My Pedigree Hails From Mechanics

Thud thud kerthunk kerthunk
The sounds the old clunker of an engine -
the remains of my oil-rotted heart beating
so heavily in my chest as I hoist your words
from a piece of heavy machinery,
trying to dissect, to discern, to theorize and postulate
what exactly I did wrong.

Your heart is purring like the engine
in a well-maintained collector's
fifty-nine Cadillac.
The noise and rumble is entirely different
than the fading beats of the Model-T
that takes up long-empty garage space
in my chest cavity.

I imagine God is much like a small boy
with a set of toy cars to play with
and brightly painted inter-locking track
with which he plays out our lives
as nothing more than a game,
setting us up on a miniature collision course,
our two cars humming for disaster at every turn
and squealing and giggling with delight as we slam together
at the most awkwardly constructed loop on the course.

And on the worst of days,
I feel like you've resigned me to my fate
and retired me to the junkyard
for people to pick over my body for parts,
varied and sundry amusements and accouterments of days gone by.
Hands of strangers poking and prodding,
wondering if my leather interior is real.
Of course it is.

And an oil leak that will never cease
keeps pouring out from under my hood,
lubrication flows freely
as you rev my engine,
taking me out of neutral and all the way into overdrive.
Motor mount tears fall to the asphalt,
as you drive on without me.

Love Note From a Suicide

Don't ask, just don't. I've been channeling the late great E.A. Poe as of late and I've always been a morbid person. Emotions bubble up when you don't want them to and don't always come in the form you wish they would. I don't want to have to put a suicide disclaimer on every piece of work I write that's morbid or from the perspective of someone dead and long gone - so let it be said now: I am not suicidal, I am not contemplating suicide. I write what comes to me. And as the light shone golden upon the trees of this small Appalachian town, as I sat in the car and felt the arid breeze upon my face, the words struck with full force. And this is the result.


"Love Note From a Suicide."

Here I sit upon a ledge
looking down so far,
my hands are torn from gripping the edge,
I wonder when I will fall.
I fell not once, but twice for you
my efforts gone unseen;
I fell and dropped and climbed again
among countless other deeds.
And now I sit on edge again,
wondering how far I'll go
to keep your eye and have your heart,
a love I will never again know.

I jump again and laugh as I fall,
floating so free above.
I speak these words to you my dear,
now on the wings of a dove.
Listen so closely to the wind,
and feel my heartfelt shame,
the rains will come soon to this place
to wash away my name.
All that's left of me is yours my love,
floating on the skies,
I regret the words I never spoke:
whispering them only in cries.

Let go of your ledge and jump with me,
falling opposite: up to the sky.
Feel my laughter and hear my pain
carried by wings on high.
I loved you then,
I love you still,
but now you shy away.
Never forget the words we spoke
upon that heat-sickened day:
"Never another,
Never again:
This spot in my heart is all yours."
Words you take for granted now,
my monument stuck in the ground.

You were never brave enough,
to storm those seas of blood:
the battle you said you'd wage for me:
a battle you'd never begun.
Let it be known that even now,
as I hover above this land,
my heart was never aught but yours,
Yours, my sad little man.

Grieve not now at the loss of me,
the love you gave away,
Feel nothing but the heart of she,
she who begs you to stay.
The world is no less vibrant now
without me in your life.
Spare me not another thought,
go home and comfort your wife.

I never meant to fall for you,
although I'm glad I did.
I didn't mean to fall so far
that I fell right off the grid.
I fell so fast, and broke so hard,
there's nothing left but dust:
Never forget, my dear little muse,
I left you because I must.

It wasn't my grip that loosed the edge,
I didn't want that end,
But the thought of our broken pledge,
made my will take bend.
Without resolve and the comfort of you,
I slowly lost my mind.
All that's left to speak of now
are butterfly wings frozen in time.

Mourn not for me, my lion dear,
remember deep in your heart
the love we had was always doomed
and fated from the start.
Cry not for me, hold onto she,
the one you've been looking for.
I could never have given you that,
although I offered you more.

Fear not my darling at my demise
you only must turn your head
turn your ear on a warm summer night
and listen to the skies:
There I whisper and there I remain
so memorialized by the Gods,
my feelings for you remain unchanged,
though my body rots beneath sod.

So long as I lived, I promised you
I would try to find a way:
I failed my goal and I let go
But I still love you all the same.

I'm Not.

If you were to peel back the layers of who I am,
you would not want to know me.
Flay flesh from muscle,
rend muscle from bone,
tear through the viscera
and what would you find?
Like a dog's stomach on X-ray
a misshapen mass of
errata that should not exist.
Bits of brick and mortar
stone and sand
the crushed shells of those
who tried to get inside.
A writhing, dark mass
of depression that just won't
be calmed by antacids.
A small light spot on the X-ray film,
is it a mistake, a problem with the film?
Or is it hope? Clawing forth from the gaping maw?
Who is to say
That you ever really knew me at all?
There's only one way to find out.
Grab a scalpel and go.

It Was Only Because I Loved You

You:
You are the Arthur to my Morgana. You are the promises broken and the skies turned gray, heavy with clouds. My tears burst forth, oozing a thick, pendulous sadness that lingers in the air around me. What am I to say to you? What left is there to say, but to recall better times of bitter memories with a sorrow so sweet it tastes like cherry cordial on my lips?

Howling to the moon in anguish, I am an elm tree on the exterior - smooth bark and twisting trunk, holding steady at the root, trying to keep it together because I'm just as much of a danger to you as you are to me. Inside, rotting away, picked at little by little by these termite-like thoughts. I am not as strong and steady and rooted as I may seem: A caress just as well as a kick could knock me to the ground.

And how can I say this to you? My lion, my pride? How can I play these words off my tongue so as not to offend, so as not to cause you any more agony than I already have? How do I say these words that I have said not once, not twice, but so many times before? How can I make these wishes true, how can I make a spark come alive, when you want nothing more to do with me than a living body to warm your bed on the cold nights when my soul howls like the coyotes, a plaintive plainsong that echoes through the corridors of my very being, rattling me? How can I say this all to you when your eyes lay elsewhere?

Not once, but many times, I have felt your hands upon me. Not once, but a thousand times have you whispered words in my ears that could make a courtesan blush and a priest bow in humility. Not once, but forever, you promised I would have a spot in your heart - yes, a spot, my love. Something to be scrubbed at time and time again, a blemish on an otherwise perfect life - a spot that won't come out no matter what bedamned way you try.

And maybe I did myself in - maybe I fell too hard, too fast. Can you blame me? You're so full of yourself sometimes, your life so full of promise as you look onward past me, toward her, toward your new life, that you fail to see what you leave behind: and listen close, I will admit this only once - you leave behind the saddened little girl who is frustrated, hurt, angry and confused because she is being denied something that worked so well, when she tried to behave so good.

In moving on, you leave me behind - clutching the tattered strings of a tapestry quickly unweaving around me, the threads pulling and bursting as you walk and run faster, and farther, away from the life we could have had -- had only one of us been brave, had only one of us spoken up. But which of us did that burden fall to? I cannot say, I cannot lay fault. I won't.

My eyes well up as I write this....you're always so near and it stings and pricks at me, my blood buzzing in my ears like a hive of angry bees. You don't even know what we could have been, because you wouldn't even try.

And now I must let go - I know I do. I guess, somewhere, somehow, I always knew I would. I always knew, in the back of my heart, in the back of my head, that you would find any reason that I would be unsuitable for you. Wrong age, wrong weight, wrong religion, wrong touch, wrong love, wrong feeling, wrong everything and anything. It could have been anything and you would have found a reason -- because I am not the one you wanted and I never was.

I'm just sorry I ever allowed myself to admit that I wanted you in my life in a way you would never understand, with a maddening desire you only felt the most barbed, poisoned tip of. I'm sorry that I let myself open to you, feinted when I should have parried, and never ever struck back. I opened parts of myself to you that no one 'fore or since or again will have...the more esoteric pieces of my being and more of the physical ones as well. I offered you the world, but the world I offered wasn't well enough - and I can understand that, I suppose.

I remember those words you whispered in my ear, those tearful moments of confessions, of words not wanting to be spoken but pouring out anyway. Deer crowding the highway, you confessed. And so did I. And those words I can't take back haunt me, because if I could, I would steal them and horde them away, a dragon with a treasure in the most cliched manner. But I am left empty - in heart, in body. My soul aches. It all aches.

My heart is sliced to pieces now, ribbons to sway in the chilled wind that forces its way through my veins, ribbons floating on air where I used to harbor so much warmth and love. I'm sorry for the hurt I caused......it was only because I loved you.

Do I really need a title?

Bare skin laid out
with a cold inhale
taut muscle ensconced
within yielding flesh.
Will I ever see you again?
I don't know.
Sigh once more
and enjoy this moment
to echo against the mirrors of your mind
again and again
driving you mad
until I must,
simply must,
feel you again
My Love.

Snippet

There are so many times
I sit and stare
out a window frosted over with grease:
Why you?
Why me?
Why here?
Floating on electrical currents
carried by giant monsters constructed
of steel and wood
and powered by the longing that I feel
to go away, to be gone, to get, to go.
Jolting right back into my body,
my tears have long since ceased:
I can't cry over it anymore.
When is it ever easy to realize
It's not you.
It's not me.
It's not us.
It's not here.
It's just not here.
Not for us.

Dust and Delinquents: A Ten Minute Play

I have been suffering from wicked-bad writer's block brought about by writing technical articles all day.

I also had an assignment due for class.


This is what happened. Brace yourselves.

Dust and Delinquents: A Ten-Minute Post Apocalyptic Tale of Tragedy, Love, Coming of Age, Incest, Nuclear Fallout and Violence – Lots of Violence.

By Caitlin Seida

Time: Post-Apocalyptic Alternate Present Day

Characters:

JOHN – The chameleon protagonist who isn't all that he seems.
CINDY – The crass, tough, trash-talking daughter of the town's mayor.

MARK – Cindy's lecherous brother.

JENNY – Cindy's automaton of a sister.

JOSH – Cindy's other brother.

AUNT SALLY – Cindy's practical, if misguided, aunt.

UNCLE BILLY – A tactical-minded gruff figure, Cindy's uncle.

MINISTER – A public official who isn't sure he's always in the right.

TOWNSPEOLE: White, upper-middle class citizens.

LOPEZ'S MEN: People of color eeking out an existance in the destroyed town where they've been marginalized.

ACT 1 SCENE 1: The Street

A blanket lays beneath an alcove carved by the crumbling remains of a building. Mist blankets the area. Two teenagers, JOHN and CINDY, lay on the blanket. Their faces are streaked with mud, their patched, threadbare clothing splattered with gore. Guns and backpacks sit beside them.

CINDY: Just kiss me. It doesn't matter any more.

JOHN: It matters to me. (He reaches out out to touch her. She grabs him and kisses him. JOHN pulls away in shock.)

CINDY: We've lost everything – parents, friends, everything. And you're going to hold out on losing one of two things we've got left –

JOHN: What? Two things?

CINDY: Yeah, John, follow me here. Two things. Our lives and my virginity.

JOHN sits in stunned silence.

JOHN: And you want me to...

CINDY: Yeah, unless you were planning to whore me out...I'm not like the other girls, John. After the bomb struck and everything fell away, the other girls rolled over onto their backs like dogs in heat, begging for it, waiting for someone to come and claim them in hopes of protection. And now what do they have? Jessica from the pharmacy? She's dead – beaten to an inch of her life by her brand new pimp, you know, Silas from the gas station? Yeah, he thought he'd make a killing gathering up all the girls who were willing. And he did – you know, make a killing. (She pauses. John is not amused.)

CINDY: (Shouting) What I'm trying to say is this – I don't give a fuck what you want right now. I'm a grown woman by primal standards – I've had tits and been bleeding monthly for years now. I'm upset, hurt, angry and scared and all I want is a little goddamned comfort and if you won't give me that (She pauses.)
JOHN: (whispers) And what if I won't give you that?

CINDY: If you won't give me that, then I'm going to have to look elsewhere. I thought you actually gave a shit. (She stands, spits some debris from her mouth and looks around.)

NOISES rumble in the distance. A SIREN begins wailing.

CINDY: Shit! (She grabs her gun and runs off stage. JOHN follows suit.)

ACT 1 SCENE 2: The Church

JOHN and CINDY are huddled in a dimly lit, desecrated church. Broken glass, wood and holy wreckage surround them. CINDY is perched by a window. She has her gun in hand, poised to move.

JOHN: What's going on?

CINDY: I haven't got the slightest clue. Canadians, again, I guess. They started raiding the town right after we were bombed. Or the migrants – they took over after they realized all the rich white folks were dead. Lopez – your parent's former gardener – is something of a warlord now. All the women who were deemed fit were rounded up for the breeding program, you know, to repopulate the fucking planet. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I want to live in a world populated from those bit– You should know all this. Where the fuck have you been for the past six months?

JOHN: Running away. Then you found me stuck under that building...you saved me.

CINDY: Well don't get all starry eyed on me, Johnnyboy. I'd kill you in a heartbeat if you turned on me.

TWO MEN step out of the alcoves of the church. They are covered head-to-toe in combat gear. They move toward CINDY, who is still looking out the window. They seize her.

CINDY: HEY! HEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU--- (Her cries fall silent as one of the men knocks her over the head. He turns to JOHN.)

MAN: Thank you so much for returning our dear, darling sister to us. She's been causing so much trouble as of late.

(CINDY'S BROTHER tosses JOHN a pack of food and some coins. John lets them fall at his feet. He looks down.)

JOHN: Shit.

CURTAIN

ACT 2 SCENE 1: Cindy's Bedroom

CINDY lays on a normal looking bed in a normal looking house. Thick curtains are drawn over the windows, obscuring the world outside. CINDY is asleep, but has been cleaned up. She is now wearing a white summer sun dress. CINDY'S BROTHER sits beside her bed. He is wearing a suit and tophat, a walking cane resting beside him.

CINDY: (mumbles, tossing in her sleep.)

CINDY'S BROTHER: There, there, sister. You'll be fine soon enough. (He caresses her cheek. His hand moves lower. Cindy grabs it and bolts half upright.

CINDY: Excuse you?

CINDY'S BROTHER: (laughing, he twists his arm from her grip and smacks her across the face.) Nice to see you awake, sis. The family figured we'd have to go through with it while you were unconscious.

CINDY: The family? Mark, what the hell are you going on about? And what the hell are you wearing?

MARK: Cindy, you can't just run off and start playing renegade “Rambo-Meets-Florence-Nightengale.” We were above the rest of the town and we still are.

CINDY: You died. Mom died. Dad was killed. I saw it.... (she starts to move from the bed, but is pushed down with the tip of MARK'S cane.)

MARK: You did. Mom's dead. Dad was killed by the townspeople he was supposed to keep safe – what good is a mayor when he can't keep order? The rest of us are still very much alive, though. I scraped by, so did Jenny and Josh. Aunt Sally and Uncle Bill have been running the house since Mummy and Daddy's unfortunate end. But this town needs order.

CINDY again tries to move. MARK lunges, and is atop her.

MARK: (whispers) And the town can't have order without rulers, Cindy. You'd make an excellent one – your tactical skills are horrid, I caught you after all. But I caught you. And you're going to rule beside me.

CINDY struggles, trying to push MARK off of her. She screams. MARK kisses her.

JENNY and AUNT SALLY enter. Running to the bed, AUNT SALLY taps MARK on the back.

AUNT SALLY: Not now, Mark. You'll have time enough for that later. (She smiles endearingly at CINDY. CINDY growls.)

AUNT SALLY: Come, dear, I think we have a little bit of explaining to do.

ACT TWO SCENE TWO: The Dining Room

AUNT SALLY, JENNY and CINDY sit around a dining room table. AUNT SALLY and JENNY are drinking tea from delicate cups. CINDY has coffee in a mug and is trying to light a cigarette with trembling hands.

JENNY: You shouldn't smoke, Cin. Mom and dad would have killed you.

CINDY: (bitter) Well mom and dad aren't here, now are they? Bitch.

AUNT SALLY: You'd do well to speak less and listen more, Cindy. Things have changed around here. (She takes the cigarette away, crushing it.) And insubordination won't be tolerated.

CINDY sits in stunned silence.

AUNT SALLY: In the months since White Haven was destroyed, we've made a tidy little life here. We've kept our own safe – your cousins, your uncle Bill and myself, your sister and brothers. We've got ample food stores and we've amassed a group of supporters willing to fight for us, to restore order. But we're missing a figure-head for our movement, something that can give the remaining citizens hope. A model couple – the Kennedies of the New World Order. We can't give you white picket fences, Cindy, but you can give them that hope – a young, capable white woman, married to a strong, capable white leader. A family, a united front.

CINDY: (She sits silent for a while.) What the hell have you been smoking?

JENNY: Cindy, I married Josh. We tried to be what was needed, but it isn't going to happen. I inherited mom's hostile womb – Doctor Freidman figured that one out when I was examined. But you're strong and healthy – headstrong, just like Mark. And you're a virgin.

CINDY: (hysterical) How the hell did you know? And what the hell are you talking about? You married Josh? He's our BROTHER! And so is Mark! And I am sixteen goddamn years old, I am not squeezing out a few puppies and playing house with my own BROTHER!!!!

UNCLE BILLY enters, a gruff, imposing figure. JOHN is in tow, cleaned up and carrying a plate of food. JOHN sits the food on the table, silent. He averts his gaze.

CINDY stands and lunges for him. She is held back by JENNY.

CINDY: YOU! You little rat. You fiend. You – you – you FUCKING JUDAS!

UNCLE BILLY sets a hand on CINDY'S shoulder, pushing her back into her chair.

UNCLE BILLY: Don't blame the boy, Cindy. He was just doing what we all are doing – trying to stay alive. He's been working for us. I figured since you two were dating before the bomb struck, I'd take the lad in.

CINDY fumes, lighting up another cigarette. UNCLE BILLY plucks it from her fingers just as it reaches her lips. He puts it out in JENNY'S cup of tea.

UNCLE BILLY: It's too late to gather White Haven for the wedding. But you're going to marry Mark tomorrow, Cindy. No arguing, no complaints, no but's about it. You've got tonight to make your peace with the idea. And don't try to run....I've got eyes all over this place.

UNCLE BILLY pats JOHN'S back and EXITS.

AUNT SALLY: Escort her to her room, boy. And see that she doesn't leave.

JOHN offers his arm to CINDY. CINDY scorns it and shoves him, EXITING.

JOHN shrugs and follows.

ACT TWO SCENE THREE: Cindy's Bedroom

John sits beside CINDY's bed, where Mark had earlier. He slumps in the chair. CINDY sits cross-legged on the bed, muttering.

CINDY: (whispering) Why John? Why?

JOHN: I did what I had to, Cindy. I did what I had--

CINDY: (voice rising) You knew about all of this?

JOHN: Yes. And your brother is twice the man I'll ever be. (He buries his face in his hands)

CINDY: You're both about even in my book.

JOHN: I love you, Cindy. (his voice cracks, he's crying.)

CINDY: You sure have a funny fucking way of showing it.

JOHN: I just....When your uncle showed me how it was going to work, when he promised me it would all be better....I just want everything back to normal Cindy. Even if it means living on the shadows of your life. I just want everything to be okay.

CINDY: “Okay” and “normal” are two different things. Normal is not going to happen – not now, not ever. Not for a long time. Okay? Well...this isn't okay. I loved you, too, John. And this is so not okay.

JOHN: You, you did? Really?

CINDY: (crying) Yes. I did. It was some Romeo and Juliet style-bullshit. You want to know the difference? Romeo died before he could turn into a backstabbing, drunken asshole and Juliet offed herself instead of growing up, growing fat, popping out a few babies and bringing Romeo his nightly beer before he beat her. And if I could, I swear to the fucking God on high I would kill you right now if I had even the slightest ch--

JOHN cuts her off with a kiss.

CINDY freezes, and slaps him, but doesn't pull away.

JOHN kisses her. His hands roam her body. The lay on the bed.

A sheer curtain falls, showing only their silhouettes moving. John pulls away from CINDY for a moment.

JOHN (from behind the sheer curtian): If I make this okay, will we be okay?

CINDY: If you make this okay, we'll be fantastic.

JOHN: Then this is what we're going to do.

The curtain sets to pleasant sighs and grunts. STAGE LIGHTS dim.

JOHN WHISPERS from the darkness: Didn't think you'd be that good...

A cigarette strikes to light in the darkness.

CINDY: Didn't think you'd go off that quick. What's the plan?

JOHN (his voice fades as he speaks) I'll bring the supplies. Make sure no one helps you get ready tomorrow for the wedding. Be ready for anything we're going to...

CURTAIN

ACT THREE SCENE ONE: Cindy's Bedroom

JOHN is asleep on the chair, his hair and clothing rumpled. CINDY is asleep, similarly disheveled. MARK creeps into the room. JOHN stirs, but doesn't awaken.

MARK creeps to CINDY's side and pulls the covers away. He looks at her, grinning and rubbing his hands together.

MARK climbs into bed next to his sister. CINDY awakens with a shout. JOHN snorts and jostles awake. He turns away from the scene, not without regret.

MARK: Can't I just get a little taste of what's going to be mine, dear?

CINDY: You're creepy, Mark. But....

With a great effort and look of disgust, she kisses MARK.

MARK's hands move to touch her. CINDY pulls away.

CINDY: No more, Mark. Don't you want your bride fresh and new for her wedding? And...(she lowers her voice, trailing a finger down Mark's chest idly) after the wedding?

MARK grins and jumps out of bed. He kisses CINDY's forehead.

MARK: Until then, my little dove.

MARK EXITS, whistling.

CINDY: That was disgusting.

JOHN: You're a good actor.

CINDY: It was still disgusting.

JOHN: You'll get him back. Do you remember the plan?

CINDY nods.

JOHN: Then just stick to it. We'll make it through this.

CINDY reaches out and grasps JOHN's hand.

JOHN: Thank you.

CINDY: For what?

JOHN: For not killing me. For what I had to do...

CINDY: You're not off the hook yet. (She kisses him.)

CURTAIN

ACT THREE SCENE TWO: The Wedding

DAWN. OUTDOORS. Townspeople are gathered around the public square. All white. A gang of disheveled brigands circles, looking antsy. The “brigands” are of every race but white. The dichotomy is clear.

A wedding march sounds from a badly played flute. A minister stands at the center of the square. UNCLE BILLY enters, with CINDY on his arm. CINDY is dressed in a wedding gown, fully veiled. Her hands are clutched to her stomach. She walks stiffly.

MARK stands next to the minister.

CINDY is walked down the “aisle” and left to stand next to her brother. Her other brother stands beside MARK. JENNY stands beside CINDY.

The minister clears his throat.

MINISTER: Let's make this quick. (he pulls his collar) You can't rush God's work, but you can certainly put a rush order on it. (He motions to the brigands and nods.)

MINISTER: Do you, MARK, take CINDY to be your beloved wife? To have and to hold, to cherish and love, to protect and honor, as long or as short as you both shall live?

CINDY snorts with laughter. JENNY pats her back, mistaking it for tears.

MARK: I do. And then some. (His hands fall to CINDY's hips, pulling her close.)

MINISTER (clears his throat again): Do you, CINDY, take MARK to have and to hold, to love and cherish, to submit to and serve, as long or as short as you both shall live?

CINDY (in a shaky voice): I do.

MINISTER: And you attest that until now, you have been untouched by another? That you remain pure and good, innocent for your future husband?

CINDY: Yes.

MINISTER (pulling at his collar.): By entering into this union, you both agree, that of your own free will, you will serve as this town's leaders, protectors and progenitors. You both agree, of your own free will, that you will work to restore and replenish the lives we have lost, and in this union, create new ones for as long as you both are able?

MARK (irrtated): We do. This isn't a legal proceeding. We spend less time on hangings. Hurry up. (his hands roam CINDY's body. She stands motionless.)

MINISTER: Then by the power invested in me by the citizens of White Haven and our Lord above, I now pronounce you husband and wife. MARK, you may kiss your bride.

The TOWNSPEOLE cheer. Mark lifts CINDY's veil and kisses her, deeply. CINDY bites his lip. He pulls away in pain)

MARK: You little bitch!

He moves to strike her. CINDY pulls a knife from the stomach area of the bodice of her gown and runs him through. MARK falls to the ground, dead.

In the commotion, the townspeople are overtaken by the brigands. JOHN fights his way through the crowd. CINDY is shredding her dress, making it easier to move in. She wears combat boots beneath her gown, now sliced and hacked to bits. JOHN carries their packs and guns from earlier. He tosses CINDY her supplies.

JOHN: I told you I'd make it okay. Lopez wanted a pretty penny, but your Uncle Bill won't miss it.

CINDY: And I told you I'd kill you if you ever backstabbed me.

CINDY points the gun in JOHN'S direction, taking aim.

JOHN: But, Cindy....

CINDY lowers the gun, and pulls him in for a kiss.

CINDY: You're forgiven. Silly boy. It may not be normal, but it is okay. Be mine forever?

The scuffle is over, the citizens of White Haven having succumbed to Lopez's men. The TOWNSEOPLE lay dead and dying. LOPEZ's MEN watch, silent.

JOHN: Always.

CINDY kisses him deeply. She picks up her boquet and tosses it into the crowd of LOPEZ'S MEN. They cheer.

JOHN wraps his arm around CINDY and they EXIT, followed by the cheering band of men, some of whom are weeping.

CURTAIN

Fin.