ACCOUNT
Two men are sat at a table.
One fat, one thin.
There is a plate upon the table.
Upon the plate sits a great. big. bird.
The bird opens it’s beak.
AND SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS!!!
(stops)
“I like this song” says the fat man to the thin man.
“You like this song, but I do not.”Is the reply.
The fat man regards the thin man.
He rises from his seat at the table. He walks at a slow, even pace to the pantry.
(THE THIN MAN WATCHES WITH CONTEMPT)
The fat man opens the door and stands before the shelves. Shelves filled with similar looking, doe-eyed birds. Birds like that of table dwelling.
(THE THIN MAN HAS SAD EYES)
The fat man drums his chubby fingers contemplatively on his chin.
(‘NO OUTCOME WILL PLEASE ME’ THINKS THE THIN MAN)
The fat man chooses and lifts his bird from the shelf. This bird has purple and green feathers. He places the bird under his arm, pulls his volumenous pants up by their rope belt and returns to the table.
(THE THIN MAN SEES)
“Lets see the effect of this bird” says the satisfied fat man. He believes a bird of this plumage cannot fail to produce a song to put a smile on his friends lips. This is a very popular bird. This is the season’s choice. This is, what the men of the market call, ‘a dead-cert’.
(‘WHY DO WE OWN/NEED THIS BIRD?’ THINKS THE THIN MAN)
The fat man strokes the catatonic birds’ head. The bird awakens.
AND SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS!
The fat man’s eyes sink leaving slits. His rosy-red-apple cheeks are pumped with hot-blood and swell like water balloons rising to just below his hiding eyes.
“I do not like this song either” says the thin man. He drops his head and shakes and shakes and shakes. It.
“But it is a good song!” whimpers the fat man. OH! HOW HE LOATHES TO SEE HIS FRIEND SO SAD.
“It is the same as the last”. Blasts the thin man.
“A different bird!” Counters fat.
The thin man stands. He wrenches the bird from the plate and stomps to the pantry door.
(THE FAT MAN HAS HANDS ON MOUTH)
The thin man flings the door open and points an outraged finger at the contents.
The purple bird’s eyes are glass again. It’s beak shut.
(THE FAT MAN SHIFTS. LEFT.RIGHT.LEFT.RIGHT etc)
“All the same fucking bird!” the thin man calls it as he sees it.
“Different!” pleads the fat man
Each bird is taken in turn to the table. Each bird is heard at the table. Each bird is judge both different and the same in turn.
The fat man cries. OH, he cries!
“Don’t understand” he sniffs from snotted cloth.
“Come” says the thin man. He stands again.
THE PAIR MAKE A QUICK BUT TIME CONSUMING JOURNEY TO THE ATTIC.
“What is this place?” coos the fat man as he bats the pull-switch for the attic light.
“Sit” says the thin man.
The fat man does this. Between the pair is a box.
From the box is taken. a bird.
“See” says the thin man.
He places the bird in the chubby paws of a bewildered beast.
“Scared!” whines the fat man. “Different!”
(TEARS NOW)
The thin man rolls his eyes and takes back the bird. He lifts it to the blue day light that comes through the (ROUND) window.
Expressions ebb and flow accross a fat face. He is not so scared now. He can see that it is a bird similar but not like those of the pantry. It is not as beautiful to him. It is smaller, sleeker, less colour(SHIT), grandure (FAT) more angles. Different.
“Does it sing like those of the pantry?” fat face asks question.
Thin nods now. Nodding. Relax.
He tickles it’s breast, the bird opens it’s beak…
AND SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGS!!!!
MORE BIRDS ARE FORTHCOMING. THE BOX IS VARIETY. EDUCATION TAKES PLACE. FURTHER READING OCCURS. HOURS ARE SPENT NOW AND AFTERWARDS THERE IS THE KITCHEN AGAIN.
At the table the men sit.
The fat man rises.
P.a.n.t.r.y.
“I thought we had an accord?” thin.
“But these birds are nearer…” says the fat man.
“You will always be fat and stupid, you will learn nothing. You deserve nothing. Your life deserves to be one of misery not idiotic contentment!” Damns the thin man.
“True, I am and will continue to be fat and what you believe to be stupid. However, I am happy and full whereas you are ill at ease, questioning and always, always hungry.”
PLUME
