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SpeechGeek Season Eleven: Fall 2013 ISBN 978-1-61387-044-0 Price $25 US http://

SpeechGeek Season Eleven: Fall 2013 ISBN 978-1-61387-044-0 Price $25 US http://www.speechgeek.com SpeechGeek SpeechGeek ISBN 978-1-61387-045-7 Corey Alderdice Editor and Publisher Email: thegeek@speechgeek.com 248 Arlington Park Dr. Hot Springs, AR 71901 (888) 742-2028 SpeechGeek is published up to four times per year: August, October, December, and April by Corey Alderdice, 248 Arlington Park Dr., Hot Springs, AR 71901. Special issues are also published from time to time. http://www.speechgeek.com SpeechGeek Season Eleven: Fall 2013 It’s that time of the year again. With the end of summer comes the start of a new season. To most, competition in the autumn months means sweaty hands clutching brown pigskin and plenty of shouting. But at SpeechGeek, competi- tion in the autumn months means sweaty hands clutching black binders and plenty of shouting, usually in the D.I. rounds. In some ways, forensics and football aren’t all that differ- ent. Both require dedication, hard work, practice, and shoulder pads. This new issue features scripts that touch on teamwork (Ever After You), the standout stars (INfamous), the underdogs (The Grave- yard Shift), the resilience of the mind and body (BRAINS), as well as disappointment (La Llorona). Ironically, none of the scripts actually deal with football. That was just our thematic element to welcome you back to another season. Here’s hoping everyone is ready to tackle the new school year. Corey Alderdice Publisher In This Issue: Season Eleven: Fall 2013 Prose Interpretation (Male) The Graveyard Shift by Jane Nicolaas................................................................................04 Duo Interpretation (Male/Female) Ever After You by Katherine Raul..............................................................................08 Prose Interpretation BRAINS: A Guidebook for the Newly and Nearly Undead by Stephanie Patterson Alderdice...........................14 Poetry Interpretation Program Builder INfamous by Jonathon Harper..........................................................................17 Duo Interpretation (Female/Female) La Llorona by Julia Neva.......................................................................................23 4 “Today?” I shrugged, “Today, I quit my job.” I lean on the grocery belt awkwardly, and I show her my most handsome smile. A moment ago, I was wandering through an orchard of commerce, through the shelves and aisles after aisles and shelves. I, like a monkey, swung around the sides of the store, skillfully acquiring my nightly Yoo-hoo and Ritz Bitz and a fresh jug of Tide. Then, I found myself here. Her cash register. Her. Sam. The “Hi, My Name Is” tag on her left breast doesn’t leave room for a last name, so I don’t know it. But I know her eyes: black. I know her hair: black. I know her skin: ancestral bronze. I know her voice with that Spanish tint on certain words. I know her moods. I know her silences. She doesn’t know my name either, because the E.M.T. vest that I have worn into this store every night but tonight only says my last name: Parke. She eyes me cautiously, knowing my prankish ways, “Really? Can E.M.T.s just quit?” “I don’t see why not,” I shrugged. “So you just said ‘to hell with this’ and threw your defibrillator paddles out the window?” “No. I just started yelling ‘DIE! DIE! DIE!’” There was a moment of terror until the humor overtook us both. A mischie- vous giggle grew out of her throat to the height of a full cackle. I enjoyed the sound as it bounced off the soup cans, slid off the frozen meats, and shook the tea bags. Our giggles began to settle back into frowns until she picked up the Y oo-hoo off the conveyer belt to ring it up. I, still leaning on my thick hands, temporarily forgot that the automatic belt was turned on. My elbow crashed down like thunder, sending lightning pain up my arm. Sam was so startled by the episode, she yelped in a high and clear bark. We were silent for the next several minutes. It was laughter too hard for sound. “You are too much,” she said floating back to Earth. I want to be cute and coy and say something cool like, “Can I buy you a drink?” I’d then set the Yoo-hoo by her on my way out the door. I want to be the guy that knows how to make an exit. But I’m not. I just chuckle a little and shrug. The truth is that I am an autumn leaf around her: quiet, shaky, and destined to fall. “So what are you going to do now?” She says hopping up to sit on the back counter as I twist open my chocolate drink. Normally, I love it when she’s in this mood. It’s the mood when all she wants to do is talk to me, forgetting the store and the boss and the “customer service.” She shows up without the job. by Jane Nicolaas The Graveyard Shift 5 There is something different tonight. There is a phantom shadow in her burnt sienna complexion. I offer her the Yoo-hoo and she smiles a little receiving it, but she doesn’t drink it. She just holds it carefully between un-manicured fingers. “Dunno,” I sigh. “Maybe take some time off.” Nodding, she looks away, guarding her eyes. She is secluded tonight despite her seemingly conversational disposition. When she looks back at me, I can’t find her in her eyes, and it’s scary. It’s enough to make me ache. On the ambulance, I would ache constantly as eyes looked up at me wishing to help them live or die. All I really wanted was to stop people from hurting. That’s probably why I will miss my job, although I have a theory buried deep inside of me that I secretly never wanted to be an emergency medical technician. I think I thought I wanted it, but maybe I just wanted to be the one to take their pain and make it retreat back to the horizon where it couldn’t hurt them anymore. When it comes to Sam, I’ve always just wanted to save her. As ridiculous as it sounds, I want to grab her hand and take her into the light—to the joy, to the day. All I really want is to see her in the sunshine. I can see her fighting back to the surface, away from the thoughts that make her sad. There is a fight inside her tonight, and somehow she is drawing me into it, too. Her dark hair and dark eyes pull me closer to myself and to her madness, but I don’t run. “What are you thinking about stranger?” She waved a hand in front of my disengaged eyes. “Sunshine.” I said. “Sunshine? What the hell? You quit your job and all of the sudden you’re a day walker?” “Nah. I just think, you know, now that I’m not on graveyard, I might be able to come in here during the day.” I try to encourage her to the light, to the joy, to the sun. “It’s totally different in the day.” The reverse effect settles in; she is suddenly overtaken with subtle sullenness. “How so?” “In the day time, there’s so much noise and light. I hate it.” “You like the hum of fluorescents, huh?” “No. I like the hum of silence. It’s like stillness. Outside there’s only noise. This place reminds me of the tree behind my parent’s house right outside the city.” In my mind I can see a towering oak, a hundred years old. The seat of the tree is smooth and molded to fit the way that really worn couches are. The branches are stained with elbow and knee blood from kids who have tried to climb up, but she’s the only one who knows its secrets. And I imagine there is a hole in the arm of the tree, too, probably from a squirrel or a raccoon. Maybe she hid her diary in it. When she stopped writing a diary, she hid her heart in a box made of pink plastic. She hasn’t said another word, but I’m completely drawn into her in this moment. She is far away and muted. She knows I’m here, but she hypnotized herself into the past. A past where I am only an observer, a cautious bystander. Motionless, I let her continue despite my growing concern. I wonder if she left it there: her heart. Maybe she always knows when it’s 8 ALEX. (holding her scrapbook) I don’t think friendships are measured in days. The really good ones aren’t counted in minutes, but in mo ments—still frames of time that capture you just as you are or, I guess, as you want to be. Sometimes they’re happy, sometimes they’re sad, but they are what define you; set you up for the next page. And it’s amazing how many moments you can pack into a single immeasurable, incredible, inconceivable story. A story that started with a single question: (flashback 15 years) TYLER. (finds her) What are you doing? ALEX. Are you my partner for this stupid flour baby thing? TYLER. (covers the flour baby’s “ears”) Shh, she’ll hear you. ALEX. I say we take a 0 out of 10 and make pancakes instead. TYLER. So I’ll be the mom, and you’ll be aunt…Jemima? (flashforward to present) ALEX. uploads/Litterature/ speechgeek-season-eleven-fall-2013-preview.pdf