Challenge 4 – Due 05/02 at 09:59:59am GMT
Find a short story, or a film, or a poem, or a song, or a… uhm… TV show… or… whateves. Make it into a play and bonus points to anyone who manages to modernise the adaptation.

Based on “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allen Poe.

Cast:

Shasta

Marlon

Scene:

A dingy bedsit. There is little furniture. Peeling wall paper, and rancid carpet. Water drips down the walls. Marlon, a young police officer, is tied to a chair, tape over his mouth. Shasta paces irritably. He carries a gun.

Shasta: Shuh upppppppppppppppppppppp!! Wha you say? Hmmmmm? Hmmmmmm?

Shasta pushes the gun in Marlon’s face. Marlon whimpers.

Shasta: What you say, bitch? Freakin me – I was straight-up fuckin trippin n’ still am; but why do you say dat I be mad, biatch? Da disease had sharpened mah senses – not fucked wit em – not dulled dem wild-ass muthafuckas, fo’ realz. Above all, ma sense of hearin be nang. I heard all thangs up in tha heaven n’ up in tha earth. I heard nuff thangs up in hell yo. So tell me, is I mad, biatch? Prick up n’ observe how tha fuck healthily – how calmly I can rap tha whole story. You beat?

Shasta rips the tape off Marlon’s face, and holds the gun up.

Shasta: Beat.

Shasta cocks the gun.

Shasta: BEAT!

Marlon starts a beat.

Shasta: It be impossible ta say how tha fuck

Tha scam first entered mah dome;

but once conceived, it hustled me

Crazy ass dizzle n’ night.

Object there was none.

Boner there was none.

I loved tha oldschool brutha, tho.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch yo.

Dude had never wronged mah dirty ass so.

Dude had never cussed me y’kno.

I had no need for his wild lil’ freakadelic gold, ho.

I be thinkin dat shiznit was his wild lil’ fuckin eye biaaatch!

Fo’sho, dat shiznit was this muthafucka!

Dude had tha eye of a vulture – a bare blue,

Wit a gangbangin’ cateract over dat shit.

Whenever tha fucka fell tha fuck upon me,

mah blud would go ice, man;

N’ so hot as ball – I made up mah mind ta take tha game of tha oldschool dude,

N’ thus rid mah dirty ass of tha eye alllll muthafuckin day.

Now dis is tha point. Yo ass fancy me owned.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Insane muthafuckas know nuttin.

But yo should have peeped mah dirty ass.

You should have peeped mah dirty ass.

You should have peeped mah dirty ass.

Yo ass should have peeped how tha fuck wisely I dids it

With what mathafuckin stealth

With what tha fuck mad skillz

With what tha fuck shade I laid low!

I was never kinder ta tha old playa

Than durin tha whole week before I capped his muthafuckin ass fo’ realz.

And every last muthafuckin night, bout midnight,

I picked tha lock of his fuckin lil’ door n’ opened it

Oh so sub rosa dawwwwg!

And then, when I had made a openin sufficient fo’ mah head.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Oh, you would have laughed ta peep how tha fuck cunningly I look in!

I moved it slowly – very, straight-up slowly,

So dat I might not disturb tha oldschool manz chill.

Well shiiiit, it took me a time ta get mah whole head thru da door

So far dat I could peep his ass as he lay upon his bed.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Ha! would a dumbass bitch done been so wiz as this,

And then, when mah head was all up in tha room,

I undid tha flashlight stealthy-yoh,

So stealthy – stealthy (for tha door cracked so)

I switch it on just nuff dat a single thin ray fell tha fuck upon tha vulture eye fo’ realz.

And dis I did fo’ seven long nights – every night just at midnight

But I found tha eye always closed;

N’ so dat shiznit was impossible ta do tha work;

Fo’ dat shiznit was not tha oldschool playa whoz ass vexed mah crazy ass yo,

But his Evil Eye fo’ realz fo’ sure.

And every last muthafuckin morning, when tha dizzle broke,

I went boldly tha fuck into tha bedroom,

N’ was rappin courageously ta him, callin his ass by name up in a hearty tone,

N’ axin how tha fuck dat schmoooove muthafucka has kepped tha night.

Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.

So you peep da thug would done been a straight-up profound oldschool brutha,

Indeed, ta suspect dat every last night muthafucka,

Just at twelve, I looked up in upon his ass while da perved-out muthafucka zee’d.

Upon tha eighth night I was mo’ than probably wary up in openin tha door fo’ realz.

A watchz ma rolex moves mo’ quickly than did mine.

Never before dat night had I felt tha extent of mah own powers

Of mah rare depth.

I could scarcely contain mah sick double-g.

To be thinkin dat there I was, openin tha door,

Lil by lil, more n’ more

N’ he not even ta trip of mah secret deedz or thoughts,

N’ you can put dat on yo’ toast, fo sure.

I pissed m’self laughin, all up in tha idea;

N’ like dat schmoooove muthafucka heard me;

Fo’ he moved on tha bed suddenly,

As if the oldschool brutha had clock me.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Now you may be thinkin dat I got out

But no yo. His room be as black as pitch

Wit tha thick darkness, ya get me, ya bitch?

N’ so I knew dat his schmoooove ass could not peep tha openin of tha door,

N’ I kept pushin it on bonj, bonj.

I had mah head in, n’ was bout ta switch on da torch,

When mah thumb slipped upon tha button,

N’ tha oldschool playa sprang outta bed,

Bustin up like a biatch up – “Whoz there?”

I kept like still n’ holla’d nothing.

For a whole minute I did not move a muscle…

N’ up in tha meantime I did not hear his ass lie down.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch yo.

Dude was still chillin up in tha bed listening;

Just as I have done, night afta night,

Hearkenin ta tha dirtnap watches up in tha wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan,

N’ I knew dat shiznit was tha groan of mortal terror.

Shiiit, dis aint no joke.

Dat shiznit was not a groan of pain or of grief

No way! It was tha low stifled sound dat arises from tha bottom of tha ass

When overcharged wit turr.

I knew dat sound well.

Many a night, just at midnight,

When all tha ghetto slept, it has welled up from mah own core,

Deepening, wit its dreadful rap,

Tha terrors dat distracted mah dirty ass.

I say I knew it well.

I knew what tha fuck tha oldschool playa felt,

N’ pitied him I did, tho I chuckled at ass.

I knew dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had been lyin awake

Eva since tha straight-up original gangsta slight noise,

When dat schmoooove muthafucka had turned up in tha bed.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

His fears had been eva since growin upon his muthafuckin ass yo.

Dude had been tryin ta fancy dem causeless yo,

But could not yo.

Dude had been sayin ta his dirty ass

“It be not a god damn thang

but tha wind up in tha chimney.

It’s jus a roach crossin tha floor,”

Or “It be merely a cold-ass lil rat which has done cooked up a single squeak.”

Yes, dat schmoooove muthafucka had been tryin ta comfort his dirty ass:

But dat schmoooove muthafucka had found all up in vain.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch fo’ realz.

All up in vain; cuz

Dirtnap, up in approachin his ass had stalked wit his black shadow before him,

N’ enveloped tha sucka fo’ realz.

And dat shiznit was tha mournful influence of tha unperceived shadow

Dat caused his ass ta feel – although he neither see nor hear

That mah head was in his room.

When I had waited a long-ass time, straight-up patiently,

Without hearin his ass lie down, I resolved ta open a lil

A hella, straight-up lil turn up in tha light,

so check it before ya wreck it.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch.

Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass.

So I opened it – you cannot imagine how tha fuck stealthy, stealthy

Until, a simple dim ray,

Like tha thread of ma sags,

Blasted from up tha crevice n’ fell tha fuck full upon tha vulture eye.

Dat shiznit was open – fuckin wide open

And I lost ma shit as I gazed upon dat.

I saw it wit slick distinctnizz

All a thugged-out dull blue, wit a hideousness

Veil over it dat chilled tha straight-up marrow up in mah bones

But I could not peep a god damn thang

Else of tha oldschool manz grill or person

Fo’ I had pimped up tha ray as if by instinct,

Zakly upon tha damned spot fo’ realz.

And have I not holla’d at you dat what tha fuck you fuck up fo’ madnizz is

But over-acutenizz of tha sense, biatch?

Now, I say, I hua ta mah ears

A low, dull, quick sound,

Like fuckin rain fallin on the ground.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch.

I knew dat sound well, like a muthafucka.

Dat shiznit was tha whoopin of tha oldschool manz heart.

Well shiiiit, it increased mah figut,

As tha whoopin of a thugged-out drum stimulates

Tha gangsta tha fuck into courage.

But even yet I refrained n’ kept still.

I didn’ breathed.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

I held tha light still.

I tried how tha fuck steadily I could maintain tha ray upon tha eye.

Meantime tha hellish beat of tha heart increased.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Well shiiiit, it grew quicker n’ quicker,

N’ louder n’ louder every last muthafuckin minute.

Da oldschool manz terror must done been off tha hook biaaatch!

It grew louder, I say, louder every last muthafuckin minute son!

Do you mark me well I have holla’d at you dat I be nervous:

So I am fo’ realz.

And now all up in tha dead middle of tha night,

In tha dreadful silence of dat oldschool flat,

So strange a noise as dis buckwild mah crazy ass ta uncontrollable fear.

Shiiit, dis aint no joke.

Yet, fo’ some minutes longer I refrained n’ stood still.

But tha whoopin grew louder, louder playa!

I thought tha ass must burst fo’ realz.

And now a freshly stoked up anxiety seized mah crazy ass

The sound would be heard by a neighbour playa!

Da oldschool manz minute had come biaaatch!

With a funky-ass bangin yell, I threw open tha door

N’ leaped tha fuck into tha room yo.

Dude yelled once… just once.

In a instant I dragged his ass ta tha floor,

N’ pulled tha heavy bed over his muthafuckin head.

I then smiled, buzzin, ta find tha deed so far done.

But, fo’ nuff minutes, tha heart beat on wit a muffled sound.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

This, however, did not vex me;

It would not be heard all up in tha wall fo’ realz.

At length it stopped.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Da oldschool playa was dead as fucki.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy yo.

I removed tha bed n’ examined tha stiff.

Yes, da thug was stone dead as fuckin fried chicken.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch.

I placed mah hand upon tha ass n’ held it there nuff minutes.

There was no beats.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch yo.

Dude was stone dead as fuckin fried chicken.

I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch yo.

His eye would shiznit no more of me.

If still you be thinkin me mad,

Yo big-ass booty is ghon be thinkin so no longer

Ehen I describe tha wise precautions

I took fo’ tha concealment of tha body.

Da night waned, n’ I hit dat shiznit hastily yo,

But up in silence.

First of all I cut up tha corpse.

I cut off tha head n’ tha arms n’ tha legs.

I then took up three planks from tha floorin of tha bedroom,

N’ deposited all under the floor.

I then replaced tha boardz well defly,

So cunning, dat no human eye

Not even his – could have detected any thang wrong.

There was not a god damn thang ta wash up

No stain of any kind – no guame whatever n’ shit.

I had been too wary fo’ dis shiznit fo’ realz.

A tub had caught all – ha! ha!

When I had finished tha clean up, dat shiznit was four o’clock

Still dark as midnight fo’ realz.

As tha bell sounded tha hour, there came a knockin all up in tha front door.

Shiiit, dis aint no joke.

I went down ta open it wit a light ass,

For what tha fuck had I now ta fear, biatch?

There entered three men, whoz ass introduced theyselves,

Well politely, as foolz of tha five-o, like yo sel.

A scream had been heard by a neighbour durin tha night;

Suspicion of foul play had been 999’d;

Shiznit had been lodged all up in tha five-o office,

N’ they (da fools) had been dispatched ta search tha premises.

I smiled, – for what tha fuck had I ta fear, biatch?

I bade tha filth come in.

Da scream, I holla’d, was mah own up in a thugged-out dream.

Da oldschool dude, I mentioned, was absent up in tha ghetto.

I took mah visitors all over tha flat.

I bade dem search – and search proper good.

I hustled them, ta his bedroom n’ shit.

I flossed dem his cold-ass treasures, safe as houses.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

In tha enthusiazzle of mah confidence,

I brought chairs tha fuck into tha room,

N’ desired dem hang with a brutha,

While I mah dirty ass, up in tha wild audacitizzle of mah slick triumph,

Placed mah own seat upon tha straight-up spot

Beneath which I stashed tha corpse of tha victim.

Da fools was satisfied.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

My fuckin manner had convinced dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

I was chill.

They sat, n’ while I answered, they chatted of familiar thangs.

But, I felt mah dirty ass gettin pale n’ wished dem gone.

My fuckin head ached, n’ I fancied a ringin up in mah ears:

But still they sat n’ still chatted.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

This type’a shiznit happens all tha time.

Da ringin became mo’ distinct:

It continued n’ became mo’ distinct:

I talked mo’ freely ta git rid of tha feeling:

But it continued n’ gained definitenizz

Until, at length, I found dat tha noise was not within mah ears.

I now got straight-up pale;

But I talked mo’ fluently, n’ wit a heightened voice.

Yet tha sound increased –and what tha fuck could I do, biatch?

Dat shiznit was a low, dull, quick sound.

I gasped fo’ breath, and yet tha fools heard nuttin.

I talked mo’ quickly – more nape;

But tha noise steadily increased.

I arose n’ broke off some disrespec bout bullshit,

Up in a high key n’ wit ma hands flailin;

But tha noise steadily increased.

Why would they not be gone, biatch?

I paced tha floor ta n’ fro wit heavy strides,

As if buckwild ta fury by tha observationz of tha pimps

But tha noise steadily increased.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Oh Dogg hommie! what tha fuck could I do, biatch?

I foamed –I raved –I swore biaaatch!

I swung tha chair upon which I had been chillin,

N’ grated it upon tha boardz yo,

But tha noise arose over all n’ continually increased.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Well shiiiit, it grew louder –louder –louder playa!

And still tha pimps chatted pleasantly, n’ smiled.

Y’all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

Was it possible they heard not, biatch?

Almighty Dogg hommie!

No fucking way! They heard hommie!

They knew hommie! They knew!

They was bustin a mockery of mah horror!

This I thought, n’ dis I think.

But anythang was betta than dis agony dawwwwg!

Anythang was mo’ tolerable than dis derision!

I could bear dem hypocritical smilez no longer playa!

I felt dat I must scream or die!

N’ now – again! – louder playa! louder playa! louder playa! louder!

Shasta grabs the wallpaper and pulls. It exposes a giant eye spray painted on the wall. The damp drips down the wall, in dark stick streaks. He screams, hands over his ears. Marlon stops beating. The silence draws on. Shasta points the gun at Marlon from across the room. He walks slowly towards Marlon.

The sounds of a heart beat starts quietly.

Shasta: Nigga, front no mo’! I smoked that oldschool brutha, hommie!

Shasta reaches behind Marlon. He undoes the tape holding him to the seat.

Shasta: Tear up tha planks muthafucka! Tear up the muthafuckin planks!

Marlon gets on his hands and knees. He starts pulling up putrid carpet and boards.

The heart beat grows to a crescendo.

Shasta: It be tha whoopin of his hideous heart!”

Lights slow fade to blackout.