Debbie and Randall continued

Part II: In Search of a Relic

[Setting: troll inhabited landscape of legends]
[Lighting: perpetual half dusk, damp, fog air]

Narrator: They walk in silence unaware of direction.

R: Are you angry Debbie? You seem angry.

D: No. Yes. I'm angry that I am unable to be angry. So I'm left with the desire to punch you in the face, then laugh, then cry.
R: Debbie, how am I supposed to respond to that? I have tried to explain before.
D: I'm sorry.

R: As you said earlier, it's all based on one's perception. Why don't you attempt an alteration?
D: Yes, words of reason. It feels like a stranger camping under my skin. I don't have skin, I forgot. I covered my flesh in lichen.

R: You are so dramatic.
D: I just yearn for dawn, not dusk. The idea of future, beginning, not the perpetual once-was-light ending.

Narrator: She thought, "yet a nice crisp, dry fall sounds really nice and symbolizes death and endings. Though she had always loved winter, so maybe for her it represented beginnings."

R: I'm sorry Debbie. I wish it were different. With every ending comes a new beginning.
D: Thanks.

Narrator: He was no longer playing the game. He quit or changed objective without words.

D: Your charcoal feathers and sinew claws aren't cool anyway.
Narrator: She knew this was unfair but felt bruised and wanted him to feel the same.
R: You're probably right.

D: Is it the skin?
R: You're crazy

D: A spandexer?
R: I can't answer or think like that.

[a rush of air sweeps through]

Narrator: She didn't believe him, but didn't know what say. She had an urge to push but refrained.

D: Say nothing else. I can't know.

Narrator: Randall tentatively followed through respecting her wish. Debbie hoped he wouldn't, but knew he probably would.

[they begin to walk in separate directions]

[somber music]

Narrator: There is a moment of pause, hesitation. She wonders if he will say something. He wonders if she will run after him.

D [exit stage left]
R [exit stage right]

The End