Play 34: Writer’s Block Loses At Life

CHARACTERS
BEN, 16
WRITER’S BLOCK, male, early 30s

(Ben is sitting in front of a computer staring at a computer screen. WB enters.)

WB
Hey.

(Ben looks up over his shoulder)

BEN
Fuck.

WB
What?

BEN
You again.

WB
That’s cold.

BEN
What, like you have emotions?

WB
How do you know I don’t?

(Pause.)

BEN
Well you are a theoretical idea strangely embodied into a person.

WB
That’s a valid point I must say.

(Pause.)

WB
So having trouble writing there?

BEN
You bastard.

WB
What?

BEN
Asking when you know the answer, I mean you’re the fucking reason I can’t write.

WB
True.

(Pause.)

BEN
Come on, just let me write.

WB
Nope.

BEN
How bout just an idea. Not even a good idea, just something.

WB
No can do.

BEN
Come on.

WB
No.

BEN
Why do you always have to be like this?

WB
Can’t help you’re nature.

(Pause.)

BEN
Come on, please?

WB
No.

BEN
Damn.

(Beat.)

I have somewhere I really have to go, I gotta get this finished.

WB
Trying to reason with me isn’t going to work.

BEN
Why not?

WB
Because I’m a theoretical idea embodied in a human form as you put it.

BEN
Why is that anyways?

WB
Guess you thought it might make an interesting scene or something.

BEN
Oh.

(Pause.)

Does it?

WB
Not even close.

BEN
Damn.

WB
Well anyways, I got places I gotta be too. See you tomorrow night.

BEN
When?

WB
Same time same place.

BEN
You really are a bastard, you know that right?

WB
But of course.

BEN
Just making sure.

WB
See ya.

(he starts to leave.)

BEN
Wait, hey! I’m done with my scene and now you finally leave? Fuck, it’s too late to write a new one now.

(He looks at the computer screen.)

Goddamn it.

(Blackout.)