Tale of the Scorpion

By Adrian Truss

In the hot, city night, a lone figure struggles against deadlines and life. All seems lost until salvation arrives in the form of… The Scorpion. This highly comedic play explores the era of the pulp magazine writer of the 30’s in dark comedy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 22, 2006
• ISBN: 9781300520061

Book preview

Tale of the Scorpion

TALE OF THE SCORPION

During the 1930’s, the most popular form of literature was the Pulp Magazine. Heroes such as The Shadow and Doc Savage were penned monthly by the great pulp writer Walter Gibson and others like him. Writers working on eight typewriters at a time, typing until their fingers were bloodied and their minds spent, meeting deadlines of a novel every few weeks. A million words a year, a penny a word. Lester Kent, one such writer, has three deadlines to meet and is already at the point of exhaustion. All seems lost until the appearance of… The Scorpion and Captain Tomorrow.

Tale of the Scorpion is a play in one act that runs approximately 70 minutes. It has 14 characters but can be played with as little as 9 actors. (2F/7M)

Tale of The Scorpion

A one-act pulp comedy

Low, rolling thunder over black. A streak of lightning reveals some of the contents of the stage...DSR, an armchair beside a small table with a telephone, a bottle and a glass on it. There is a stand-up reading lamp behind the chair. From Centre to the CSL there are three podiums of differing heights with cloths covering the objects thereon.  USR there is a wooden hat rack. DSL is a wooden chair beside another small table.

A pause as the thunder ebbs; then silence... After a few seconds another monstrous crash of thunder sounds and now, standing upstage, the figure of a man is revealed in the light of a second lightning strike. Ominous music stings...

The man is wearing a large brim black hat, a muffler around his mouth and a pair of wire-rim spectacles. He has on a loose trench coat and wears thin, grey gloves. He carries a portable typewriter in a case in one hand and under his other arm he grasps a sheaf of                                                              papers.

He puts down the typewriter and in the dim light removes his hat and muffler and places them on the hat rack. He moves forward, putting down the sheaf of papers on the armchair. He reaches up and turns on a stand-up lamp behind the chair. The writer, Lester Kent, is revealed.

He is a man of about 40, slightly greying. He has a serious air about him and seems most anxious. He looks about and then begins to cough lightly. He moves to a window DSL and then opens it. Immediately the night sounds of the city come bubbling up from below through the patter of the rain. He turns and removes his coat and crosses to the                                     hat rack where he hangs it. When he removes the coat he doesn't cut nearly the imposing figure he once did. He is now wearing a grey, formless suit jacket and pants, a white shirt and tie. He moves back to the table and carefully removes his gloves.

His hands beneath the gloves are bandaged about the fingers. He throws down the gloves and flexes his fingers, obviously in some discomfort. He taps them on the table and reacts