[This text is machine generated and may contain errors.]

The Rebel is a student publication of East
Carolina University. Offices are located on the
campus at 215 Wright Annex. Inquiries and con-
tributions should be a Mg to F, O. Box 2607,

without written perm
$6.00.

Editor-in-Chief . . Sandy Penfield

it Director. . ..... Glenn Lewis



Tom Hawkins

. 40, ... Bruce Parish

Business Manager |... fee MoD oxid Swink

TABLE OF CONTENTS

MERC EN CUI) COMM oo oveeckeeee
the missing metaphor-- elisa troutman
a low damn thing-- archie gastor
the great dive-- tim wehner
untitled-- charles griffin
untitled-- phil arrington
a seed-- david holdefer
WMGileck CENMel WGC CIST 2 2 ee
when the gentle must rage-- rick atkinson
and the lord said-- marvin hunt
MIOUIMIEC (Ol COGlE ee,
acey-zeus-y -- phil arrington
(ares: rev
sail boat-- scot gardner
(WANTAGE AUS Ta OT 0) eee
Mlerelecnia OF Guucioraicer- Milam MGtON 6... eee kets eee ccneees
a poem of ecstacy written upon seeing the moon eat three astronauts
after beating them severely with empty coke bottles--

sidney furnbush

Clowea OCNE COugan@Uen = =...
step off the highway-- jon jackson
the laugh-- marvin hunt
untitled-- donna lowery
number 70-- scot gardner

Ce ee ee a

Ce eer

search for anything-- melinda mc carthy
untitled-- beverly cotten

Ce ee aa

The Missing Metaphor

Nor for your eyes should |
Look in OrionTs belt to find,
Nor feel in ShellyTs poetry
The children of your choices.

There were metaphors used in language
To undress da VinciTs marble, or

Made to sculpt unfinished stone

Into some breathing face alone.

Not in syllables will | have

The option of conversion,

~Nor in image your form,

But tn thinking, I'll make

Smoke look like Popo Clouds,

And dangle the North Star from my ear.

There are constellations in verse now
And forms called poetry

Have been tossed into stellar systems.
Even the methodical pause of verse
Is found in rivers,

And not in rhymes.

A LOW DAMN THING

Loneliness is such a silly thing;
a droopy brown-eyed girl
waiting for a soldier,
a subject for the Nashville cowboys
to sell their wax thrills.

Alone is a low damn thing;
the way Jesus must have felt
when he looked up
and saw no helicopters
coming to save him.

Though all he could see was the vague skyline of Munich, Johnny
Drew could feel the hundreds of eyes and a half-dozen spotlights
trained on his every move. It had taken a long time, in fact fifteen of
JohnnyTs twenty-nine years had gone into the training for the Olympic
Games. Now as he stood above the crowd Johnny recalled the
distressing events of the past twelve years that had kept him from
competing at an earlier age.

With his toes hanging over the platform, Johnny bent his knees,
stretched his arms as if reaching for the stars, and sprang upward and
out with the beginning of his performance. His mind now racing,
Johnny recalled the first setback in his diving career. At seventeen,
Johnny's father had entered the hospital just three days before the
statewide diving championship and Johnny had to work through the
summer to keep the family on tts feet. That year the United States
diving team was without Johnny Drew.

As he brought his knees up to his chest and tucked them under his
chin, Johnny jerked backward into the makings of a precisioned flip.
Recounting the events of eight years ago when Johnny was in collegiate
competition, a dismal memory of several crushed vertebrae during
NCAA Diving Championships ran chills throughout his body. Again
JohnnyTs claim to fame had been halted by misfortune.

Smoothly straightening his legs and beginning the full twist, a flash of
light hit JohnnyTs face and the memories of a tour of duty in Viet Nam
four years ago replaced what might have been the headline story for the
Olympic Games in Mexico. If only he had been stationed at some
Marine base in the States instead of Khe Sanh; what a name Johnny
Drew would be today.

Reaching as far as possible, his body in a relaxed yet rigid state,
Johnny numbly recalled missing the bronze metal by a mere
three-tenths of a point earlier this evening.

Now, as he prepared for his entry as usual, Johnny saw the lights flash
by and thought to himself, Johnny Drew will make the headlines with
this perfect dive. Johnny Drew will make the Olympic news at last.

The faces passed rapidly, then the shoes, then black silence.

The next morning in a small town in Maryland Johnny DrewTs name
and picture were on the front page. Elsewhere in the United States his
name was not a headline, but his story was: OLYMPIAN OIES IN
SPECTACULAR, SUICIDAL DIVE FROM HIS SIXTH PLOCR Sul Te.

7

Laughing she enters the room
redheaded as ever
growing more beautiful
with each passing year
all that time has brought to her
are a few lines
of terror at the edges of her eyes

and a carefree manner that covers

over the crust of lost love
futile lust

the fear of growing old alone

Laughing she enters the room
bright of eye

and sharp of nail

chaos
children
the swings screaming
the swings screaming
hazed hilda in her blue dress
jim&bob scratching at their zippers
giggling
the swings screaming
authority foot tapping time
smiling arms folded
the chanting circles
flashing reds and blues
hands clenched
tongues lolling in the sun
the swings screaming
and their teeth sharp as taxes
sharp white gleaming in the wind
the swings screaming
and the thrum-drone
of too laughter
of too dancing
authority picking its ears
smiling
the swings screaming
dazed dorothy in her squat
ed &sam fingering their navals
Knelling in the shorn grass

the swings screaming
circles chanting
and chanting
and chanting
teeth gleaming
fat hands meshed in circle
the swings screaming
and the bell-hatred

A SEED

oDo you mean silence?TT

oNo, not exactly.�

oDo you mean stillness?�

oNo, movement is needed to become still...�
oYou must mean emptiness.�

oThis is close, but only points; for it is also full...�

444

oThen you mean just ~itT.

oNo, but now you are only an ~itT away...�

: | mamma

a |

Silent, undisturbed;

More and it would overflow...

cess in the darkened dash still leans. iil: on-E, -
Coe leans where ait has absurdly leaned since abe

foe. Reto my Pinnets ~are still Bees although there. is no
feeling in fy toes oat all, although e cold gnaws ravenously at my face:
: soon the battery will be dead and the
heat will be dead and the. cold, cold night will grip likeT the clenched fist ¢

Even. in. the winter darkness tcan Follow the road | as it stretches into
the night; harrow, velvety white ribbon, unblemished by trees or brush.

= &,

~Where it melts into inky ae at the edge of my vision is the horizon of
existence now. Jens Ae counts. Nothing a exists. Perhaps not.
ever pice Id... ee Le





&

Me ve cars that have passed resonates in my head, °
without slowing, Zip Zip zip zip zip past the:
frozen me--speeding ao "existence into
nary nothingness...



+ = Nighter,4 NV reg: a pocket knife, one battered station Wagon, = oe o : io
rs SANS. rath a tock, no blanket, no gloves...a can of ligher fluid. | unfold a :
oothe! pack: 3 knife, the gleaming silver erection rapes the seat upholstery. . eo 7
ee _ with: a tearing. ripping biting sound. | suspect a similar sound awaiting : . a Poe '
eae release in the soft spongy padding of human flesh and the thought : _ ; :
a warms me with terror as | plunge the upholstery again and again, lifting : _ a :
oout spongy squishy | handfuls of fibrous stuffing with which to build a " , .
fire. But it is the black sky that bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. White . .-, :
+ oblood: " " , :
Then suddenly the cold blade pauses its plunging and the only | oF ; ¢ :
movement in all the cosmos is the heavy, rhythmic pluming out of my _ : ( :
Wosty. breath and the now omnipresent teeth chattering as | sense the _. ; Y



"
ES

red flashing before | see it. From behind. From out of the mountains.
The throbbing red police light like a quickened pulse surges closer,
closer, eclipsing the darkness. Heart pounding, throbbing to the same
quick glowing blood cadence--

oh God oh God please. | stumble out onto the white highway arms
flailing wildly. Snow pelts my face my mouth half-blinding my eyes and
the white glare of the headlights eclipses still the flashing red careening
wildly through the snow through the thick black night--

he'll stop heTs coming for me heTs come with warmth pumping warm
red blood into the darkness for me. The grinding chunking chugachug
sound of tire chains chewing snow as the glaring red and the glaring
white thrash against me closer, closer until they are thrashing down on
me, but the squealing tires lurch to the right banking off the other lane
as | lunge vainly to grab to smash to--

stop screaming bellowing stop you filty bastards stop. But the red
throbbing recedes, dimmer and dimmer until it winks out of existence
as | sprawl face down in the snow on the cruel, cruel highway, weeping
like a little boy lost in the woods...

And now, of course, the battery is dying, the heater faintly moans in
its death throes. But no quarter | hiss to the treacherous machine. |
listen to the final wheezing with fingers and face jammed up against the
dashboard vents sucking greedily at the last faint wisps of heat until all
is frozen silence, except for the ragged, howling wind ripping like a
dagger through the darkness. Harsh gusts slap against the car, rocking it
and the horrible screeching of the frozen joints echoes like demonic
laughter in the night...

/f there was somewhere to walk--somewhere to crawl instead of
sitting. | have never conceived of cold this intense. My fingers are numb
and stiff even when sheathed under my arms. All sensation has fled
from my feet. | alternate between curling into a tight ball and sitting
erect thrashing my arms against my chest. Scooping up the excavated
seat stuffing, | squirm slowly and stiffly over both seats and into the
rear of the station wagon. After shredding the thumb-worn map for
kindling and cracking the rear windows for ventilation, | flare a match
and ignite a small fire with which to save my life...

for it is my life now. | know it and cannot banish thoughts of freezing
to death of freezing to death...

and miles to walk before | sleep--where would the bard have walked
his stinking valiant miles in this fix...

| continually feed bits of stuffing into the small pile of smoldering
ash, and it is not long before the whole car is filled with gray smoke.
The icy blasts howling through the ventilation cracks churn violently

14

with the choking smoke and | am blind as the gray thickens and wraps
around my head like a horrible glove and suddenly | realize, oh yes, |
realize that it is hell. So simple---

fam in hell...

The smoldering stuffing generates much more smoke than heat, but
any warmth is life now so | chink the windows a bit more and quarry
the remaining fibre from both seats until the upholstery sags limply like
two butchered carcasses. For what seems like years | squat curled as
tightly as possible in the rear of the wagon coaxing bits of stuffing into
the growing mound of ash, eyes squinched shut and watering from the
smoke. | notice with dull surprise that the tears soon freeze and crust
upon my lashes if | do not blot them with a sleeve. My ears feel as
though they will snap off at a touch--and then suddenly and simply the
stuffing is all gone with nothing left but a precipitate of gray ash. A
hollow gnawing cramps at my stomach...

/ am afraid oh God yes youd better believe ITm afraid. \t is almost as
though | can feel my blood thicken to a cool red syrup within my veins.
Oozing--as | sit and sit and sit...

Sleep launches its first assaults; heavy-lidded and drowsy, my head
nods, and jerks up, and nods again and of course | know what this
means, but it would be so nice to sleep, to drift floating away in the
darkness. The agonizing cold is gradually slipping out of me and all |
feel is a slow, thick throbbing somewhere, dimly somewhere. Lifting
my arm slowly | try to touch my ear, gingerly like a baboon seeking
lice-and then it comes to me, the dim understanding that only my eyes
can tell me when contact is made, for touch is completely dead in my
hands and face. The wires are down. Down. Slowly and stiffly, as ina
dream, | shift myself around and rub a heavy sleeve across a smoke and
frost scarred window. The world is white, dipped, drenched, drowning,
shrouded in white. | glance down and a soft green three a.m. radiates
from my wrist and it is as though a voice other than my own announces
in my head: By three a.m. roads in the rural wyoming mountains had
become completely inpassable. Snow drifts to a foot along the highway
and | suspect that the temperature continues to plunge. How far below
Zero | have no idea how far | donTt care | canTt feel it anyway. | press
closer against the window to peer at the sky, but my milky breath
clouds the pane and | would rather stare at the patterns of frost than
wipe them away again--and suddenly | know that it is time...

For the listener, who listens in the snow, and, nothing himself,
beholds nothing that is not there and the nothing that is them | whisper
between blue lips trying to be bitter. | would like to be bitter. But | just
donTt care, | just donTt care. Does is matter...

15

But it does.

Louvered lids slide heavily over eyeballs growing slick as ice. Heavy,
so very, very heavy. It would be deliciously easy to slide. Painless,
gentle sliding. But for some reason they cannot take me that easily. |
can't allow it. | suppose it is manTs duty to feign rage at his condition,
regardless. Quasi-dignity. Capitulate--surrender to them--to that sublime
infinite forever whiteness, and there is only nothingness, and your body
rots to silent dust, and your spirit was always silent dust and worse than
never being you never counted. So quasi-dignity, lad, and make a
clenched fist spectacle of aefiance. For the gods. Wherever they hide.
But no. No. | donTt believe any of it. | donTt believe anything. But then
why--why am | doing this? | donTt know. | donTt care. Does this
matter?

No.

From inside my shirt where | have secured it against freezing, | pull
out the can of lighter fluid. Chugachug roaring again in my head as |
squat cross-legged in the heap of ashes and charred shreds of stuffing
fibre. | press the can between my violently trembling palms. The smelly
stuff ejaculates heartily as a long thin stream of fluid arches from the
nozzle dousing my feet, my legs, my chest, arms and my hair. It trickles
in a dozen rivulets down my face into my mouth until | am saturated,
stinking of the stuff. Stinking and crying again... quickly quickly now
before it frezzes--stiffly methodically laboring to strike the one match
saved hoarded against this whiteness--flaring now whiteblueyellow
through the tears a last wild glimpse at the intestines of my coffin. The
final torch. The great flaming out. | will be warm. But oh God oh dear
God. | hate it.

¥

and the lord said

and the lord said

let the angels be born
and they were born

and given to the earth as hot toys

we played with them
till our tongues became as thick as muscle

and murder came into sight

still morning flowers of the field wept
and in yellow

the angels sacked with us hot for the night

god stalks the road
silent and cold at night

----- in the morning he will murder

7

My father was the countyTs deputy.

Every week, for sixty dollars(less tax),

He manacled menTs hands behind their backs
And tossed them to the hungry waiting sea.

Once, too young to fully understand

The need for peace and order in our town
Where older houses tore the new ones down,
| asked him why he wore the silver hand

And kept it cleaned and oiled and at his side.

He smiled in his most now-!Tve-got-you-way
And said what-if-some-night-nigger-tried-
To-kill-me.... There was nothing | could say.

SO on we go, my fatherTs ghost and I,
Not knowing by whose silver hand we die.

19

ARSRSROY
esis. SON oe

on Ge

HIVE ms».

/acey-zeus-y/

darkness gleams the sacred slue

ambrosia sweat

the glistening brown down of thrusting thighs
earthrobes spilled against the sand

the golden gods

balling in the bushes

% hig i LE "" ae
i CO Seiahahaen ae, a se ane
. ° | 8 tide ; . 2%" ~S : Soles ae
| \{ Ry ) os a eS ~ ; ; = "
J Cy wes o see SR ase
| : \ 1) ES 7 sees
: Z =




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Re Sse SS oe " . A ~"
Rs Se
WYO SSNS Ss ee i
HIRI NA OO a fo
it " Oo
0 @! i
) a
/rape/
your eyes rolled away from here
to the top of your face
and became like socket eggs
| \ gue you cried pitiful
| Vj \\y like a weak cough
\ and wet
, , and i and my angels
/ ie caught onto my coattails
/| a and pulled them round my head
oy like a tent
FOUCHE. _ and i bellow now
7 J ae as you wipe me dead
2 from your leg
/ 4 your gracious leg

24

SAILBOAT

billow-winds and pillowed skys
surrounded my sea-sails,
breathing me where they would

over the glistening broken-glass vastness.

watched solely by celestial gold,
| alone Knew where | might travel
and what birds flew overhead.

now,
beaten and barnacled,

my pointless bow is directed

to PoseidonTs applause,

for he bears me despite.

and | dream of where | would be
if | had no anchor to drag...

Money, eating our lives

| Rushed lunch, dog and drink"

eats out 50c of your wages

eats through the acids of your body,

gives you heartburn
The pain immense"

Fearing a heart attack"

doctor simply chews a big bite out of wages
Worried over expenses"

tranquilizers your dinner

however you overdose.

WhatTs left of the money

spits you into the ground"

your family chews the rest.

26

The death of Guidolander

26

the year of wrinkled wars

hadean houndTs hungry slime

pigurine yellow of redslain swamps
eyllian rivers rushing

washing the footprints of the soldiers
tumbling in the trembling sea of shadows
the old women brought the young ones
clinging to their withered teats

out of dustTs deity

swirling up oceans of smoke

graying the landsflowered walls

where they bring the young ones

in the years of death

the old women breathe their blood

and the lamb is slit sweetly oozing

the death of guidolander

sees no unbled altar

the old ones remember the age of empty fields
the old ones remember the age of eyllian rivers
the death of guidolander

sees NO maidenheads

hadean houndTs howling slue

the year of wars and waste

oT

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A POEM OF ECSTACY WRITTEN UPON SEEING THE MOON
EAT THREE ASTRONAUTS AFTER BEATING THEM
SEVERELY WITH EMPTY COKE BOTTLES

How can | hail thee, pale waning virgin moon
With a face as voluptuous and creamy

As the smooth luscious thighs
Of a milky white chocolate Easter Bunny

28

little left but

seldom used but for

aoe
f

OLD PARK BENCH

k bench
ion
iO]
at

houghts
n

par
lat
e looks

4

em

oy
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con
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5. 5 SS
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8

ant

Step off the highway
and discover the Side Show
dark and wet fog
surrounding drab tents
the sign says
it costs a dime
to watch the
out of the ordinary
but i think itTs all very common
and it costs much more
to watch the Side Show
freaks - with tears in their minds
performing for penny ante rewards
continuing to live
at the sound of a dime
most lives worship
the sound of the dime
most minds = tear laden
are willing to perform

and it costs much more
to watch the Side Show

30

j
i
|
|
|

Between leaves iTll make a sandwich
with me

and sleep and sleep

like leaves on ice

like wrapped cocoons on ice hung trees.

22

NUMBER 70

crush me as i ferment

(though i call it aging)

seal the aluminum

around me

you've forgotten me

but i'm not rusting in the grass

33

j
|
/
f

Search for Anything

SCENE:

CHARLES:

EMILY:

CHARLES:

EMILY:

CHARLES:

34

The story opens in Emily Dickinson's small sitting room. It is dark. What light there is, is
coming from a small lamp beside a wing back chair stage right. Reverend Charles Wadsworth is
sitting on a small Victorian couch stage left, staring straight ahead of him. There is only
the ticking of a grandfather clock.

After a few minutes Emily floats in. She petite, plain, around thirty. Her reddish
brown hair is pulled tightly away from her face. Her eyes lack any kind of color. She is
dressed in a ghostly white gown with plain lines. She sits in the highback chair next to the
bay window stage right.

(organ music is playing a tune of great drama)

A strange restless spirit brought me. (sharp notes from organ) | fail to understand this

force that draws me to you. My world does not permit this, yet here | am. (he stands
abruptly and strides to the bay window)

(rising to meet him, with much sympathy in her voice) Charles, it is the power of nature
that has magnetized us. We have no choice but to be drawn to each other. Realize this, for
it will be no other way.

(he turns to her) But do you not understand, Emily? It is morally wrong for us to
communicate. | ama minister that never even visits a parishioner much less correspond with
another woman. | am married, that can not be changed. All things considered, | am a fool
for being here.

(Emily crosses the room and throws her arms to the ceiling) Morally right? What are morals?
What purpose do they serve? Have no concern for morals, Charles, live by your heart. Life
is Over On this earth, and goes on forever in heaven. What good are morals here on earth
when they dissolve themselves in death. Our purpose, as you yourself have told me is to
ahcieve immortality. That can truly be, once nature has run its course. In that immortality
our love will transcend. As long as we love each other now and believe that we shall meet
again in the hereafter, it does not matter what morals are. They will carry no consequence.
So you are dealing with trivia, something that does not even have merit.

(Resumes his original position at the window) How easy you say those words. | honestly
believe what you tell me for my ideas are the same, but Emily, it is not so simple for me.

| live outside a little sitting room. (organ music rises) | face the world day after day.

(music continues to build) It is up to me to live by the standards of society. You, you

can speak with ease... sitting in this room day in and out. Oh, if you only knew that the
world does not live off ideas and theories. They do not care for your ideas. (music at
climax) You must accept that. (fades out)

EW LY:

CHARLES:

EMILY:
CHARLES:
EMILY:
CHARLES:
EMILY:
CHARLES:

Emil LY:

EMILY:

(organ plays a soothing love song) Ah yes, but we are not like the rest of the world. We
are special people. Why must we live by their ideas? That we love each other is enough.
(slight sound of the sexton singing in the background and stops)

Emily, you are so blind. How can | make you understand the way life on the outside really
is? There is only one solution to our affair. (organ music with a hint of foreshadowing)

| cannot continue in this manner. | have decided to give up my parish in Philadelphia and
move out west. That way of life will be simpler for us both. We may correspond by letter
from time to time, but there will be no way for me to return to you here at Amherst. (blast
from the organ. Emily turns and stares at him in utter disbelief as smoke pours out of

her ears)

WHAT WILL EMILY SAY? HOW WILL SHE REACT TO THE NEWS FROM WADSWORTH? WILL SHE FALL ON THE
FLOOR AND THROW A TANTRUM, OR WILL SHE OPEN THE DOOR FOR HIM AND LET HIM GO?

Charles you can't mean...(organ music hits melodramatic chord)

Yes, Emily, |Tm afraid | do.

No, | refuse to believe that you are giving up our affair, the only thing in life | have

to cling to. How can you be so cruel? (she breaks into sobbing state)

This is the only way | can be fair to you. You must believe that, Emily, you must.

You heartless male chauvinist pig! All of you are alike... You toy with my affections and
then walk out the door, leaving me to nothing but my pen and pencil set, three broken
crayolas, and a bird that canTt even sing. ~~Morning Dove.TT Oh, how can you do this to me?
Emily, (very serious manner) when you behave like a child, itTs all too easy to walk out on
you. | must leave now.

(helpless and disgusted manner) Oh, how could | ever think of you asa man | love? You're
so masculine! Go now and leave me to my loneliness...

MUSIC IS AT AN ALL TIME HIGH, PLAYING COMPELLING STRANDS OF SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC. CHAR LES
OPENS THE DOOR, STEPS THROUGH THE THRESHOLD, TURNS TO SEE EMILY AGAIN. SEEING HER ASA
CHILDLIKE FIGURE, HE SHAKES HIS HEAD, TURNS, AND STORMS AWAY. EMILY RUNS TO THE DOOR

AFTER HIM, STAMPS HER FOOT, AND MUTTERS UNDER HER BREATH IN TONES DENOTING ONE GOING MAD.

(Crying to herself) | knew things would never work out between us. It was too much to hope
for. All my dreams are shattered in this world. But maybe...just maybe...yes...things

will be different in the hereafter. Charles, you are doomed to be mine. You shall see.

(She stands at the window gazing wildly after him as he rides off into the sunset. The

music is playing a stormy song.)

a

ALL OF A SUDDEN THE DOOR SWINGS OPEN, ORGAN BLAST. EMILY TURNS TO FIND HER SISTER, VINNIE,
RUNNING MADLY AT HER.

VINNIE: Emily, why was he here? You know | canTt stand it when he comes. Do you not care for my
feelings? | refuse to believe that you could be so inconsiderate.

EWILY: But Vinnie, it isnTt as it seems.

VINNIE: But the fact is that he was here, and that you did see him. Admit it!

EMILY: All right, Vinnie, he was here and | did talk to him. But you donTt know what...

VINNIE: Enough! Enough said! You have worn my patience thin! | will not stand for your treatment

any longer! | am leaving you to be stuck in your room forever! (organ music portrays
EmilyTs shock)

VINNIE LEAVES THE ROOM IN A HUFF IT IS QUITE EVIDENT THAT HER FEELINGS HAVE BEEN HURT.
EMILY STANDS IN THE MIDDLE OF HER ROOM WITH A DUMFOUNDED LOOK ON HER FACE. WHAT WILL SHE
DO NOW?

ENMLLY: What will | do now? My lover and tutor has betrayed me, and even my sister has left me
to decay in my sitting room. How hateful the world is. How | wish | could hurt the world
as much as it has hurt me. Someday | will have the things that | can never have on this
world. I'll show them all!

EMILY IS BEGINNING TO GET WILDER AND WILDER. ORGAN MUSIC PROCEEDS IN THE SAME MANNER.
FIRE IS RAGING FROM HER EYES. SHE CAN HARDLY CONTROL HERSELFT IT IS QUITE EVIDENT THAT
EMILY HAS THOUGHTS OF SOME DEVILISH PLOT TO SEEK REVENGE ON CHARLES AND VINNIE. SHE IS
THINKING PENSIVELY. THE SEXTON SINGS INNOCENTLY AND DRAWS HER ATTENTION.

EMILY: Sing on you innocent creature. You too are against me. | can tell it in your song.
Ill not stand for it! (Emily sits down) | know what | should do...you will be a present
for my devoted sister. | shall make a sexton pie! How delightful! (hideous laugh)

AS ORGAN MUSIC PLAYS, EMILY OPENS THE BIRD CAGE, REACHES IN, CHOKES THE BIRD TO DEATH.
THE SEXTON SHRIEKED A BIT AND THEN ITS SWEET VOICE FADES OUT COMPLETELY. SHE PULLS OUT
FEATHERS ONE BY ONE. SHE THROWS THE REMAINS IN A COOKING POT. SHE HAS A KITCHENETTE IN
HER SITTING ROOM. ORGAN MUSIC FADES.

EMILY: Ah, but this will not suffice. There must be more that | can do. (paces across the room)
| must prepare for the next life. Charles, you shall be mine " our marriage shall come to
be! You may not believe it now, but you will love me...you will! How shall | prepare?

oy

TCM TE

EM LY:

EMILY:

EM LY:

VOICES:

EMILY:

VOICES:

EMILY:

38

EMILY THINKS FOR A MOMENT. ORGAN MUSIC IS BUILDING. SHE STRIKES UPON AN IDEA. MUSIC
CRESCENDOS AND THEN STOPS.

| know; I'll plan our ~~heavenly�T wedding. (hatred burning in her eyes) Oh Charles, |
wish it did not have to be this way. How cruel you are to me. Our relationship will never
be the same.

EMILY LOOKS OUT THE WINDOW AND SEES CHILDREN RUNNING IN THE YARDT RUSHING TO HER CABINET,

SHE PULLS OUT A BATCH OF COOKIES WITH POISON IN THEM.

(a wild look comes to her eyes) ITve been waiting to use these cookies for a long time on
those little brats!

LEANING OUT THE WINDOW SHE SHOUTS.

Children, children... are you hungry? Would you like some cookies?

Oh yes, yes!!

ITIl give you this fresh batch of cookies of you'll run to BerthaTs Bakery and buy mea
wedding cake. Listen carefully now...| want the figures of a bride, groom and minister
on the top of the cake. Do not forget the minister --- on pain of death! (organ music,
quick fade)

We won't forget, we promise!

EV yY Mewes ie PHAY OF POISONED COOKIES TO THE CHILDREN. THEY GRAB FOR THEM AND RUN
MERRILY TO THE BAKERY. MEANWHILE. BACK IN THE SITTING ROOM, EMILY IS RUMMAGING THROUGH
Mem CLOSET.

| Know itTs in here somewhere. | know that dress from my bolder days is in this closet.
Ah yes, here it is. | Knew it would come in handy again!

EMILY PULLS OUT ASLEEK LOOKING BLOOD RED DRESS WITH SEQUINS PLASTERED ON IT. ORGAN
PLAYS A RATHER SUGGESTIVE TUNE. SHE RIPS OFF THE PLAIN WHITE GOWN AND STUFFS IT DOWN
TARE SINK. MUSIC FADES.

EMIULY :

ChiilD:

EMLLY:

EMILY:

(with liberated feeling) How good to be out of that drab color! Freedom at last!
Perhaps this dress can foreshadow a different ~~tintTT to my future relationship with
Charles.

SHE LOOSENS HER HAIR AND LETS IT DRAPE OVER HER SHOULDERS. SHE IS NOT SO PLAIN AS
BEFORE. BUT IS FAR FROM BEING THE oBELLE OF THE BALL� FIGURE. SHE SEES THE CHILDREN
APPROACHING VERY SLOWLY. SOME ARE COUGHING, SOME ARE DOUBLED OVER, A FEW DROP TO THE
GROUND.

(coughing, strained voice) Hey White Nun, hereTs the cake. (places it on the tray to
raise it) Thanks for the cookies. They were...(he coughs profusely and then falls dead.)

ORGAN MUSIC PORT RAYING GREAT SHOCK.

Oh, he seems ill. What a shame. (evil chuckle)

SHE PLACES THE CAKE ON THE TABLE AND STARES HUNGRILY AT THE FIGURES ON TOP OF IT.

Oh life, if you only knew how cruel you have been! | hope there is more to look forward
to in death. (She throws the groom figure out the window.) As for you, Charles" (organ
music is at its highest point as she bites off the head of the minister figure.) 1TIl

meet you in Hell!

SHE STRETCHES HER ARMS UP TO THE SKY. WITH THE STRANGE APPEARANCE OF VICTORY ON HER FACE,
OUR EPISODE IS LEFT WITH THESE OUESTIONS:

WILL WADSWORTH EVER RETURN?

WILL THE CHILDREN MAKE I? 10 THE HOSPITAL ON TIME?

WILL VINNIE EVER FIND HAPPINESS WITH ANOTHER WOMAN,OR WILL
SHE TAKE REVENGE ON EMILY BY PUBLISHING HER POETRY?

STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT. EXCITING EPISODE OF ~SEARCH FOR ANYTHING:

ORGAN MUSIC FADES OUT.

a0

i
|
i
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7

Cold steel bodies



stifly standing in identical rows

staring blankly.



Always'taking and never giving



, oOe, y oot ther Bde;

"Molded in the image of their makers.

.. Glenn Lewis
... Glenn Lewis
- Jeff McGinnis
. Dale Verzaal

Back Cover 2.3.
Special thanks to Robert Rasch