, 5N

Ein Appartement mitten in der Stadt. Wir sehen eine relativ kleine Wohnung, Küche mit Fenster über der Spüle zur linken Seite hin. Das Zimmer rechts daneben bildet den Wohn- und Esszimmerbereich, der Wohnungseingang liegt direkt am Zimmer, ohne Flur. Rechts von der Tür steht ein schwarzer Jackenständer, daneben ein kleiner Tisch, worauf sich verschiedenster Krimskrams angesammelt hat [Zeitschriften, Rechnungen, eine Schale mit Kleingeld und Schlüsseln, Kassenzettel etc.]. Das Badezimmer und das Schlafzimmer sind nicht sichtbar, das Badezimmer geht nach hinten aus der Küche ab. Die Couch im Wohn- und Esszimmerbereich steht relativ nahe am Bühnenrand und dem Publikum gegenüber. Die Wohnung strahlt insgesamt einen urbanen/künstlerischen Flair aus: Keines der Möbelstücke passt zueinander, es sind Unikate verschiedenster Stile, die aus den unterschiedlichen Jahrzehnten zusammengewürfelt wurden. 20er, 30er, 60er, 70er und 80er – alles trifft in diversen Variationen und Ecken aufeinander. Darunter ein Schallplattenspieler aus den 30ern, eine typische 70er-Blumentapete und beige Couch, großer Kühlschrank aus den 50er-/60er-Jahren, drei bunt angemalte Stühle unterschiedlichster Form in sattem gelb, blau und rot und ein kleiner, runder Ikea-Esstisch. Eine alte, dunkelbraune Holztruhe dient als Couchtisch und steht vor der Couch.

Die Wohnung ist aufgeräumt, doch sie wirkt durch und durch unorganisiert, nichts fließt. Es gibt keinen roten Faden, außer, dass nichts zusammenpasst.)

Erhältlich über Theaterbörse:

Good Times Gone

It’s late October. Lola is in a simple t-shirt, cut-off jeans and, flip-flops. She’s on the lookout for a cafe or bar that would welcome her. These days, it has become difficult for her to be served. “Just a beer, a glass of wine—maybe a shot of tequila? Just one. Just one,” she mumbles to herself.

Lola walks along the busy street, bumping into people who tell her to watch where she’s going.

“You watch it!” she yells after them, but they don’t turn around.

She walks on, humming a familiar song and enters a newly opened restaurant. The stares of the guest embrace her, the attention lights up her face, just like they always had. Lola greets them all, dances in the entrance to inaudible music playing somewhere in the back of her mind. She caresses her breasts, her thighs, twirls around to the sound of guitars strumming until she stumbles and falls to the ground. But once again she is caught by him. He’d never let her fall, no matter what.

“Peter. Love you, hon,” she says.

The waiter, John, who actually caught her fall, tries to steady her.

“Okay, everything’s okay. Next round is on me!” she exclaims with a grand gesture. The children stare open mouthed, a baby cries out. The parents start to complain, another waiter comes and ushers Lola away, back to the small bar area. Lola hasn’t noticed that she has wet herself. The parents who have noticed quickly pay their bills and leave. Only a couple of guests are still seated—some are watching amused, some disturbed—as Lola tries to mount a bar stool.

“One more before I go,” she says, instantly reminding her of a song that she’d been trying to remember for the longest time.

“Who sang that song? One more, one more—or so. Ah well. Who cares, right Pete? Peter? Where are you?” she asks looking around in distress.

“Fuck off man,” she yells at the waiter standing next to her. She looks around the room, but Pete has already left. “He always leaves. He always leaves too soon.”

The waiter watches her for a minute, realizing that she has no money on her and that she’s messed up the leather seat of the bar stool. He’s ready to kick her out.

“Who’s this Pete?” he asks, trying to conceal his impatience. “Would you like me to call him? Ma’am, can I call someone for you? A cab maybe?”

She looks in his direction but doesn’t speak. He looks exactly like Sam

“Sammy?” she whispers and gently touches the waiter’s cheek. The waiter gruffly brushes her hand away. She gets up.

“It’s just not like it used to be,” she says.

Lola walks to the exit but turns around one last time addressing the remaining guests. “I’m a dying breed, I’m becoming extinct!” she exclaims. The guests look away, some ashamed, some giggling. “Where have the good times gone?”

Just the day before yesterday, it seemed, she was young, with a heart wide open, gazing at life—no limits—just dancing. She had always been the center of attention. She was fun—less the funny type—more the kind you’d laugh about than with. But she’d enjoy the amused stares, the laughs, the kisses and the wild nights in strangers’ arms. She’d felt welcomed, relaxed and endlessly desired.

Yesterday she had been in her late thirties—unemployed and divorced—with a son named Sam. She’d get by with the help of those countless familiar strangers she’d befriended at the bars. Lola and Sam would move from one strangers’ couch to another, from one unfamiliar setting to the next, until one day, his father Peter took the boy to live with him. Lola’s heart was torn, but she knew somewhere inside her it was the right thing to do.

Nights on end she’d cry over his loss. It felt as if half of her heart had been taken from her. And she’d let it happen.

Lola was determined to get back on her feet; get a job, an apartment and forge a different lifestyle. But with each passing moment, which was accompanied by her guilt and longing for Sam, the draw toward the bars became stronger.

She could hear the music, the laughter, the commotion, and then one day, she gave in.

“Just a beer, a glass of wine—maybe a shot of tequila? Just one. Just one,” she’d said to herself. Soon she’d discovered, wine and liquor were able to mend her broken heart—just long enough to make it through to the next day.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll get him back,” she’d said, not realizing that days had soon faded into weeks and months into years.

Today, two decades later, Lola steps onto the sidewalk. She doesn’t feel the late autumn chill surrounding her, doesn’t notice how it’s slowly invading her body.

She walks on, her lips turning blue, her hands as red as the leaves on the ground. A memory replaying of the past—Sam and Pete—and it immediately cheers her up.

“Good times, good times. Long gone, long gone” she hums, while on the lookout for another bar or restaurant that would welcome her.

But these days, it’s becoming more difficult. She starts bobbing her head to a familiar tune. “Just one beer, one last dance.”


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