The Songbird

[HaveLuteWillTravel]

The Songbird

   

Written by [tface=salt]Abigail[/tface]

   Characters:
  Songbird
  Young Minstrel
  Master Bard
 
 

Act I

   The play opens on a Young Minstrel singing to a Master Bard. The Minstrel’s voice is horrible, and his verse just doesn’t make much sense causing the Master Bard to cringe.
 
 

Young Minstrel:
They squealed and roared as they found,
                                              Dinner was gone, cheesy and round.
                                             And so twas a maiden fair and clean,
                                             Who took a sword, bright and mean.
                                             She stabbed them once, twice, thrice,
                                                And killed all the nasty little mice!

 
  The Young Minstrel’s song ends, and he looks anxiously toward the Master Bard. The Master Bard shakes his head sadly, then begins to sing as well.
 
 

Master Bard:
My lad, my boy, your eagerness is noble,
                                    But your voice, your song, are really quite woeful.
                                       You’ve not a chance, talent does not appear,
                                            So for you, lad, I suggest a new career.

 
  As the Master Bard sings, the Young Minstrel begins to get angry, and retorts loudly.
 
 

Young Minstrel:
No no, never! Not me!
                                                    This is all I’ve wanted to be!
                                                     Ever since the age of three!

 
  Softly, a third song grows. It is beautiful and sweet. The Songbird drifts behind the crowd, singing and the two men onstage stop to listen, peering out over the heads of the audience in wonder as they seek to see the source, but cannot.
 
 

Songbird:
With feathers white, and a heart so pure,
                                           A songbird sings, and spreads her allure.
                                             Who can resist the sweet, sweet call?
                                              This songbird’s song will all enthrall.

 
 

Young Minstrel:
That voice, what is it, who can it be?

 
 

Master Bard:
A sweet song so beautiful and free,
                                               Means it can only one creature be.
                                                It is the Songbird, lovely and wild,
                                                Just sit and listen in wonder, child.

 
 

Songbird:
Wings wide, legs long, I wander and sing,
                                          Inviting sweet verse the bold would bring.
                                               Seeking for music from one and all,
                                              This songbird’s song will all enthrall.

 
 

Young Minstrel:                  
So beautiful a voice, so innocent indeed,
                                        How can one like me sing so painful sweet?
 
  Master Bard:
                      You cannot, my boy, it’s beyond you,
                                             Such beauty as this you’ll not accrue.
                                            Not unless you seek to steal her voice,
                                       None but the foul would make such a choice.
                                          But now off I must go, I’ve songs to sing,
                                       Find a new craft, perhaps dung you can sling.

 
  The Master Bard withdraws, leaving the Young Minstrel seething at elder man’s departing words.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                  
Foolish old man, I’ll prove him wrong,
                                              Soon all will praise my skill at song!

 
  Again the Songbird’s voice drifts over the stage as she wanders behind the seats.
 
 

Songbird:                                  
Away I fly into parts unknown,
                                          Follow my voice off to where I’ve flown.
                                           Singing songs resounding bright and tall,
                                              This songbird’s song will all enthrall.

 
  With that the Songbird finally departs backstage, her song drifting off to silencae.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                  
Such a lovely voice, this bird I must find,
                                           Follow its voice, my intent’s not unkind.
                                           I’ll speak to it, yes, convince it to teach,
                                         It’s of kind, pure heart, to that I’ll beseech.

 
  The Young Minstrel then dashes off in pursuit of the Songbird. End of Act I.
 


   

Act II

   Act II opens in a beautiful meadow. The Songbird is alone, and she dances about as she picks flowers, singing. But as she sings the Young Minstrel creeps close, just to the stage entry, listening and watching entranced.
 
 

Songbird:
A daisy, a tulip, a fair fair rose,
                                             Flowers to gather and tickle my nose.
                                              Dancing and singing, a beautiful day,
                                         Prancing, hips swinging, so happy and gay.
 

A Songbird gets lonely, only her song,

 

To keep her company through dark nights long.

 

One day he’ll come calling, a minstrel so dear,

 

Music on bright lips, so fair to the ear.

 
  Inspired by the song, and the beautiful visage of the Songbird the Young Minstrel leaps from his hiding place, singing out loudly…and remarkably poorly.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                    
I am here, my little songbird, so dear,
                                        My songs, little songbird, will tickle your ear.
                                         So dance and listen, as my words a’glisten!
                                  This verse, my voice, shall leave your heart a’bitten.

 
  At the Young Minstrel’s song, the Songbird recoils, a look of horror showing on her fair face as her serenity is broken. When she sings again the shock is evident on her face and voice.
 
  (At this point the two actors share the song, each finishing the verse the other has begun.)
 
 

Songbird:                                              
Your voice…

 
 

Young Minstrel:                            
…is full of vigor and love!

 
 

Songbird:                                              
Your verse…
 
  Young Minstrel:                           …
so fine it fits like a glove!
 
  Songbird:                                              
Your voice…
 
  Young Minstrel:                        
…is what most maiden’s desire.
 
  Songbird:                                               Your verse…
 
  Young Minstrel:                      
…has wit of which you’ll not tire.

 
  Finally, the Songbird runs up to the Young Minstrel and clamps her hand over his mouth and shrieks out…
 
 

Songbird:                                                
SHUT UP!

 
  The Young Minstrel looks stricken. He pries the Songbird’s hand gently from his mouth and pushes her arms away carefully. His eyes begin to tear up. The Songbird looks at him with sympathy.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                                      
My voice?...
 
  Songbird:                              
…sounds quite dead in your throat.
 
  Young Minstrel:                                      
My verse?...
 
  Songbird:                                    
... was written by a sick goat.
 
  Young Minstrel:                                      
My voice?...
 
  Songbird:                                
…has made my fair flowers wilt.
 
  Young Minstrel:                                      
My verse?...
 
  Songbird:                                
… more sour than old milk spilt.

 
  The Young Minstrel looks defeated, and hands his head low. He sings softly without looking at the Songbird.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                      
All I wished was to learn from you,
                                                 To sing or song or two with you.
                                                   Your voice is fair, I feel unfit,
                                                 Not to mention your blessed tits.
                                                 I’d want to stay, to sing a while,
                                               Please have me stay, be not hostile.
                                                  For what is life without a song,
                                                  Without music I’ll not live long.

 
  The Songbird’s sympathy swiftly passes, and is replaced once more by horror at the Young Minstrel’s singing.  Obviously she can bear no more.
 
 

Songbird:                                
Yes, there is no life without music,
                                                  But I beg of you to simply quit.
                                              Dare call not yourself a minstrel fair,
                                             For your voice is horrid, without flair.
                                            I ask you please that you should leave,
                                                No I beg you do, or I shall heave.
                                               Be off with you, haunt me no more,
                                              Just being near leaves my ears sore.

 
  As the Songbird sings, the Minstrel slowly raises his eyes, first to look at the Songbird’s legs, then up to her waist, then her chest. A malevolent look darkens his face, but the Songbird seems not to notice.
 
  Finally, when she finishes she turns away in disgust. Seizing the opportunity, the Minstrel draws a small club from somewhere on his person and leaps forward. He hits the Songbird on the head, and catches her as she falls unconscious. The Minstrel scoops the stricken Songbird, cradling her limp body in his arms.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                
I could not bear condemnations so strong,
                                         But what to do now with this bird of song?
                                           I know, I know, I’ll pilfer her fair voice,
                                             It will be all mine, and all shall rejoice,
                                             To harken my oh so lovely voice fair.
                                             Many a young maiden shall it ensnare.
                                            But now I shall be off, can’t be caught,
                                      To see fallen Songbird, they’ll be overwrought!

 
  The Young Minstrel begins to run off with the Songbird in his arms, then suddenly stops to return to the center of the stage.
 
 

                                      Young Minstrel:
But how shall I steal the soul of music itself?
                                         I need a plan, a sly one I’ll keep to myself.
                                      But again, again I must be fled, I hear a sound!
                                 I’ll not be robbed of chance by luck which I’ve found.

 
  Once more the Young Minstrel begins to leave with the unconscious Songbird, but again pause to return to center stage.
 
 

                                    Young Minstrel:
I have a thought, a wicked plan so foul and vile
                                    I’ll carve her up and swipe her lovely singing wile.
                                But once more I harken, the trees they sway and move,
                                           So off I run, on little legs shall I remove!

 
  The Young Minstrel finally runs offstage, carrying the Songbird cradled in his arms. End of Act II.
 


 
 

Act III

   Act III opens in utter darkness. When it lifts the Songbird sits center stage alone, huddled pitifully on the floor. She sings a mournful, and painfully beautiful song.
 
 

Songbird:                            
Here I sit in darkness, cold and scared,
                                         What will he do now that my soul’s bared?
                                          A Songbird needs freedom so she can fly,
                                                Not sit and ponder if she will die.
                                              If free I become then I have learned,
                                         That danger comes when a man is spurned.
                                              Perhaps he’ll find mercy in his heart,
                                             Stay his hand and allow me to depart.
                                           Forever I’d remember this saving grace,
                                            Just please, my song let him not deface.
                                     I suppose my words were cruel and very mean,
                                       The fate that awaits me seems quite obscene.

 
  During this time, the Young Minstrel slowly arrives, listening to the song. He moves quietly to stand behind the Songbird, and as she comes to the end of her song he begins one of his own.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                  
Songbird your song truly pains my heart,
                                                To my twisted soul it’s like a fart.
                                         You see I’d wished your beauteous voice,
                                           To touch and inspire, making me rejoice.
                                             But your song cut deeper than a knife,
                                           Instead of joy it brought me much strife.
                                          And now I’m afraid I’ve no good choice,
                                       I’ve nothing left but to steal your pretty voice.
 
  Songbird:                            
Oh please, my captor, grant me release!
 
  Young Minstrel:              
Have no fear, my bird, you’ll end with peace.
                                              But first I’ll need to carve you all up,
                                          For on your sweet songs I’ll need to sup.

 
  The Songbird recoils, but doesn’t flee as her terror is so great she seems frozen and unable to. The Minstrel looks her over appraisingly, then tugs at her boots.
 
 

Young Minstrel:              
Perhaps these fine legs on which you prance,
                                                Will allow me to gracefully dance.

 
  The Minstrel pulls off her boots, then pulls then pulls them on himself. During this the Songbird wails.
 
 

Songbird:                          
My legs, my sweet legs, you foul monster!

 
  Remarkably, now that the Minstrel wears the Songbird’s boots, his singing has improved.
 
 

Young Minstrel:
Do you think I greet this with laughter?
                                             I do this out of need not for pleasure,
                                              Surely you must deduce my pressure
                                        I’ve been going through these past few days,
                                          With my hopes and dreams all set ablaze.
 
  Songbird:                        
Surely now you’ve gotten all that you want,
                                        Let me free, I’ll fly off and never more taunt.
 
  Young Minstrel:                      
I’m afraid it’s far too late my dear,
                                               I’ve a taste for more, so it appears.
                                       Your wings there, they do set your voice free,
                                            I’ll have them, they now belong to me.

 
  Now the Minstrel pulls off the Songbird’s vest. She gasps and covers her chest with her arms. She sings sorrowfully, on the brink of tears.
 
 

Songbird:                            
My wings, oh horror, oh great lament!
                                           I’ll never more fly, why do you torment?
                                               I’m sorry, ever sorry for your pain,
                                           So please no more, I beg you to refrain.
                                             Surely this vengeance is quite enough,
                                           Life for me from now will be quite tough.

 
  Putting on the vest, the Minstrel’s voice improves yet more. A small bit of compassion shows on his face.
 
 

Young Minstrel:              
Perhaps, my Songbird, you are quite correct,
                                                Truly I’d never meant disrespect.
                                               I simply cannot live devoid of song,
                                         To me this fate would simply be so wrong.
                                          I’d much rather steal your talent, my dear,
                                               And so I’ll not yet stop here, I fear.

 
  The Minstrel pulls the Songbird gently to her feet. As he smiles down at her, he puts his hands to her waist.
 
 

Young Minstrel:              
It seems that now your bright plume I desire,
                                             Mine it is, a shame you’ll soon expire.

 
  As the Minstrel yanks off the Songbird’s skirt, leaving her unclothed, she shrieks and begins to sob.
 
 

Songbird:                      
Oh Gods! Have you forsaken your Songbird?
                                          The misery! My prayers are left unheard.
                                       You’ve ruined me surely you’re finished now,
                                              I beg, I plead, at your feet I do bow.

 
  During the Songbird’s verse, the Young Minstrel has put on the Songbird’s plume. Afterwards, he moves a few steps away and places a bowl on the floor. Then moving close to her he puts his hand tenderly to her cheek. He now sings remarkably well as he wears the Songbird’s costume in full.
 
 

Young Minstrel:
I hear your begging, my dearest bird,
                                          I’ll grant this request, you have my word.
                                             It’s said that song is within the blood,
                                                So I’ll need it too, my flower bud.

 
  Just as he completes the verse, the Minstrel grasps the Songbird’s hair, and pushes her head violently down over the bowl. Drawing a knife from his belt he slits her throat, and allows the blood to drain out into the bowl. The Songbird lets out a gurgling noise, then goes limp, only remaining on her feet due to the Minstrel holding her up.
 
  Once finished he shoves the Songbird over. She spins around like a ragdoll, sprawling awkwardly across the floor face down and very dead.
 
  The Minstrel holds the bowl up just under his chin, he peers down to sing softly into it.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                  
Blessed blood, the subject of my desire,
                                             My heart it burns, as if it were on fire.
                                              I need only drink what is in this bowl
                                           And all the Songbird was I shall control.

 
  Finally, he tilts the bowl back, and eagerly drinks its contents, then tosses it down on top of the corpse of the Songbird at his feet. He puts his head back and lets out a fierce roar, then begins to sing. Now his voice is wonderful, nearly as beautiful as the departed Songbird’s, only masculine. He looks down at the dead Songbird.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                
And so my lovely bird you’re merely meat,
                                         Perhaps I’ll write a song ‘bout your defeat.
                                           Of course the villain would be unknown,
                                           For I’ve much to do to claim my throne.
                                         My voice shall ring out clear for all to hear,
                                          I’ll not be some rare bird that disappears.
                                       I should thank you much for the gift you gave,
                                          But I’m sorry you’ll get not even a grave.

 
  He then puts a boot on the Songbird’s rump, striking a victorious pose.
 
 

Young Minstrel:                
The world shall soon forget you, Songbird,
                                       It’s me that they’ll recall, my songs preferred.

 
  At the final words of the Minstrel’s triumphant song, darkness suddenly falls over the stage.
 
 

The End.