78

Why did I never appreciate my bed the way I should have? Lenora wondered, turning on her other side to help alleviate the pain in her shoulder. Everyone knows the ground is hard, but you don't truly understand what it means until you attempt to sleep on it. Rocks are pointy. Dew is cold. The dark is dark. Unknown noises are scary. Having to pee without a proper bathroom is annoying. I promise to love my next bed. I promise I will thank it every night and every morning.

77

She wasn't the same dog, but she was a good dog. In some ways, she was a better dog, but, again, not the same. Finn still expected her dog to bound to the door. She still had trouble calling the new dog by her name and not by his name. She had trouble thinking of her as "her" and not "him".

But the new dog wagged and wagged her non-existent tail. She whined with joy. She came when you called. She leaned on your legs. She would let herself be pet and pet and pet until she fell over. She was a good dog. Finn missed her dog, but she loved this dog, too.

76

I sat backwards, facing the domed hatchback window, looking at the driver behind us look at me. I was knees to chin sitting where the television would go on the new-to-us entertainment center that only just fit inside my Plymouth Horizon. The man and woman in the Volvo behind us smiled, so I waved and they laughed. As I hugged by shins and tried not to get carsick, I continued to wonder, as I had for days, if buying more furniture with someone I wasn't completely sold on was a good idea.

75

To counteract her innate adorableness, Gwen made it a point to threaten to punch everyone she met. "I'm going to punch you in the face," she'd spit. "I was about to punch him in the nuts," she'd brag. "I swear to god I'm going to punch the hell out of you," she'd hiss through gritted teeth. Despite this, most people still thought she was "cute," until she actually punched them, that is.

74

Life was tough in Hedgeport; that's what everyone believed, so it had to be true. You were born squalling and died in squalor. Babies had dirt under their nails. The gas jockey was considered rich. Despite the poverty, nobody ate anything that didn't come out of a can or box. Nobody took care of their junk, but instead let it rot out in the yard when whatever cheap thing it was broke, they were tired of it, or they just forgot where they laid it. If the thing wasn't busted or rusted to start with, it was by the time the long, long winter was over.

73

Sirens called out to one another in the distance and Jill heard the muffled "thump" that was the subtle real-life indicator there had been another explosion across the city. It wasn't the double, "pwuhch-PWUHCHHH!" sound that all the action movies made.

The streetlights were on, which meant electricity was still on, and most people were glued to their televisions. Jill was hurrying back to her apartment from tutoring work, leather shoulder bag banging against her leg. She passed some people out in their driveways, watching the sky. A dark car flew down the street, slowed for the stop sign, and continued with a roar. Jill picked up the pace.

72

ACT I

The living room of a grand country mansion, formerly owned by the recently deceased Lady Underwood and long deceased Lord Underwood. The ornate furniture is covered by dirty white tarpaulins. Some items, including floor lamps, chairs and, at center stage, a sofa, are easily recognizable. The walls, where not covered with dark oak paneling, are wallpapered in an equally dark and stuffy old style.

(Sounds of a key in the front door, stage left. The key does not open the door, and more key sounds follow. Sounds of a large set of keys being dropped. Frustrated noises. More key sounds until, finally, the door is opened by a youngish man, ANDREW SCOTSLEY.)

ANDREW. (Makes a satisfied sound and sets down a small suitcase.) Home sweet home.

(Leaving the front door open, ANDREW strides to a tarpaulin that is covering a floor lamp and pulls violently and without care for the dust. Dust flies everywhere causing ANDREW some breathing trouble.
ANDREW proceeds more cautiously to the covered sofa; however he pulls just as violently, this time turning his head and covering his mouth with his sleeve. Sitting upright in the middle of the sofa is a CORPSE.)

ANDREW. (Laughs triumphantly at thwarting the dusty tarpaulin.) I will have to hire a mai... (Trails off, noticing the corpse.) Woah.