Young Writers Society

ACT I
SCENE 1

OPEN on an old man, CARLOS, standing center stage with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. The stage is naked and dark save for a single spotlight which shines directly above him. For a moment he stares at his feet, then looks into the audience, and pulls a gun out of one pocket. SMITH is a product of CARLOS's multiple personality complex and is to be spoken by the same actor.

CARLOS [staring at the gun]: Seems like cheating.

SMITH: It's just speeding things along. Helping nature. Fertilizing the soil.

CARLOS: Feeding the maggots.

SMITH: If that's the way you want to look at it.

CARLOS: It's gotta be cheating. Godssakes, life's a Russian roulette wheel, so why play a round in miniature?

SMITH: Do you really want to keep this up?

CARLOS [quietly]: No.

SMITH: I didn't think so.

CARLOS: It'll hurt.

SMITH: Nah. Over in seconds. Milliseconds. The instant you pull that trigger, you've got a piece of iron nailing its way out the other side of your skull, making an exit wound. Won't hurt a bit.

CARLOS: Not me. It'll hurt other people.

SMITH: What other people? Buddy, you don't have anyone else. You're full of yourself if you think anyone's even going to feel a pinprick when you hit the ground. Stop flattering yourself, Carlos, and just get it over with. It's like jumping off a airplane or into a lake filled with icecubes. The more you think about it, the less likely you are of actually doing it.

CARLOS: I've worked hard.

SMITH: Sure you have. Real hard. Sweat of your brow, the bread on your table, and all that good stuff. A regular Caeser Chavez.

CARLOS: I'm serious.

SMITH: So you've worked hard. All the more reason for a little rest. A little peace and quiet.

CARLOS: What about the consequences?

SMITH: There are none.

CARLOS: What about heaven and hell?

SMITH: I would have never pinned you for a believer, kid. I know you too well. If there hasn't been any reason for archangels and hallelujahs and bitter cups in the past, Godssakes, there's no reason for them now.

CARLOS: Yeah, well, I guess I feel I need to live up to deathbed standards.

SMITH: Nah. You're different. You're gonna show them. Besides, you've always been a sweaty, dirty little heathen.

CARLOS: So I've gone all this way, I've worked so hard, I've been so different, and it's all come down to whether I stick it in my mouth or upside my head?

SMITH: Mouth. Cleaner that way.

CARLOS: But I'm a dirty little heathen.

SMITH: And you've always been one for a grand finale, right. A fat lady singing.

CARLOS: Stop talking like that.

SMITH: I can't help it. It makes me nervous when people can't make up their minds.

CARLOS: Or blow holes in their minds.

SMITH: Listen man, I'm getting sick of your God-awful melodramatics.

CARLOS [pausing]: It's gotta hurt somebody.

SMITH: Well, George Bailey, think of me as your Clarence. I give you your wish, you've never been born, you take a look around, and you see that nothing's changed. In fact, the world's a better place.

CARLOS: A better place, huh?

SMITH: And somehow the earth will still turn. The sun will still be dying. The universe will still be collapsing.

CARLOS: Kind of takes the fun out of it.

SMITH: For you maybe. For the rest of this God-awful city, there'll be rejoicing in the streets, let me tell you now.

CARLOS: So I'm doing them a favor.

SMITH: All of 'em.

CARLOS [after another pause]: Maria will get a lot of money.

SMITH: And she'll be out there in the middle of the street throwing confetti.

CARLOS: I'm really tired.

SMITH: Want a lullaby?

CARLOS: Hell, no.

SMITH: No reminiscing, I see.

CARLOS: Have I ever struck you as a Hallmark kind of guy?

SMITH: I'm waiting, Carlos.

CARLOS is staring at the gun again. He weighs it carefully in his hand and then slowly cocks it.

CARLOS: Okay.

SMITH: Are you ready?

CARLOS: I'm ready.

SMITH: Any last words?

CARLOS [after thinking]: Revenge is like bleach. It's alright for cotton and linens, but when you swallow it, it turns your insides into swiss cheese.

SMITH: That belongs inside a greeting card, my friend. Can't tell me you don't indulge your sentimental side every once and a while.

CARLOS: Cheers.

SMITH: Think of home, Dorothy. Pull the trigger and think of home.

CARLOS pulls the trigger and stiffens, closes his eyes and bows his head. The spotlight dims. END scene.

This was really sad and extremely powerful. It was interesting how you had two characters but only one actor. I could see it working on screen in order to make the switching obvious, but on stage, it might be a little confusing. Plus, if you had two actors, you could have Smith circling Carlos or something. That was how I imagined the whole thing happening, but I had to keep reminding myself that there is only supposed to be one actor on stage. Very interesting.

Anyway, I liked it. Some of it felt a little melodramatic and while Smith does point out that it is melodramatic, it doesn't excuse it. If there is something more annoying than [insert random annoying thing here] that goes unacknowledged by the offender, it is [insert random annoying thing here] that they do acknowledge that they are doing, but don't care. This wasn't all that bad and I'm not condemning the piece, but some parts just did feel a little angsty for the sake of being angsty. And there were a lot of metaphors and purple prose bits. People don't generally talk like that. This may be his dying monologue, but it is still how he is going to be thinking. Both characters seem to do that. If there is one (Smith seems the more likely one) that speaks with all of the lovely purple prose (the thing about revenge was great, but it just felt sort of stiff) and one that does not, it might be forgiven, but they both do and it gets a little forced after a while.

In any case, this was great. Very poignant.

*thumbs up*

~GryphonFledgling

There is much more that could be done.

[spoiler]ACT I
SCENE 1

OPEN on an old man, CARLOS, standing center stage with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. The stage is naked and dark save for a single spotlight which shines directly above him. For a moment he stares at his feet, then looks into the audience, and pulls a gun out of one pocket. SMITH is a product of CARLOS's multiple personality complex and is to be spoken by the same actor. Do you want CARLOS to change face when he becomes SMITH? Is he staring straight at the audience, or at an angle? With such little else, you have an excuse to be very very specific with this direction. And the tiniest thing here could make or break your play. Think about which way he faces and how he stands.

CARLOS [staring at the gun]: Seems like cheating.

SMITH: It's just speeding things along. Helping nature. Fertilizing the soil.

CARLOS: Feeding the maggots.

SMITH: If that's the way you want to look at it.

CARLOS: It's gotta be cheating. Godssakes, life's a Russian roulette wheel, so why play a round in miniature? What? If I'm confused when reading, a live audience will be confused in the saying.

SMITH: Do you really want to keep this up?

CARLOS [quietly]: No.

SMITH: I didn't think so.

CARLOS: It'll hurt.

SMITH: Nah. Over in seconds. Milliseconds. The instant you pull that trigger, you've got a piece of iron nailing its way out the other side of your skull, making an exit wound. Won't hurt a bit.

CARLOS: Not me. It'll hurt other people.

SMITH: What other people? Buddy, you don't have anyone else. You're full of yourself if you think anyone's even going to feel a pinprick when you hit the ground. Stop flattering yourself, Carlos, and just get it over with. It's like jumping off a airplane or into a lake filled with icecubes. The more you think about it, the less likely you are of actually doing it.

CARLOS: I've worked hard. I think there are a plethora of emotions that could be acted here, and I'd prefer more direction on which to choose. Little things, that are magnified by your chosen staging. Some guidence is good.

SMITH: Sure you have. Real hard. Sweat of your brow, the bread on your table, and all that good stuff. A regular Caeser Chavez.

CARLOS: I'm serious.

SMITH: So you've worked hard. All the more reason for a little rest. A little peace and quiet.

CARLOS: What about the consequences?

SMITH: There are none.

CARLOS: What about heaven and hell?

SMITH: I would have never pinned you for a believer, kid. I know you too well. If there hasn't been any reason for archangels and hallelujahs and bitter cups in the past, Godssakes, there's no reason for them now.

CARLOS: Yeah, well, I guess I feel I need to live up to deathbed standards.

SMITH: Nah. You're different. You're gonna show them. [s]Besides, you've always been a sweaty, dirty little heathen. [/s] This bothered me because, it adds absolutely nothing and seems redundant.

CARLOS: So I've gone all this way, I've worked so hard, I've been so different, and it's all come down to whether I stick it in my mouth or upside my head?

SMITH: Mouth. Cleaner that way.

CARLOS: But [s]I'm a dirty little heathen. [/s] why should I care... If I'm not around to clean up the mess?

SMITH: And you've always been one for a grand finale, right. Do you want a fat lady singing?

CARLOS: Stop talking like that.

SMITH: I can't help it. It makes me nervous when people can't make up their minds.

CARLOS: Or blow holes in their minds.

SMITH: Listen man, I'm getting sick of your God-awful melodramatics.

CARLOS [pausing]: It's gotta hurt somebody.

SMITH: Well, George Bailey, think of me as your Clarence. Forgive me, but I have no clue who you're talking about. I give you your wish, you've never been born, you take a look around, and you see that nothing's changed. In fact, the world's a better place.

CARLOS: A better place, huh?

SMITH: And somehow the earth will still turn. The sun will still be dying. The universe will still be collapsing.

CARLOS: Kind of takes the fun out of it.

SMITH: For you maybe. For the rest of this God-awful city, there'll be rejoicing in the streets, let me tell you now.

CARLOS: So I'm doing them a favor.

SMITH: All of 'em.

CARLOS [after another pause]: Maria will get a lot of money. No characterization? Really? Either use her or don't, but don't just throw her in like a harvard comma.

SMITH: And she'll be out there in the middle of the street throwing confetti.

CARLOS: I'm really tired.

SMITH: Want a lullaby?

CARLOS: Hell, no.

SMITH: No reminiscing, I see.

CARLOS: Have I ever struck you as a Hallmark kind of guy?

SMITH: I'm waiting, Carlos.

CARLOS is staring at the gun again. He weighs it carefully in his hand and then slowly cocks it.

CARLOS: Okay.

SMITH: Are you ready?

CARLOS: I'm ready.

SMITH: Any last words?

CARLOS [after thinking]: Revenge is like bleach. It's alright for cotton and linens, but when you swallow it, it turns your insides into swiss cheese.

SMITH: Have you been practicing that?

CARLOS: Read it out of a book when I was 16. Always thought it sounded nice.

SMITH: That belongs inside a greeting card, my friend. Can't tell me you don't indulge your sentimental side every once and a while.

CARLOS: Cheers.

SMITH: Think of home, Dorothy. Pull the trigger and think of home.

CARLOS pulls the trigger and stiffens, closes his eyes and bows his head. The spotlight dims. END scene.[/spoiler]

I would prefer something more ambitious then this. You could act out an entire scene with the police and bystanders and other characters all drawn from his mind. Or you could have a monologue. But this two person thing isn't a full commitment.

Hey Kylan,
Wow this is the first script I've read by you (is this your first?) I liked it, as always. I liked how different Carlos and Smith was even though they were the same person. It was like two face from the batman comics, two personalities meshed together equally and perfectly. You always seem to amaze me when you right and it seems like its easy for you to be so brilliant. This flowed well and I can actually see this being performed but of course there'd have to be somebody extra talented to take on your character because nobody boring and amateur can possibly bring your great characters to life. I love reading everything you write and I hope you continue writing scripts like this.
Great Job, Bravo, and Keep Writing,
Angel

ACT I
SCENE 2

OPEN on a room with five sewing machines operated by five boys, with ages ranging from ten to twelve. Their names are EFRAIN, VINCENT, MANUEL, RICO, and CARLOS. This scene takes place fifty years prior to scene one and in an orphanage on the outskirts of Mexico City. The five boys are busy sewing non-descript bolts of cloth and tossing them into piles next to their machines and are obviously tired and undernourished.

MANUEL: Godssakes, Mario is such a maricón. I swear, if he lays another hand on me I'm going to cut his throat with a sewing needle.

EFRAIN: They're all bastards.

MANUEL: And Mario is their king.

VINCENT: I've heard stories about him. Some kids say if he catches you slacking off, he'll rape your sister. And if you don't have one of those, he'll beat you with his belt buckle until blood comes out of your pores.

EFRAIN: Good thing I have a sister.

VINCENT: I'm serious. Why do you think he wears that God-awful buckle? I've seen a kid with a welt in the shape of it on his back. Sleeps right below me.

MANUEL: Juan? Nah, his father gave that to him. Beat him every night before prayers. Helped him get in touch with Jesus. Nothing like a bottle of beer and giving your son a broken bone or two to commune with God, right?

VINCENT: He's probably watching us right now.

MANUEL: Then we had better give him something worth looking at, yes?

MANUEL makes a rude gesture with his middle finger in the direction of the audience. Some of the kids laugh.

EFRAIN: If we find you butchered in your bedsheets tomorrow, I'll be sure to pray for your soul in hell.

MANUEL: You're a maricón, too, you know that Efrain?

EFRAIN: I try.

MANUEL: Yeah, and you're the reason why your mother – God rest her soul – decided to get drunk, light herself on fire, and throw herself in front of a truck.

CARLOS: Shut up, Manuel.

MANUEL: Ah, deaf, dumb, and stupid here has something to say. What's that estupido? You say something to me?

CARLOS: Shut up.

MANUEL: And what are you going to do if I don't, huh? Gore me with a needle? Strangle me with a thread? What about your mama, you little bastard? We don't know much about her, do we? All we know is that her son is such an embarrassment that she drops him here in this hellhole with nothing more than a name.

VINCENT: I think he's coming.

MANUEL: You're just being paranoid. Mario gets so sloshed by lunchtime so that he can't even button his own pants, and you know that.

EFRAIN: Drinks like a baby from his mother's tits.

RICO: Wish I could get my hands on some cold tequila.

MANUEL: Yeah, and you take one sip and you're out for a month.

RICO: I had a whole can once.

VINCENT: My papa says that alcohol is rotting brimstone and that when Satan urinates that brewers stand underneath his pee stream with a bucket. And then they put it in cans and bottles and sell it to men who want a little taste of purgatory.

MANUEL: Your father is a corpse.

EFRAIN: Now I'm not praying for you.

MANUEL: Like I ever needed any help.

EFRAIN: Saint Manuel! Glory to him on the highest.

MANUEL: I'm not going to be the one waking up tomorrow drowning in bloody bedsheets.

EFRAIN: And I'm getting really sick of your threats, Manuel. And teaching respect to little bastards is not just for nuns and drunk fathers.

MANUEL: You wanna say that again?

VINCENT: Come on you two. If we don't sew enough seams all our heads are gonna roll. Besides, think about last Sunday. Remember what the priest said? Do unto others –

MANUEL: I can't believe you listen to that crap.

VINCENT: It's the Word.

MANUEL: And the Word is just as dead as your parents. I don't need a bunch of wrinkled, water stained pages filled with stuff spoken by men whose bones are being burrowed in by maggots telling me what to do.

RICO: I can smell your skin burning up already.

MANUEL: Piss off.

Immediately, RICO stands up and lunges for MANUEL, catches him around the midriff and throws him to the ground, the rest of the children stand up and either join the fight or cheer them on. Unnoticed, CARLOS slips around his sewing machine, heads for MANUEL's, scoops up his pile of sewn cloth, and heads back to his own machine where he adds what's in his arms to his own pile. From stage left, MARIO stumbles in, obviously drunk, and clutching a bottle

MARIO: What in hell's name do you think you little pigs are doing? Get off! Get the hell off of him I said!

MANUEL: It was his fault!

EFRAIN: You gutless –

MARIO: Shut up or I'll do things to you that'll make the Virgin Mary shiver in her grave, for God's sake! How many bones do I need to break until I get it through your thick skulls that you don't screw around when I'm on duty?

RICO: He said things about God that –

MARIO: I will kill you. I don't care. I don't care what the other maricón did. Unless someone is dying or their machine is broken, I do not want to have to come here. And when I do have to come, I will make Job's situation look like the Pope's. There will be blood, there will be bruises, there will be broken bones and welts and tears and I am God here because no one cares about you because you are alone. My words are scripture and if you aren't doing your job you're a worthless waste of good clean air and organs and skin. You have been given a simple task. You have been told to sew. You have been told to earn your food and your bed and your clothes. If you meet a quota, you may live. That sewing machine is your heartbeat. The thread is your blood. If you're not using them, you are as good as buried behind the kitchen. Do you understand?

ALL: Yes.

MARIO [after a pause]: Who sits here?

MANUEL: Me.

MARIO: Sir. You are to address me as sir. How the hell do you expect to survive without some basic manners? You'll be shot in the streets by good self-respecting men , if I don't butcher you first, maricón.

MANUEL: I do, sir.

MARIO: Where's your cloth?

MANUEL: My cloth? Sir, there's a whole pile there, for God's...

MANUEL looks behind him and sees that his pile has vanished.

MARIO: You deaf, dumb, and blind?

MANUEL: It was right there. I was sewing for hours. I was sewing just as hard as –

MARIO: A waste of skin and air. Come with me, you lazy pig. Maybe a tattoo of my belt-buckle will help your fingers move faster, yes?

MANUEL [pointing at Carlos, who stares back at him impassively]: You! Godssakes, it was you! Give it all back or I'll beat your skull into clay, you bastard!

MARIO: Another lie and you won't wake up for a week. And when you do it'll be in a confessional. Struggling makes it hurt worse, child. Struggling makes the bruises show up on your face.

MANUEL: I'll kill him! I'll break every bone in his body, I swear on my parents grave I will!

MARIO drags MANUEL off stage as he struggles and screams curses in CARLOS's direction. The rest of the boys hesitate for a moment and there is a short silence.

EFRAIN: Too bad he doesn't have a sister.

The boys laugh, some half-heartedly, and return to their machines. The lights dim. END scene.

Hey, Kylan! I'm sorry, I only have time to critique the first scene. I have to get going, but I just wanted to leave my two cents.

It was done very cleverly, but I'm having a difficult time imagining how this will look on the stage. I'm imagining just some plain stage, no scenery or nothing and this one character talking to himself. He's gonna have to be one very good actor in order to perform this. He will have to have two distinct voices, or tones, or the audience is going to be very confused.

One thing that I think this will benefit a lot from is action. Right now it's just dialogue, and not that interesting.

CARLOS is staring at the gun again. He weighs it carefully in his hand and then slowly cocks it.

This is about the most action we got out of this entire scene. Not good. Have Carlos pace around the stage. Make hand gestures. It not only helps the play have something to watch other than listen, but it also greatly improvises your characterization. What does Carlos do? Does he fiddle with his fingers when he's nervous? What about Smith? He's the pyscho of the play. Make him have a slightly different personality. They basically sound like the same person (which he really is) but make Smith like the ultimate bad guy. Smooth, cool and clever. Don't make him too pushy.

Awesome.

-Jared

Hey Kylan,

This installment was better than the first. There was more action, more emotion, and more depth. Sure a man who has a split personality or possibly suffers from schizophrenia, had to have started off with a bad childhood. Usually when you read books or see movies, you can kind of feel the pain of the characters racing through your body and like I said before I can see this being performed on stage. So before I go on I'm going to say bravo.
I have no complaints, and I'm really running out of things to say to tell you the truth. You wrote this in a great way and your characters are distinctive. I couldn't look at Manuel and say that he was identical to Efrain which is good. Their beliefs in God vary and it sorta raises the conflict with Mario and all. I'm going to keep reading because I want to know if Carlos will ever get out of this situation.
Good Job and Keep writing,
Angel

I agree with AOD that the second part trumps the first. It's more lively, with a real strong sense of character. It's my understanding that CARLOS does kill himself at the end of the first act however, so I'm perplexed as to how you're going to tie this back in... why shoudl we pay attention if the end result is known?

This main problem I aim to correct in Scene II are the time that your script deviates from character, and makes it sound more like Kylan than a poor 10 year old in Mexico City. Things that sound like Kylan are marked.

[spoiler]ACT I
SCENE 2

OPEN on a room with five sewing machines operated by five boys, with ages ranging from ten to twelve. Their names are EFRAIN, VINCENT, MANUEL, RICO, and CARLOS. This scene takes place fifty years prior to scene one and in an orphanage on the outskirts of Mexico City. The five boys are busy sewing non-descript bolts of cloth and tossing them into piles next to their machines and are obviously tired and undernourished.

MANUEL: Godssakes, Mario is such a maricón. I swear, if he lays another hand on me I'm going to cut his throat with a sewing needle.

EFRAIN: They're all bastards.

MANUEL: And Mario is the biggest bastard of them all.

VINCENT: I've heard stories about him. Some kids say if he catches you slacking off, he'll rape your sister. And if you don't have one of those, he'll beat you with his belt buckle until blood comes out of your pores.

EFRAIN: Good thing I have a sister. I found this funny. Black humor is hard to come by, try for some more...

VINCENT: I'm serious. Why do you think he wears that God-awful buckle? I've seen a kid with a welt in the shape of it on his back. [s]Sleeps right below me. [/s] He's know his name if he slept below him.

MANUEL: Juan? Nah, his father gave that to him. Beat him every night before prayers. Helped him get in touch with Jesus he said. [s]Nothing like a bottle of beer and giving your son a broken bone or two to commune with God, right? [/s] K

VINCENT: He's probably watching us right now.

MANUEL: Then we had better give him something worth looking at, yes?

MANUEL makes a rude gesture with his middle finger in the direction of the audience. Some of the kids laugh. Very nice. Audience participation is always good.

EFRAIN: If we find you dead [s]butchered[/s] K in your bedsheets tomorrow, I'll be sure to pray for your soul in hell.

MANUEL: You're a maricón, too, you know that Efrain?

EFRAIN: I try.

MANUEL: Yeah, and you're the reason why your mother – God rest her soul – decided to get drunk, light herself on fire, and throw herself in front of a truck.

CARLOS: Shut up, Manuel.

MANUEL: Ah, deaf, dumb, and stupid here has something to say. What's that estupido? You say something to me?

CARLOS: Shut up.

MANUEL: And what are you going to do if I don't, huh? Stab [s]Gore[/s] K me with a needle? Strangle me with a thread? What about your mama, you little bastard? We don't know much about her, do we? All we know is that her son is such an [s]embarrassment[/s] maricón that she drops him here in this hellhole with nothing more than a name.

VINCENT: I think he's coming.

MANUEL: You're just being paranoid. Mario gets so borracho [s]sloshed[/s] K by lunchtime so that he can't even button his own pants, and you know that.

EFRAIN: Drinks like a baby from his mother's tits.

RICO: Wish I could get my hands on some cold tequila.

MANUEL: Yeah, and you take one sip and you're out for a month.

RICO: I had a whole can once.

VINCENT: My papa says that alcohol is rotting brimstone and that when Satan urinates that brewers stand underneath his pee stream with a bucket. And then they put it in cans and bottles and sell it to men who want a little taste of purgatory.

MANUEL: Your father is a corpse.

EFRAIN: Now I'm not praying for you.

MANUEL: Like I ever needed any help.

EFRAIN: Saint Manuel! Glory to him on the highest.

MANUEL: I'm not going to be the one waking up tomorrow [s]drowning in bloody bedsheets. [s/] with blood all over my sheets.

EFRAIN: And I'm getting really sick of your threats, Manuel. And teaching respect to little bastards is not just for nuns and drunk fathers.

MANUEL: You wanna say that again?

VINCENT: Come on you two. If we don't sew enough seams bad things are going to happen. [s]our heads are gonna roll.[/s] [color=red]This line is better in some mob movie. Besides, think about last Sunday. Remember what the priest said? Do unto others –

MANUEL: I can't believe you listen to that crap.

VINCENT: It's the Word.

MANUEL: And the Word is just as dead as your parents. Why should I listen to what all of those dead men tell me? I do what I want to do, and they don't stop me. [s]I don't need a bunch of wrinkled, water stained pages filled with stuff spoken by men whose bones are being burrowed in by maggots telling me what to do.[/s] These are 100% your words

RICO: I can smell your skin burning up already.

MANUEL: Piss off.

Immediately, RICO stands up and lunges for MANUEL, catches him around the midriff and throws him to the ground, the rest of the children stand up and either join the fight or cheer them on. Unnoticed, CARLOS slips around his sewing machine, heads for MANUEL's, scoops up his pile of sewn cloth, and heads back to his own machine where he adds what's in his arms to his own pile. From stage left, MARIO stumbles in, obviously drunk, and clutching a bottle

MARIO: What in hell's name do you think you little pigs are doing? Get off! Get the hell off of him I said!

MANUEL: It was his fault!

EFRAIN: You gutless –

MARIO: Shut up or I'll do things to you that'll make the Virgin Mary shiver in her grave, for God's sake! How many bones do I need to break until I get it through your thick skulls that you don't screw around when I'm on duty?

RICO: He said things about God that –

MARIO: I will kill you. I don't care. I don't care what the other maricón did. Unless someone is dying or their machine is broken, I do not want to have to come here. And when I do have to come, I will make Job's situation look like the Pope's. There will be blood, there will be bruises, there will be broken bones and welts and tears and I am God here because no one cares about you because you are alone. My words are scripture and if you aren't doing your job you're a worthless waste of good clean air and organs and skin. You have been given a simple task. You have been told to sew. You have been told to earn your food and your bed and your clothes. If you meet a quota, you may live. That sewing machine is your heartbeat. The thread is your blood. If you're not using them, you are as good as buried behind the kitchen. Do you understand? Does ths sound like a drunken speech to you? It doesn't to me, but it's your call on whether or not to switch. It's a fairly vital speech, so I'm not going to demand you to rework it.

ALL: Yes.

MARIO [after a pause]: Who sits here?

MANUEL: Me.

MARIO: Sir. You are to address me as sir. How the hell do you expect to survive without some basic manners? You'll be shot in the streets by good self-respecting men , if I don't butcher you first, maricón.

MANUEL: I do, sir.

MARIO: Where's your cloth?

MANUEL: My cloth? Sir, there's a whole pile there, for God's...

MANUEL looks behind him and sees that his pile has vanished.

MARIO: You deaf, dumb, and blind?

MANUEL: It was right there. I was sewing for hours. I was sewing just as hard as –

MARIO: A waste of skin and air. Come with me, you lazy pig. Maybe a tattoo of my belt-buckle will help your fingers move faster, yes?

MANUEL [pointing at Carlos, who stares back at him impassively]: You! Godssakes, it was you! Give it all back or I'll beat your skull into clay, you bastard!

MARIO: Another lie and you won't wake up for a week. And when you do it'll be in a confessional. Struggling makes it hurt worse, child. Struggling makes the bruises show up on your face.

MANUEL: I'll kill him! I'll break every bone in his body, I swear on my parents grave I will!

MARIO drags MANUEL off stage as he struggles and screams curses in CARLOS's direction. The rest of the boys hesitate for a moment and there is a short silence.

EFRAIN: Too bad he doesn't have a sister.

The boys laugh, some half-heartedly, and return to their machines. The lights dim. END scene[/spoiler]

You've got good stuff here. Keep at it.

I love this idea. I watched the musical of Dr. Jeckyll and mister hide, and in that Doctor J talks to his alter ego often. They had him sit in a study with a revolving mirror and change facial expressions-- it was extremely powerful.
Great script, by the way. Fantastic.
I want to see someone perform this.
NEEDS MORE STARZ
edit: just realized there was a part two.
That was magnificent. It reminds me of neil simon's darker work.
I always thought that dialogue is the hardest part of storytelling. And not only have you mastered it, you are the king of descriptions. O.o
Why are you so talented? And why does this not have more stars?

Yo,
I think the first part was great. I wouldn't add anything, and I wouldn't take away anything. The 'dirty little heathen' is fine, and throwing in 'Maria' is fine as well.
I like to figure at least some stuf out for myself. Cursed be the day, when inane soap opera took over the arts and every possible character, emotion, person, old sock and creak of a floorboard have to be milked dry and with neon signs pointing to the reader/viewer what exactly is going on, how exactly it should be interpreted and what exactly are the ramifications of any given scene. That certianly bred a generation of one dimensional morons gibbering in anxiety the moment the tiniest thing is left for them to interpret. (no offence to anyone, just attacking the world at large)
The second part, forgive me, sucked. Shallow social drama, presented through outrageously unconvincing dialogues. I understand that certain social issues produce a buzzing of your nerves, but presenting them like that really is bad taste. Not that that's bad, bad taste and unconvincing dialogues rule the creative scene, I'm just being honest here.
In the second part you are just spewing out your social indignance thinly disguised as a 'still life' moment. But taking a moment, we all know that the kids wouldn't phrase their sentences like that, and neither would the evil bastard who comes in.
If you are gonna write like that, and try to reach higher levels, then you have to be more careful. Better be a convincing minimalist while you are still gathering strength and learning style, then overdo it with some latino soaps.
All the characters in the second segment should talk much, much more primitively, and it is the power of a brilliant playright, to get across concepts and emotions through that, through taking life as it is, not by augmenting it, producing philosophizing shakespear urchins and drunkards in order to convey the message. That's the easy way out, which in the end will work against you, I belive.
Take Mark Twain. In Huckleberry Finn does he force the uneducated, supersitious, uncouth boy speak and think his parts like in an operetta? Certainly not - he makes us feel what he want us to feel by using the boy's very very limited worldview and abilities.
Now, you may say that this is a tall order - asking anyone to be like Mark Twain - very true. This is why I think four time more effort should go into such attempts, if they are for real, and when in dubt -minimalism is the better option, even if people will write that they are not carried off by the emotion of the characters and can not identify with them and whatnot. Not everything has to be a wooden soap opera, a school drama, or a romance for drooling inbreds. Your're young! You have the power!