A Play in One Act
(A perfectly grey landscape. The muddy banks of a muddy river. The far shore hidden in a thick grey mist. The sky covered uniformly by depthless clouds. A light rain falling noiselessly overall. Three old grey women wearing ragged peasant robes huddle by the banks of the river.)
Who knows what amoeba may be growing in those grey hills across the river where Count Odin and his great sword Farradin lie awaiting.
Shall we take up our pitchforks and our scythes and clubs, cross the river and quell it, if anyone has dared to raise a revolt against us?
No. Telamon has banished them all. He said we would never need fight again. If any are left who still conspire, they will of themselves soon die off
What is this gathering? Why are you standing here?
We saw a glow in the hills across the river and feared that the heathen you banished might still be living in hope of return.
No. There are none.
(The three old women disperse into their
grey huts in the swirling fog.)