They Need To Be Fed

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THEY NEED TO BE FED

A mini opera

THE CAST

(in order of appearance):

The Cannibal Choir

A dead young man

A government official

A street musician

The Muffin Man

Aminta

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1: Meat!

The night is lit in red and yellow. A choir of singers come forth, gliding angelically in humming in perfect harmony, while one of them recites –

WOMAN:

“On the sixth day, our Maker said:

Let there be war.

Let there be passion.

Let there be dreams and ambition.

Let all of humanity consume one another

Let one man aim to kill the other.

Let the biggest eaters hold

the people’s dreams in their bellies.

Let there be – ”

MAN:

“– MEEAATT!”

The Cannibal Choir breaks into a lively tune over the hearty chords of an old church piano.

CHOIR:

“Which red-blooded lover doesn’t love a pound

of medium-rare over the fire?

Who hasn’t indulged in the flesh fantastic,

Just to stoke their desire?

To immortalise your victory,

It takes the meat of your enemy

Let this be our ode to the glorious flesh

Let this be our tower;

Praise our makers, our warring leaders

For the foes that we devour!”

As they celebrate their dark gods and their joyous feasting, a dead young man wanders into the scene, singing of his murderer. His tragic tune is interspersed with the Cannibal Choir’s.

DEAD MAN:

“She sees them in flowers

She sees them in dreams

She sees them drowned

In sirens and screams

She has little raw things

that she lured away

with her motherly song

And her hungry ways…”

CHOIR:

“A Beacon of Boldness, An Eater of Dreams

Is the ultimate position

To conquer hearts and to cut off heads

Is the height of great ambition

We line up to slay them and feast on their sins

We share the spoils with our kith and our kin”

DEAD MAN:

“She chews up their shadows

She chews up their skin

She chews up their wishes

Till they’re dry and thin.”

CHOIR:

“Aminta, Aminta! Goddess of the hunt!”

DEAD MAN:

“Aminta, my Aminta! Your teeth are shining bright”

CHOIR:

“Aminta, our lady! You’re a lean and lovely sight”

DEAD MAN & CHOIR:

“Aminta, oh Aminta…Tonight is cannibal night!”

The music ends on a big rolling note. Then the scene drops into darkness.

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2: Do You Know The Muffin Man?

A portly, middle-aged government official is sitting at a coffee shop.

He’s getting up and brushing off crumbs, when a scruffy thirty-something man sitting just beside his table greets him with a raised hand. He tips his hat in return. Then the man (who is a street busker) asks him a strange question.

BUSKER:

“Do you know the Muffin Man

Who lives on Drury Lane?”

OFFICIAL:

“I do not know the Muffin Man.

Though I’ve heard he is insane.”

They both get up from their seats, with the official trying to look nonchalant. The labourer senses his curiosity, however, and jabs him lightly in the arm, continuing –

BUSKER:

“Do you know the things he eats

and what his oven holds?”

OFFICIAL:

“How should I know what’s to his taste?

Jelly, perhaps, and rolls.”

His eyes glaze over a little as he says this – the look on his face says, “Mmmm, jelly rolls.” The labourer jabs him again, harder this time, much to his annoyance.

BUSKER:

“It is not jelly; it is not rolls;

It is the meat-crunch of their bones.

The bones, my friend, the bones he plants

Beneath the earth when he’s alone.

Do you hear his piper’s song

That brings the bacon home?

And how hastily the children come

to meet him in his truck?”

The official’s curiosity is replaced by irritation – and an awareness that his break time is well past. He brusquely brushes the busker off.

OFFICIAL:

“Dear man, I’ve better things to do.

And I do not give a fuck.”

The official leaves. The busker throws up his hands up and says to himself, “Stupid ignorant pouf!”

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3: A Humble Man

A large, hungry-looking man takes her place. His lips glisten in an almost obscene manner. His eyes shine with glints of desperation.

MUFFIN MAN:

“It’s a new day, a good day

To take a child and dance the night away

And breathe the smell of untried flesh

And meat that is red, and raw, and fresh.”

He walks along the road, and comes to a large colourful truck hawking ice cream, cupcakes and lollipops. The melody becomes perky, jaunty.

MUFFIN MAN:

“What else can a humble man ask of you?

I give muffins and candy to those who are good

I give nice, sweet things to those who are my food.

I take no cash from any of you.

All I take is a bit of blood.

A bit of warmth. A bit of this,

A bit of that

From the brains you keep

Beneath your hat.”

He sighs, apparently misunderstood. He takes off his hat and hangs it on the truck.

MUFFIN MAN:

“No one uses hope except when hopeless.

No one sees their dreams except in dreams.

No one needs their souls, or so it seems.

So why

Can’t I

Have some?”

The Muffin Man hops onto his truck and rings his bell. “Muffins, cakes, ice cream! Candy and other sweet things!” he calls. He drives off and his shouts fade away.

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4: Ballad of a Streetwalker

Dusk is falling on the sleepy town. As the crowd thins and people head off home, a lone street musician is playing a sweet, simple tune on his harmonica.

BUSKER:

“Well, the dust settles into the road again

And the cafés are ready to close

And it’s all so sweet and yet destined to die

Like a wonderful, withering rose

I see that young woman has just been kissed

By the man that’s she’s loved for so long

Will they ever get out

Of the trap that’s about

To feed on the young and the strong?”

More harmonica, playing a variation of the opening tune. A young boy passes by and drops some coins at his feet.

BUSKER:

“I say, Child, can you sing me a melody

But don’t sing it so loud they can hear

For they’ll sweep off your spirit

And do bad things to it

Then they’ll feast and grow fat on your fear.”

The young boy’s eyes widen; he decides to move on. The busker nods at him and continues singing.

BUSKER:

“Those who dream fullest

Will disappear soonest

While those who think small will survive

And you think it’s unfair,

But do you really care

As long as you wake up alive?

My time may come later than others.

Well, these skinny arms don’t bear much meat.

For I’m just a street-walker

Whose daydreams grow smaller

With each day I sing on the street.”

He plays a brief closing melody; then puts his harmonica away, gathers up the day’s earnings and leaves.

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5: Lullaby

In the shadows, a lean and beautiful young woman (Aminta) appears. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, dreamy. Her lips glisten like one who is fresh from feeding.

AMINTA:

“Hi-i-i-i-igh

Hi-i-i-i-igh

High on the blood of yesterday

Sweet wishes, sweet sleep."

We see her cradling a child who appears to be slumbering deeply against her chest.

AMINTA:

“Sleep deep, for there are no more

Nightmares to be had

I’ll cradle you close to my chest.

Dreams will not turn bad.”

When she lets the child fall back into bed, the little girl’s face has grown slack and grey.

AMINTA:

“Dreams will be devoured

Digested and drowned

Never to be found.

Babies and boys, women and girls

Men and halflings of the world

Close your eyes and open your hearts!

Red, dripping, beautiful hearts

I love you. All of you.

My love is unconditional

Full and ripe, irrational

I am your dark mother.

Come and I will smother

you softly.”

Aminta is joined by the Muffin Man – who, like her, looks full and sated. He licks his lips and sings with her.

MUFFIN MAN:

“We hunt in the dark,

We hunt in the day.

We hunt the hopes”

[TOGETHER]:

“...That you lock away.

Let them sing, let them breathe

Don’t keep them beneath

Your skin where they’ll die.”

AMINTA:

“What you don’t use”

MUFFIN MAN:

“We will;”

AMINTA:

“What you don’t need,”

MUFFIN MAN:

“We’ll kill.”

[TOGETHER]:

“Precious, dark, sweet.

Feed us with meat.

Precious, dark, sweet

In dreams we will meet

In dreams we will meet.”

Aminta and the Muffin Man clasp hands, grow wispy, and start to levitate. Finally they appear to fade into the air, vague and light as a dream.

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5: They Need To Be Fed

As they melt away, the dead young man reappears. He is with a small, curvy young woman who – like him – has left the mortal coil. Their hands are clasped. They enter the scene like a boy and girl making their first appearance at a debutante ball.

The scene lights up to reveal a ballroom decorated with silver bones. Music swells as the Cannibal Choir appear. The young man and woman begin to waltz.

CHOIR:

“They need to be full

with baskets of meat

And sweet, plump things

Tied up tight and neat”

The chorus of voices grow clearer as four undead people join the waltz. One of them is the fat government official, who looks especially bloody (while the rest merely look grey and drained).

CHOIR:

“They need to be brimming

with blood and bones

till they’re bloated and big

and heavy as stones

They need to be fed

They need to be fed

Clothed in your skin

They need to be fed.”

As the song goes on (and grows in volume), more and more people stream in. They all pair up and fall into the dance, waltzing away in this grand purgatory.

CHOIR:

“They must harp on your hopes

They must swallow your dreams

They must be cloaked

in your cries and your screams

They need to be fed

They need to be fed

Decorated in death

They need to be fed.

When all else is silent,

When all else is gone

The Devourers of Dreams

Will rise and reign on

They need to be fed

They need to be fed

Meat-eaters, dreamsweepers

They need to be fed.”

The dark, shadowy edges of the scene brighten to reveal a dark splendid ballroom. At the top of a grand stairway is Aminta and the Muffin Man, holding hands as they descend upon their ghostly monarchy.

AMINTA & MUFFIN MAN:

“Keep us near or keep us far

Think us alive or think us dead

But remember that we are never full.

When dreams go astray, we Will Be Fed!”

This grand finale sees everyone frozen in mid-dance. Then the lights go off until only dim outlines of the still bodies are left.

In the midst of this suspended scene, the busker comes down the stairway and weaves between the undead waltzing couples.

He strikes up a tune in a reprise of his earlier Ballad.

BUSKER:

“My love,

don’t let others steal your thoughts

Or your sweet, careless, flung-about lives

And watch out for those strangers

Who smell sharply of danger

For their teeth and their hearts are like knives.

So this is the story

An overblown melody

Of music, of meat, and of dreams;

And our lives are too brief

To be singing of grief

So let’s close up and sew up the seams.”

He plays his harmonica one last time. As he reaches the final lingering note, the last few lights go out.

-END-

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