View Full Version : Viridian Dreams

May 1st, 2006, 1:33 PM
Author's Note: This is my first attempt at scriptwriting. I realize full well that I'm no great dramatist, as well as that this is shorter than a good many one-acts. Still, I thought I'd give it a shot, work my way upwards. Please note that this is NOT a Pokemon-based play, but a play set in the Pokemon world, written by a man living there for whom Pokemon are a fact of life, and consequently, not the focus of the story. I've attempted to use Pokemon, instead of a focus, as a symbolic device though it is questionable as to whether I've succeeded in that. Also, please note that this is a SCRIPT, not a scriptfic. It was written with the intention of performance. EDIT: I'd ask a mod to please add an appropriate rating to the title... I kinda forgot...


A drama in one act by

James “Ozy” Devins


The play opens on a grassy field between the sleepy burg of Pallet Town and the title city. Viridian’s skyline is dimly visible in the background. There are several ledges visible onstage, though for the most part, the set should be open for movement of the characters. The only other set piece should be an unused, decaying, and partially boarded-over well. The lighting should evoke the feel of a reasonably sunny day without washing out the stage.

(ENTER ALLISON. She is an older teenager, perhaps 19 without much physical beauty to her. Small of chest and mousey in appearance, she is thin, perhaps boney with thick, wire-rimmed glasses. She wears deliberately baggy clothing and appears detached from the world, though happy. Her voice is singsong, and when not speaking, should look around with an odd fascination. Her naïveté should giver he an almost-literal interpretation of the world. Behind her follows an Eevee.)

ALLISON (Dreamily singing): Sunshine on my shoulders/Makes me happy… Mother’s old lullaby before they took her away. Where did they put her again? (The Eevee mewls in confusion.) Oh, right, you didn’t know her, did you? (Eevee shakes her head and pounces at a seemingly open spot onstage, near a ledge.)

VOICE (Both male and annoyed): OW! Get the **** thing off of me!

ALLISON: What is it, dearling? (Eevee hastily backs away.)

(VOICE stands and brushes itself off huffily. It is a male of perhaps 23 years with shoulder-length brown hair under a solid-red baseball cap facing backwards. He wears a denim jacket, black blue jeans, and a loose, button-up shirt with a comic book hero emblazoned upon it. All should be appropriately mussed. Both his voice and actions are explosive, lively, overdone. His voice should be appropriately rough, matching his language. His manner should resemble a tightly-wound spring. His name, though yet unrevealed, is MIKE.)

MIKE: Your Eevee, that’s what! (He gestures towards it, now cowering behind ALLISON.) Honestly, I’m trying to nap!

ALLISON: Shouldn’t you have a tent?

MIKE: Tell that to my ****face of a father who decided to kick me out.


MIKE: What the hell else’d he do? (He casts a hateful glance behind him towards the Viridian skyline.) To hear him tell it, I’ve been nothing but an ungrateful burden since the day I was born and I’ve deserved this for years. What with Mom gone, he finally got his wish. Been, like, three days now and no one’ll take me in. Seems they think I’ve got sticky fingers. Been scrounging grass and garbage.

ALLISON (Vaguely): I’m sorry.

MIKE: Who needs pity, Stick? (The nickname is not derisive in the slightest, just another of his mannerisms.)

ALLISON: For them, I mean. If you were less you, they might have pity. (She resumes singing.)

MIKE: What’d I just say about pity? Ah, forget it. See ‘ya around, Stick.

ALLISON: No you won’t.

MIKE: Huh? Didn’t anyone teach you what to say? Manners, that bull? (He seems not to realize the irony of this statement.)

ALLISON: They like me to be honest and we’re going different ways. Good-bye, Boy Who Calls Me Stick.

MIKE: Ah, screw you and your Eevee. (Eevee cowers further as he turns stage left.)

ALLISON: I’m a virgin and I’d ask that you not copulate with my Eevee. I need her for the League.

MIKE: (Swivels violently and glowers at ALLISON.) ****ing literalist! Don’t you ever get out?

ALLISON: People don’t like me. I live in my imagination. (MIKE growls under his breath. She continues, regardless.) It’s not like I care. I almost pity them for their world sometimes. Like you.

MIKE: Why the hell should you pity me?

ALLISON: It’s not your father that brought you down, you know. It’s the world and you living in the world.

MIKE: What are you talking about, Stick?

ALLISON: You care too much about your fortunes. About your parents. You live in the future, or the past, or the present instead of in your dreams. Dreams are why I’m here. Where are yours?

MIKE (Grumbling): Only dream I ever had was to shoot my bastard father. (Eevee walks over to him, nuzzling his leg. He seems not to notice her.)

ALLISON: (Reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wallet. She hands him some money.) There’s a store that sells guns in Pallet Town. I never liked them myself, but dreams are worth it. I hope yours comes true. (She seems entirely oblivious to what she has done.)

MIKE: (Takes the money and nods.) You ain’t so bad, Stick. See ‘ya around.

ALLISON (Vaguely): Maybe.


A grim parody of the first scene. There is now just the barest suggestion of greenery on the ground. The lighting is much darker, suggesting clouds and the dilapidated well has traces of blood on it. A hand clings morbidly to one of the wellwalls.

(Enter MIKE. His appearance is now more disheveled, and, if anything, he seems more on edge, more explosive.)

MIKE: *****! C’mere! (There is a sound of howling wind, reminiscent of laughter.) Shut the **** up! Why you gotta toy with me like that! Dreams my ***! Look at me! LOOK AT ME!!! (The wind continues to laugh.) Huh. Stick. I could’a broken her. I’d be happier. She’d be happier. She’d be living her ****ing dreams and I’d be a street kid. Just a street kid. Should’a wasted her instead of living this **** nightmare. (His voice now seems brazen, metallic.) STICK!!! (He holds the gun up to his head.) HOW’S THIS FOR A DREAM, SLUT?! (He pulls the trigger as the wind rises, drowning out the sound. It still seems like laughter as his body falls backwards, to where he was sleeping before. As he dies, the scene brightens again.)


May 2nd, 2006, 2:26 PM
That was... a little dark and upsetting... Uh... Well written, though... and that's what's important... *shivers*

It was a little hard to follow, I'd suggest adding a few things, perhaps a little more to give more of an idea on just how deep Mike and Allison's characteristics run...

May 2nd, 2006, 8:03 PM
Kinda serious... But its ok though...

May 3rd, 2006, 8:26 PM
*shudders* Morbid. Dark. Depressing.

Nonetheless, quite good.

It was not exactly an enjoyable read, but then(rather obviously...), it was not supposed to be. It sent shivers down my spine, it was so well-written. I could picture in my mind exactly how this would be played out on-stage. Keep up the excellent English skills, ~Ozy~...

Meh, nevermind. Disregard this post, as I'm just saying everything that's already been said. This comment is completely unimportant, as it is only saying what others have covered previously. Erase it from your memories, if you will.

*wanders off in no particular direction with no specified destination in mind*