Heliopause

A One-Act Interplanetary Mash-up

by Karle E. Stull

A minor planet at the edge of the Solar System tries to divert Halley’s Comet to the Moon for a blimp-busting strike against Jupiter.

Dramatis Personae

ERIS, Goddess of Discord and minor planet in the outer Solar System
CERES, Goddess of Agriculture and minor planet in the Asteroid Belt
NEPTUNE, God of the Sea, spirit of the eighth planet
PLUTO, a clown, formerly the ninth planet
HIPPIE CHORUS, dropouts for Peace and Love

Setting

The view is inward from the edge of the Solar System. The stage is dark; the backdrop is lit.

The backdrop is a field of stars. At its center, the brightest star is the Sun. Eight lesser lights (planets) form a dotted line left and right of the Sun.

Mid-stage, right, a smartphone stands upright (about six feet tall).

While the audience is finding seats, a comet inches across the backdrop from stage-left toward the Sun. As the comet rounds the Sun and makes its return journey, the tail always points away from the Sun, driven by the solar wind.

Music is lugubrious cello and ambling viola, representing the motion of outer and inner planets. Bursts of electric guitar and violin suggest solar flares and meteors.

Music ends. Spotlight reveals ERIS on the apron at stage-right. As she speaks, she sidles — slowly but noticeably toward stage-left. She is in a big counterclockwise orbit around the Sun.

Scene 1

ERIS (gesturing to include the audience as a whole)

You’re an attractive mass. One by one,
you don’t amount to much, but as a group
you have some pull. Trust me, gravity matters,
the more so near the edge — the heliopause.

We’re far as you can go and feel the Sun —
assuming you’re all trans-Neptunian objects.
But maybe not. Are you from out of town,
just passing through? Something you should know:

The solar gravity thrill-ride starts from here.
You feel its steady pull, gently at first,
bending your course, hauling you subtly in
toward a distant source, not your choice
but something big — like Grand Canyon big
but a million Grand Canyons, times a thousand —
and lit on fire! with all the gasoline
the Earth will ever produce, times a billion.
And possibly times a billion times again.
My math is not so great. Give me a break.
The Goddess of Discord doesn’t do statistics.
If feud is what you want, then I’m your girl.
For crunchy numbers, talk to Jupiter Corp.
He’s got a hundred moons’ll square your root.
We all have our departments, niche pursuits.
Mine is office politics… I’m Eris. Miss Discord.

What was I saying before? Right, gravity.

Spotlight reveals the CHORUS upstage, center.

CHORUS (performing a dance)
Excitable Eris, ominous Goddess of Discord!
She’s always at it, everything melodramatic.
In everybody’s business, spreading doubt,
revising rumors, dropping sinister hints,
finagling words that somehow slip in edgewise…
Discord even interrupts herself!

CHORUS spotlight off.

ERIS (to the audience)
Gravity sucks. The cosmic Hoover gathers
motes like us to a massive central bag —
the Sun. Your ruffling hair, a staggering step,
and then you’re flying superhero-style,
arms and hands in front, faster and faster.
Planets heave in view, then whoosh behind,
no looking back. There’s Neptune blue and frothy,
Uranus (lost his keys) in Long Term Parking,
Saturn feeling blech but looking great,
and Jupiter juggling more than he can handle.
He thinks he’s big but hasn’t guessed what’s coming.
Ahead you see a motel row of worlds —
the rusted Mars, a balmy sea-shored Earth,
and hot-tub Venus, neon-blinking Vacancy.
Zero chance of stopping overnight.
The kernel Sun has popped. Ahoy, it’s filling
half your windshield. (When did you get a windshield?)
Now there’s nothing else to see but Sun,
and you’ve been flash-sautéed to crumply crisp
in five arrays of solar radiation,
with not a drop of fat to grease the pan.
Your mass is gas. Your gravity’s gone. Farewell.
Your ashes blow away on solar wind.
You float on back to where you are right now,
in the dark at the very edge of the Solar System,
the farthest you can go and feel the Sun.
You are star … dust. You are golden.

CHORUS (in unison)
A Woodstock reference — groovy! Peace and love!
Half a million strong, we WERE at Woodstock.

CHORUS (severally, sing-song)
I was there.

And I was too.

Me too!

And so was I! [Pause] At least I think it was me.

CHORUS (in unison)
You know who wasn’t there? Mistress Discord.
Beware of Eris! She is up to something.

ERIS
I’ll say it again, you’re an attractive mass.
You have gravity. You can make a difference
being here. Together you have oomph,
enough to change a world, or maybe two.

I happen to know of an opportunity coming.
All you have to do is sit right here.
Do you want in? Or will you gawk at the Sun
and race to your doom like pan-galactic lemmings?

Take it from one who knows: the system’s rigged
to favor Big. For the likes of us to win,
we have to push ourselves and those around us
— how to put it? — perpendicularly.

Phone rings. ERIS takes out her phone. Spotlight reveals CERES, head and shoulders framed in the giant smartphone.

ERIS (to audience)
I have to take this. Put yourselves on Hold.

CERES (bantering)
Eris, you conniving bitch, I heard
from Juno you were up to something rich.
But you have guests, I see. An angry mob
of pitchfork folk who’ve come to toss your salad?

You’ve such a way of riling people up.
Details, I want them all. So fill me in.

ERIS
Ceres, dear, you know I meant to call…

CERES
I understand. Just give me a tasty hint.

ERIS
Juno wasn’t wrong to have suspicions.

CERES
Suspicions go with being Jupiter’s spouse.
He never met a nymph he didn’t like.

ERIS
He won’t be riding high for long if plans
in hand work out. He’s going to feel your pain.

CERES
I wish he could. You say you have a plan.

ERIS
It’s going to redefine the scale of “epic.”
A thousand ships will look like penny-ante.

CERES
So, really, really big is what you’re saying.
But where’s the part where Jupiter feels the pain?

ERIS
That’s as much as I can say for now.

CERES
Eris, you’re a tease. I should know better.
What about your visitors: who are they?

ERIS (lowering her voice)
I think they might be tourists, Milky Waywards.
It’s like they came ashore for lunch and shopping.
We’re in the early stages, still just talking.
They might be right for a PIVOTAL comet scene.

CERES
A comet caper, is it? Sounds delicious.
I’ll let you stir your sinister soup du jour.

ERIS
You’ll be the first to know the fuse is lit.

CERES and ERIS hang up. CERES spotlight off.

ERIS
Please forgive our little interruption.
That was Ceres, cereal goddess, now
retired — where wheat and corn can never thrive,
on a salty clod in the Asteroid Archipelago.

I’ll share with you, at the risk of spreading gossip:
Ceres has a grudge against the boss.

Jupiter, lord of daylight, was in charge
when Jupiter’s brother Hades, lord of darkness,
kidnapped Ceres’ daughter — picking flowers!
He dragged the girl below to be his wife,
the captive queen of death in the underworld.
Ceres’ grief so wrenched the earth with famine
— not a sprig of planted grain would grow —
a custody agreement was determined:
the girl would alternate above/below:
half the year on earth, the rest in hell.

Which somehow has to do with yearly seasons
and why the Earth is tilted on its axis.
What’s an axis? Ugh, I knew you’d ask.
Helios handles that. Just take my word:
Jupiter’s name is mud in Ceres’ book.
She hates his guts. And I so love to rankle,
naturally, we’re pals, forever scheming.

And speaking of schemes, I have a proposition
for you. Have you ever heard of Halley’s Comet?

ERIS spotlight off. CHORUS spotlight on. Exit ERIS.

CHORUS
The deal for visitation merely softened
Ceres’ grief. Her daughter’s eyes had darkened.
She sipped the light like wine but never laughed.
The girl who gathered flowers — gone forever.

In Eris (gesturing at her), Ceres saw another girl
in need of consolation. Not belonging
troubled Eris. Eris troubled others.
What can mothers do but offer comfort?

Even Hades wept. Marriage from Hell!
the headlines read. His brighter brothers held
the glamor realms: the sky and Neptune’s sea.
Then the Romans changed poor Hades’ name.

CHORUS (dancing, mocking)
Oh, Pluto! Pluto! Pluto!

Pluto!

Pluto!

Curtain.

Scene 2

Music: wedding march performed with a comical staggering gait.

PLUTO enters in front of curtain from stage-right. He is dressed as a bedraggled bridegroom, in a broken top hat and tattered tails. An oversize corsage droops from his lapel.

Music fades.

PLUTO (staggering toward stage-left, channeling the Porter in Macbeth)

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars. Jupiter Saturn, Uranus, Neptune. Pluto! That’s me!

The old mnemonic, how did it go?

My Very Eager Mother… My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine… No, not eager. Mother is not “eager.”

My very educated mother. Educated, pfui. Patronizing.

My very EARNEST mother…. That’s the ticket, Earnest! Very important, being earnest. Can’t say enough about the importance … of being earnest.

My very earnest mother just served us nine. Nine? Nine what?(Sarcasm) Who did I leave out? Poor Pluto. Not a planet anymore.

(Changing the subject) There’s something amiss about SERVED. Mothers don’t “serve.” Of course, they do, all the time. But mothers are mothers, not the wait staff, right?

CHORUS (behind the curtain)
Yes, chef!

PLUTO (looks around, wondering where the voices came from)
My VOLUPTUOUSLY earnest mother —. Voluptuous! Venus’ll thank me for that. My voluptuously earnest mother just SLICED up —. Sliced, appropriate for … pizza!

CHORUS
No pizza, chef!

PLUTO
No pizza? No Pluto.

CHORUS
Off the menu, chef!

PLUTO
Off the menu. Since when?

CHORUS
2006, chef!

PLUTO
On whose authority?

CHORUS
International Astronomical Union, chef!

PLUTO
The IAU. Heartless bastards. No respect for their elders. Heigh ho.

My vituperous earnest murderers … just showed us … no pity.

Ha-ha! No for Neptune. That much is spot on. [Exit stage-left.]

Scene 3

Curtain opens.

The stage is dark. A blue circle representing the planet Neptune, 12 feet wide, dominates the middle of the stage. There is an executive desk with an oversize visitor’s chair, which faces the audience.

ERIS is sitting in the visitor’s chair, looking tiny. Her feet don’t reach the floor.

Enter NEPTUNE, bare-chested (a swimmer) but wearing a tie. He has mounds of wavy hair. He brings a coffee for his guest. In his other hand, a trident.

ERIS struggles to stand, being polite. NEPTUNE gestures she should sit.

NEPTUNE
No, don’t get up. You’re fine. It’s only me.
Thanks for coming in, How was traffic?

ERIS (settling back into the chair)
Not a lot of traffic. Lots of space.
The outer Solar System’s mostly empty,
as you know. I caught a glimpse of Pluto.

NEPTUNE
My baby brother. How’s he getting along?

ERIS
Same as always.

NEPTUNE
Good to hear..

ERIS
Adrift.

NEPTUNE
Adrift, you think? Should we call Nine-One-One?

ERIS
It’s not for me to say. He’s got his orbit.
Does his thing. But Pluto … is really out there.

NEPTUNE
Indeed, we’re meant to stay within our orbits.
Enough on Pluto. How is Eris doing?
How’s your space within the organization?

ERIS
My space is good. (With irony) Plenty of room to grow.
Aligned with organizational goals, of course.
I like autonomy, very few distractions.
I don’t have time for gloomy meditations.

Using his trident, NEPTUNE spears a file from the desk. He sets aside the trident (ideally, it stands up by itself, suggesting mysterious powers). He skims the file.

NEPTUNE
Minor planet Eris. Disk diameter:
fourteen hundred miles. The same as Pluto.
Three-fourths the earthly Moon, our sweet Diana.
Your Sun-to-Eris miles: about 9 billion.
Sunlight takes a dozen hours to reach you,
compared to Mars in just a dozen minutes.

Eris, let me ask a simple question.
Where do you see yourself five years from now?

ERIS
I’ll still be chief of Discord, I imagine.
We’re all immortals, deathless in our roles.
I could apply for God of War. Why not?
Discord often escalates to bloodshed.
But open confrontation — not my style.
In five years’ time, nothing will have changed.
Five hundred years for me is just one orbit.
Or maybe it only seems that long. Whatever.

NEPTUNE (empathizing)
It sounds like you feel somewhat … isolated.
Left out. Unseen. Alone. Perhaps you’d like
to join the inner circle. If Mercury’s there,
you ask, why not you? A fair question.

Tell me, Eris, why are you so “out there”?
You used that phrase describing brother Pluto.
Be honest with yourself as well as me.
How did you end up so far away?

ERIS
It wasn’t my idea. Why do you ask?
Did Jupiter put you up to this — (looking for the right sword) this chat?

NEPTUNE
Jupiter doesn’t delve in operations.
Are you thinking Jupiter’s out to get you?

ERIS
The word is out you’re Jupiter’s hatchet man,
or trident man. Since Pluto was demoted,
you’re the outer guard. To me it seems
like Jupiter thinks that someone’s out for HIM.

NEPTUNE spears a bundle of comment cards from the desk. ERIS flinches, thinking for a moment he might stab her.

NEPTUNE
I have some comment cards to share. Your peers
were asked what it was like to work with Eris.

(Shuffling through cards)

“When Eris arrives, Consensus leaves the room.”

“She’s the queen of stressful group discussions.”

“Suspicion, awkward moments, ugly whispers,
damning praises, pointless quarrels — malice:
these are party favors Eris brings.”

“Excels in friction, factions, AND mistrust.”

Here’s an alternate view:

“A lonely girl,
she doesn’t fit. She chips at solidarity,
a mountaineer who climbs our stony faces.
Eris cannot help the way she is.
She needs a little love and sweet acceptance,
and plenty of time to heal.”

NEPTUNE
Your thoughts on this?

ERIS
Sounds like Ceres, ever-tender mother.

NEPTUNE (reading next card)
Then there’s this:

“A hallway chat with Eris
leaves me with a feeling — no one likes me.”

“Breaking bread with Eris: oh, it’s moldy!’”

“I’d rather try a tightrope-walk on acid
than share an elevator ride with Eris.”

ERIS (Out of the chair, facing NEPTUNE, but keeping a safe distance)
Okay, okay, I think I get your drift.

NEPTUNE
Perhaps one more. It’s something rather special.

“Eris crashed my wedding, REALLY crashed it!
She was not invited. Reason why?
A wedding’s meant to be about the bride.
Discord steals the show wherever she goes.

“So Eris sauntered in, and minutes later,
Athena’s yanking hanks of Hera’s hair,
while Venus tries to scratch Athena’s eyes out.
Even “Bacchus called my wedding raucus.”

Remember that? (Appreciative laugh) The dust will never settle.
Only you could dream up such a ploy.

The golden apple, deviously inscribed
To the fairest of them all… Ye gods! You threw
that vanity bomb at a pride of prima donnas:
Athena, Venus, Hera (Mrs. Jupiter).

The repercussions rang through halls of history,
the spat that then begat Trojan War.

ERIS
I must admit: that was a day of glory,
a lesson Thetis had to learn the hard way.
Cut me from the guest list at your peril.
The payback comes in memories everlasting.

NEPTUNE
(Suddenly serious) Surely you can see that “day of glory”
is not a normal view of a ruined wedding.
It lacks a certain deference to grand occasion.
Some might even call it antisocial.

ERIS
Discord’s antisocial. I’m its goddess.

NEPTUNE
A negative attitude will not help you here.

ERIS
Positive is the one thing Discord isn’t.
You wouldn’t pressure Mars to be less martial.
What is Venus if she’s not venereal?
And Neptune, if he’s Neptune, will be wet.

A drop of Discord gives your day its texture.
Resistance — be it gritty, bumpy, boggy,
scraping, sticky — gives the moment meaning,
a lingering cast of candle-light in memory.

Absent Discord, where’s your Trojan War?
Without the Trojan War, you’d have no Homer.
No arms. Nor the man. No Trojan Horse.
No Odysseus’ long journey home.

No Homer, ergo no Euripides,
who channeled women bound to tragic men.

A daughter died to launch the thousand ships,
Iphigenia. Her father, Agamemnon,
fouled the wine-dark sea with virgin blood.
Ingloriously he bled in his own bathtub,
a mother’s dreadful justice — Clytemnestra!
Elektra and Orestes, fated children,
doubly caught in righteousness and guilt,
struck their mother down. They fled the Furies,
reached Athena’s temple, shining goddess!
They learned the only end to feud and vengeance
is trial and solemn sentence under law.
Euripides — illuminating Discord!

Will you sacrifice Euripides,
the voice of injured women, for peace and quiet?

That’s all I have to say in my defense.
I’m immortal. I am leaving now.

ERIS storms toward stage-left.

NEPTUNE
Not so fast, young lady! (Raising the trident)
Dragons, dark!

Thunder, blackout. The trident glows in the dark.

Light returns gradually to the blue circle in background, silhouetting ERIS and NEPTUNE.

NEPTUNE
Remember where you are and who you’re with.
Take a breath. Show a little respect.

Scene lighting returns to full as NEPTUNE speaks.

It’s come to my attention you’ve been plotting
another brawl between Olympian gods,
very like poor Thetis nuptial meltdown,
but this time with a whole lot bigger apple.

The golden apple now is Halley’s Comet,
not rolled but flung among the inner planets!
The last time Earth beheld this size impactor,
the dinosaurs were wonderstruck. They vanished.

Your target isn’t Earth. You’ll smack the Moon.
She’s small enough to carom out of orbit,
She’ll bounce around the System like pachinko,
lighting up the planets, rampant mayhem.

ERIS
Ridiculous. I deny it all.
Whoever told you that was smoking crack.

NEPTUNE
As evil genius goes, I give you credit.
The plan has cosmic scale. Its goal is simple:
wreck the lives of many. Their distress
may ease the ache of emptiness you live with.

ERIS
You think you understand me. Try again.

NEPTUNE
The question now is: Eris, what do we do?

ERIS
I don’t know what you mean by what do WE do.

NEPTUNE
Jupiter’s made it clear: this can’t continue,
your life of sabotage against the System.
You’re going to have to make a big decision
The choice is down to Option One … or Two.

ERIS
I don’t need your options. I’m immortal.
What’s Jupiter going to do — try and kill me?

NEPTUNE
Ask Prometheus, chained to an icy crag,
his liver served as eagle’s breakfast daily.

ERIS
Okay, you’re right. I don’t care for liver.
It’s time for me to take a new direction,
assess my past behavior, ask forgiveness,
and realign my life to … larger goals.

NEPTUNE (skeptically)
A goddess doesn’t change her spots. You’re Discord.

ERIS
In that case, we had better look at options.
What can I expect from Option One?

NEPTUNE
Option One is closer supervision.
I’ll pull you in: you’ll be a captive moon,
like Triton. He could be your peer support.
You’ll have your space … within Neptunian space.

ERIS
A moon of yours? What about Option Two?

NEPTUNE
Option Two is exile. Never come back.
Your orbit nears the heliopause already —
only about a Wimbledon serve away.
I’d give you a push, and then you’re on your own.

You’ll go galactic. Interstellar space,
we hear, is different. The interstellar wind
is faint. The particles have a different charge.
A lot more open space, that much we know.

ERIS
I’ve wondered what the “way out there” is like.
It could be good for me, a new horizon.
Where’s a Greek philosopher when you need one?
My options, it appears, are Bad and Worse.

NEPTUNE
Take a day to think the choices over.
If I don’t hear by then, I’ll pull you in.
You’re one of us, even if we hate you.
The Solar System family hangs together.

Curtain.

Scene 4

Enter PLUTO, in front of the curtain stage-right, crossing to stage-left.

PLUTO (talking to himself)
Poor Eris, no good options. You know, I never liked that girl. But it’s harsh losing your place in space. Relocate to Neptune? No, thank you! The other option: exile. Drifting like a ghost, a somebody nowhere. That’s what we call: experiencing orbit-less-ness.

What a comedown for Eris. She was the Tenth Planet for a little while, when she first appeared in telescopes. I was the ninth planet then. But never mind. I’m not bitter. (Turns to audience) Don’t let it worry you, whatever became of poor old Pluto.

PLUTO notices CERES is at stage-left, watching him.

Background note: CERES no longer hates Hades/Pluto. She sees him as pitiful; she is polite, not friendly. Her hatred for Jupiter continues full strength.

PLUTO
Look who’s here. Oh my goddess, Ceres — my mother-in-law.

CERES
Pluto. You’re looking well.

PLUTO
Ha! I look like Hell.

With a look, CERES nods to acknowledge he is disheveled. PLUTO straightens his posture, smoothes his suit with hands.

CERES
I’m looking for Eris. She doesn’t seem to be home.

PLUTO
She might be in transit, coming back from Neptune. Neptune called her in for an office visit. A reprimand for one of her practical jokes.

CERES
A practical joke — anything to do with Jupiter?

PLUTO
Halley’s Comet is what I heard. Eris had a plan to alter Halley’s trajectory. She found a group of “tourists” to help her — a roving gang of planetoids, I reckon. (Pluto casts a significant look toward the audience.) The idea was these tourists would have enough mass for a gravity-assist, slinging Halley’s Comet into Earth’s moon. Ker-smaaack! Like billiards. Imagine the ricochets: Earth, Venus, Mercury, possibly glancing off to Mars. Forget the golden apple. Make way for the Halley’s Comet cue ball!

CERES
There was nothing about Jupiter in all this?

PLUTO
If Jupiter was a target, Neptune didn’t know.

CERES
But what if…

PLUTO
What if what?

CERES
What if the purpose of hitting the Moon was to turn the Moon into a second cue ball — a bigger cue ball — big enough to punch a hole through Jupiter?

PLUTO
Why Jupiter? Come to think of it, it’s Eris. Why not Jupiter.

CERES
Jupiter’s a lying, pandering, back-stabbing, self-important gas bag.

PLUTO
Well, sure, there’s that. (Considering further) Then again, the orbits run on time.

CERES
Of course you remember, Jupiter took a massive hit from a comet in 1992, Shoemaker-Levy 9. The energy from that impact was 600 times the total of all the nuclear weapons on Earth. People took notice. Especially Jupiter.

PLUTO
I noticed some potholes afterward.

CERES
The Moon is 2,000 times bigger than Shoemaker-Levy 9.

PLUTO
I see what you mean, the Moon slamming into Jupiter. What’s the word for that? Epic. Uber epic. Possibly super-uber-epic. There is one problem.

CERES
(As Jewish mother) What problem? It’s simple orbital mechanics.

PLUTO
Neptune says the coordinates are off. Halley’s Comet doesn’t come anywhere near Eris. Halley’s Comet will never hit the Moon. That crazy Eris. She thinks big, but she never was any good at math.

Exit PLUTO and CERES as curtain opens.

Scene 5

Stage setup is the same as for Scene 1, except:

• No smartphone
• The Sun is larger (grapefruit size)

ERIS enters from stage-right, stops in spotlight.

ERIS (soliloquy)
I’m here again. Same kettle of stars.
Why does it have to happen over and over?
It’s like I wake within a dream, in trouble,
accused. How did things get out of hand?

I’m like a villain in some kind of comic book,
concocting schemes to paralyze the world,
to make them stop their ceaseless, heedless buzzing,
to freeze them where they stand. They have to notice:

I am in control. They’d better listen,
or I will wreck their stupid little lives,
expose the fraud their happiness depends on,
cut the flow of pretense, lies, and favor.

This villain always fails. She’s grandiose.
She fails because of over-active ego,
drunk on the honey-glow of their dismay,
those busy drones who didn’t think to serve her.

The evil genius loves the spotlight, Agh!
My cracks of craven neediness are showing!
Everyone can see my histrionics
are just a cry for help. How pathetic.

No wonder then, the ups and downs repeating.
The genius wants what everybody wants:
the money, drugs, and love, the admiration
that’s only ever offered — as a baited hook.

ERIS walks upstage, notices the Sun is larger than in Scene 1. Along the way, a spotlight reveals half the CHORUS at stage-left.

ERIS returns downstage to her spotlight. Along the way, a spotlight reveals the other half of the CHORUS at stage-right.

ERIS (to the audience)
Sorry. I’ve a bit of bad news.
The gathering we discussed, the grand convergence,
to steer the stars and bring the dawning of
the Age of Aquarius, is cancelled.

The Halley’s Comet tour is going elsewhere,
not even close to here, like this was Lodi.
Halley’s team regrets the inconvenience.
What can I say? You may as well go home.

CHORUS LEFT
Don’t go home. Repeat: do NOT go home.
(Pointing at the audience) Stay, right where you are — at least for now.

ERIS
Again, I’m sorry. You cannot know how sorry.
The show is over. There’s nothing more to see.

CHORUS LEFT
(Urgently) No, don’t do it. Please stay in your seats.

CHORUS RIGHT
Let the people go, if they wanna.
“Go Where You Wanna Go” — that’s our mantra!

Suggested rhythm: go WHERE you WANna GO

CHORUS LEFT
Go where you wanna go, amen to that,
but you don’t have to wanna go right now.

CHORUS RIGHT
When you wanna’s when you gotta go.
If you don’t go, you may not wanna later.

CHORUS LEFT
So IF you WANna NOW, you oughta not.

CHORUS RIGHT
Oughta’s so controlling. Wanna flow.

CHORUS LEFT
We WILL not wanna stay if THEY all go (pointing to the audience).

Halves of the CHORUS converge and begin a circle dance, holding hands.

CHORUS RIGHT
Everybody knows where they are at.

CHORUS LEFT
They wanna go where they will wanna stay.

WHOLE CHORUS
Go where you wanna go. Tune in, turn on.
Go where you wanna go. With Peace and Love.
Go where you wanna go. Our love is free.
Go where you wanna go. It’s Option Three.

As the dance ends, CHORUS forms a half-circle behind ERIS, who walks back and forth, pondering.

ERIS
Option One or Option Two. Why
no Option Three? Take a little time,
a space for self-flection — calming down.
Why can I not simply be myself?

CHORUS (in unison, discordantly)
Because you’re Discord. Discord. Discord. Discord.

ERIS
Isn’t there a vital role for Discord,
testing social bonds so they are strong?

CHORUS (severally)
You are restless, troubled, seeking trouble,
acting out, and getting more extreme.

ERIS
Okay. There’s that. It’s time to make some changes.

CHORUS (abruptly after “changes”)
Get some help!

ERIS
Help for a stranded ego…
See a shrink for mood-leveling drugs?

CHORUS
Those are not the drugs we recommend.

ERIS
Take the plunge with Jesus as my savior?

CHORUS
Sorry, pagan gods need not apply.

ERIS
What off-earth is a girl supposed to do?

CHORUS
How about an outpatient program?
Share your bottled Pain of Life with others.

(Severally, stepping forward to speak)
Hi, I’m Eris. I get high on Discord.

Sweet and clear for almost thirty minutes!

Relationships? Not me. I break ’em up.

My golden apple necklace (touches her necklace) holds a memory,
a wedding day that birthed a world war.
I ought to be ashamed. But what I feel
is the thrill of throwing a rock at a glass window.

Awkward pause

My hobbies are the planets AND ballistics!

Enter CERES downstage, stage-right. As lights dim at mid-stage, our view of the CHORUS fades. They break their semi-circle and sit in two lines, left and right, forming a runway toward the Sun.

CERES
Eris, mischief goddess, what’s going on?
I heard it didn’t go so well with Neptune.

ERISI’m contemplating Options One and Two.
There has to be some kind of Option Three.
I cannot kumbaya with Neptune’s moons,
but then the Great Beyond … It’s all too much.

Or not enough. I feel the need of friction,
clash, commotion. I hate their smug complacence,
and yet I need them — people! (With a scornful laugh) I’ve heard it sung
that people who need people are the luckiest.

ERIS, feeling her loneliness, is overcome, sobs.

CERES (hugging ERIS, with a cradle-rocking motion)
There, there, darling. Everything
will be all right. You’ll see. There, there.

ERIS (stepping back from CERES)
I see it now. Don Quixote was right.
I’ve gotta be me. You see it? (Singing) I’ve gotta be me.

CERES
Darling, that was Sammy Davis Jr.

ERIS
A giant or a windmill. Who can say which?
You see what’s right, the choice that’s right for you.

CERES
What are you seeing now as Option Three?

ERIS
I feel the gravitational pull increasing.
It’s Neptune reeling me in. My hold is slipping.
I’m sliding, turning sideways — on black ice.
You see the Sun is bigger — slowly, slowly.

The Sun is a dome-shaped balloon made of nylon or similar lightweight material. It inflates by electric fan. The dome swells from grapefruit-size against the backdrop to a 12-foot diameter. Over the next dozen lines, ERIS and CERES watch the Sun growing.

ERIS
I’m Discord. I won’t go down without a fight.
Neptune may be vast, but Discord’s older.

CERES
Eris, think. What are you going to do?

ERIS
I’ll have to slide as far as Neptune pulls,
but then I’ll slip his grip and keep on sliding.
In a long graceful dive, I’ll splash the Sun.
Along the way, I’ll aim to puncture Jupiter.

CERES
Will Jupiter intersect your line of sight?

ERIS
I’ll see what can be done when I get close.
I’m bigger than Halley’s Comet. He will feel it.
Even if I miss, he’ll know I buzzed him.
I’ll wave and pass along your kind regards (flipping the bird).

As the Sun reaches full size, its lighting increases and other areas go dim, so ERIS and CERES are silhouetted.

CERES
It doesn’t have to end this way. There’s time.

ERIS
It’s time. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
That goes for a woman too. Good night, Mother.

ERIS turns to face the Sun. She is a black figure in the center of its disk, her arms spread slightly, like a gunfighter. CHORUS members each raise a tiny light, showing the runway,

Music by cello, viola, and violin, with electric guitar joining in — “The Weight” (Robbie Robertson, 1968). Lyrics optional.

ERIS walks in place, facing her moment with courage, like a hero. As the song’s refrain begins, she runs in place, arms flailing.

CERES
Eris, come back. Please. Come back to me.

As the refrain ends, ERIS runs in slow-motion to the Sun, throws herself into its puffy mass, her hands outstretched and pulling the fabric around her.

Music veers from the melody into discord.

Curtain closes. Music fades.

CERES is alone in front of the curtain.

CERES
Another girl gone. Destroyed, for what?
And I’m the one who’s left to carry on.

Music resumes as CERES exits, stage-left.

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Appendix: How to Read Blank Verse

• Five beats per line.
• Many lines contain a mid-line pause or full stop.
• Most 3-syllable words are one beat (GRAVity, not GRAV-i-TEE). Trust your ear.
• Don’t emphasize a minor word for the sake of bouncy rhythm.
• Read most lines as natural speech. When a passage feels “poetic,” let the rhythm roll.

You’re an attractive mass. One by one,
you don’t amount to much, but as a group > > > > > [“as” js minor, unstressed]
you have some pull. Trust me, gravity matters, > > > > > [mid-line full stop]
the more so near the edge — the heliopause. > > > > > [two-beat word]

We’re far as you can go and feel the Sun,
assuming you’re all trans-Neptunian objects.
But maybe not. Are you from out of town,
just passing through? Something you should know: > > > > > [mid-line full stop]

The solar gravity thrill-ride starts from here. > > > > > [gravity, one beat]
You feel its steady pull, gently at first, > > > > > [pauses mid- and end of line]
bending your course, hauling you subtly in > > > > > [“in” is usually minor]
toward a distant source, not your choice > > > > > [pause mid-line]
but something big — like Grand Canyon big > > > > > [Grand Can, beat-beat]
but a million Grand Canyons, times a thousand —
and lit on fire! with all the gasoline
the Earth will ever produce, times a billion.
And possibly times a billion times again.
My math is not so hot. Give me a break.
The Goddess of Discord doesn’t do statistics.
If feud is what you want, then I’m your girl.
For crunchy numbers, talk to Jupiter Corp. > > > > > [Jupiter, one beat]
He’s got a hundred moons‘ll square your root.
We all have our departments, niche pursuits.
Mine is office politics… I’m Eris. Miss Discord. > > > > > [politics, one beat]

What was I saying before? Right, gravity. > > > > > [3 beats in a row]

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