FSW: It's the End of the World As We Know It

Michael's selection for this week was the prescient apocalypse. All too close to bearing fruit, I keep hearing hoof beats and horn blasts. I tell you, if seven brothers club seven baby seals for their seven brides, I'm stocking up on bottled water tequila.

Micheal's already come through this week with a sketch about the day after yesterday. I got chills reading this. Ken followed up with a hopeful story about tolerance, belief, and deli food. Honors for next week's theme fall to him, so be sure to check out his blog for an update to his post.

As usual, if you want to play along with us, email a link to your entry to sketchwar at dreamloom.com.

It's the End of the World As We Know It

INT. LIVING ROOM - DUSK

MARISOL, HECTOR, and BRAD wear tattered rags and sit in the decrepit remains of a once grand living room. Marisol and Hector huddle in one corner, Brad in another. The former captain of industry looks as beaten as his cook and gardener. PHOEBE throws open upstage doors and glides in wearing a short skirt, pressed blouse, and new Christian Louboutins. Her hair and makeup are immaculate. Her arms are full of bags.

PHOEBE

It's so stuffy in here! What is wrong with all of you? It was a beautiful day today, but you're all sitting right where you were when I left this morning. I bet you didn't even get up once.

BRAD

Hector got up once, to shoot a giant ant that was coming toward the house.

HECTOR

Si. I shoot between the eyes.

BRAD

Which ones? It had like, a million.

PHOEBE

And what about you? And Marisol? You just sat there? I bet you didn't even clean and dress the carcass. We haven't had fresh meat in two weeks, but you just left it on the lawn, didn't you? It's probably already gone bad.

HECTOR

No. The flying cats come and drag it to their nest.

MARISOL

They're so pretty. Why I can't have one?

PHOEBE

We've been over this before, Marisol. No dogs or killer mutant cats in the house. Mr. Finley has allergies.

MARISOL

Yes, Miss Phoebe.

PHOEBE

Come on. Come help me with the bags.

The others trudge to Phoebe and take her bags.

PHOEBE (CONT'D)

I found a few cans of pineapple juice under the bar in the Jensen's pool house. I remembered Patrick made those killer hurricanes last Memorial Day.

BRAD

Any Myers left?

PHOEBE

No. No booze. Looks like squatters got it all. But they left the fruit juice.

BRAD

Lucky us.

PHOEBE

You're damn right, lucky us! What's with all of you?

BRAD

What's with us? You're running around town like nothing's wrong, while we're here fighting off killer ants and flocks of flying cats. It's over, Phoebe! The world's over!

Marisol and Hector freeze.

PHOEBE

No, Brad. The world's not over. Your cushy life is over. Your two-martini lunches and Wednesday golf and Thursday afternoons with that tramp, Charlotte Greggson, are over. Life goes on. The world goes on.

(Beat)

Oh? You didn't think I knew about her? I knew, Brad. I! Didn't! Care!

Phoebe is steaming, but keeps it together. She crosses her arms. Hector looks in the last bag, not finding what he wants.

HECTOR

Miss Phoebe, you not bring bullets?

PHOEBE

Of course I did, Hector. Nine mills, .38s, and 12-gauge. They're right here.

Phoebe spins a little and we see the third arm jutting from the center of her back holding one last bag. Her blouse is perfectly tailored to accommodate the extra appendage.

HECTOR

Thank you ma'am.

Hector goes to Phoebe and takes the bag. As he walks away, we see he has two extra eyes on the back of his head.

PHOEBE

No problem, Hector. It's nice to see someone else around here doing his part.

(Stares at Brad)

But you really have to get out of this house more. You too, Marisol. The weather's just been perfect. It's my favorite time of year, when the lung-squid walk up the beach at night to spawn and the ocean burns just a little brighter. Both the moons are full tonight. You and Marisol should take a walk on the overlook.

MARISOL

(Fearful)

The bat-coons!

PHOEBE

Marisol, you know those are a myth. I've never heard a notion as silly as a bat-coon. Now you two go watch the mating dance of the lung-squid before the cock-a-mice come fly off with their eggs.

Marisol and Hector exit.

BRAD

That's just great. The world is burning and you're playing matchmaker.

Phoebe sashays up to Brad. She wraps her two front arms around his waist.

PHOEBE

Someone has to repopulate the world. It certainly isn't going to be us.

BRAD

It's just...you're different since you grew...that.

Phoebe flexes her third arm and strokes his face seductively

PHOEBE

This?

BRAD

No.

(Nods at crotch)

That.

BLACKOUT