copyright © 2003 Mike Rothschild

                                "Yellow Harvest"
                               By Mike Rothschild
               At LIGHTS UP, Boy and Girl are walking into boy's apartment.
               Boy walks with a noticeable limp.

                                   BOY
                         Well, this is my place.

                                   GIRL
                         It's nice. It's cozy.

                                   BOY
                         It's tiny. But it's home. You want
                         a drink? I have beer and... beer.

                                   GIRL
                         I'll have a beer then.

               Boy limps over and grabs a beer from offstage.

                                   GIRL (cont'd)
                         Can I ask you, something? I wanted
                         to know how you got your limp.

                                   BOY
                         I was shot.

                                   GIRL
                         Oh my God! What happened?

                                   BOY
                         I took a bullet in 'Nam.

                                   GIRL
                         Vietnam? You look pretty young to
                         have been in the shit. 

                                   BOY
                         No, I wasn't in the War. I was
                         there last month on business.

                                   GIRL
                         Ohhh. Why were you there?

                                   BOY
                         The harvest.

                                   GIRL
                         So you work as like an agricultural
                         missionary or something?

                                   BOY
                         No, no. I harvest people.

                                   GIRL
                         You harvest...people?

                                   BOY
                         The poor, homeless and feeble can
                         be harvested and turned into all
                         sorts of useful products for middle
                         America. (TURNS TO AUDIENCE) From
                         the skin, we make footballs,
                         lampshades and covers for expensive
                         cars. The organs are processed into
                         the hot dogs you eat at your local
                         bar. The indigent have many more
                         uses than begging for change and
                         screaming about Jesus.

               The boy turns back to the girl, who is aghast.

                                   GIRL
                         That's evil. Who would buy humans?

                                   BOY
                         The usual. Starbucks, Disney, the
                         Salvation Army. Rich, white people
                         can make bank off poor, yellow
                         people. Vietnam is full of them!

               She gets up.

                                   GIRL
                         You're a horrible person and I hope
                         you burn in hell. Don't call me.

               He stands up after her.

                                   BOY
                         Wait. I shouldn't have told you.
                         Not everyone can handle it, but
                         you're special. If you can put my
                         job aside, I'd love if you stayed
                         and had a drink with me. Please?

                                   GIRL
                         Well...there's so many poor people.
                         If corporations can clean up the
                         streets and make a profit for their
                         shareholders, who am I to protest?

               She's about to open the can...

                                   BOY
                         That beer was made from the blood
                         of poor children.

                                   GIRL
                         Oh god!

               She runs away, off stage.

                                   BOY
                         We don't kill everyone! Some we
                         sell into slave labor! (PAUSE) I
                         really do have an evil job. But
                         it's better than being an actor.

               BLACKOUT
THIS SCRIPT IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR


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