The Farm is on Fire: A Play in One Act

By Chloe Mohs

Cast of Characters

The Farmer:

A man who is dead.

The Body:

A man that was a farmer.

The goat is dead; there are no more goats.

Goat:

Cow:

The last cow on earth.

Audience:

They’re dead too.

Scene

A farm during the apocalypse.

Time

A passing end.

ACT I

Scene 1

To open: a dim theatre, the stage of which is visibly falling apart. Paint peels from the walls of the auditorium. The seats are soot covered, and the smell of ash and decay are heavy in the air, despite the filters fitted into the building’s air vents. There is a poorly painted barn wall propped up center-stage. On the red plywood door of the wall, is a chicken made of Styrofoam and singed feathers; red, orange, and yellow streamers hang from it limply in a sad imitation of fire. The floor is painted grey, and a mix of ash and sand has been thrown in handfuls down to the ground. Left and down-stage, are the remains of GOAT. No one knows how long it’s been there, but it is now a pile of organs, skin, and bone ravaged by flies and any surviving vermin that may have found their way into the theatre. Aside from this, the stage is devoid of set decorations. Stage lights flicker in oranges, yellows, and more reds, to make the illusion of a smoldering world. It casts THE FARMER in a flickering shadow. Nobody wants to set a real fire. Outside the theatre, are burning buildings, and streets, and trees, and bushes.

SETTING:

THE FARMER stands in his field; the once lush grass is now brittle and scorched from the heat. In the squalling swelter of hot wind, he sways alone. His gaze is on his GOAT, who does not move. THE FARMER’s skin is dry and cracked, his face is sunken, and we get the feeling that he is mummifying in real time. His expression is lost; although he doesn’t know it, the AUDIENCE understands that he may be the last man on earth. It is silent except for the hushed buzzing of flies surrounding GOAT and his own heavy breathing.

AT RISE:

THE FARMER

(Speaks with a great heaviness.)

All the world is a cycle. This blazing finale is the beginning of the end, and the middle of a middle, and the ending of an impermanent conclusion; a chain reaction meant to go again, and again, and again.

(THE FARMER’s gaze strays up and empty to the AUDIENCE.)

Ours was a dawn of fire. Born from a big flash bang…big bang, of blinding light and heat. Where we evolved, and grew, and loved, until we became mulch and dirt that grew into plants, that fed the farm animals, who made food for us until we died and became mulch again. And again. And again.

(He attempts to sob, but it’s too dry out to come up with the tears and saliva necessary, though the AUDIENCE understands this is the action he attempts to make.)

Until (heaves)…until every time this earth ends in another fiery flash, bang…blinding light. And eons from now, in a place where we are not even a memory, we rise from dirt again.

(THE FARMER raises a frail hand to clutch at his face.)

I suppose we are all food until we become dirt.

(Sobs again.)

God…is this how it ends? On a dead farm full of dead things, left to this cyclical purgatory?

(COW enters from stage right. It brays mournfully. Like THE FARMER, it is the last of its kind. THE FARMER calms a bit knowing he is no longer alone. He gestures from COW to the AUDIENCE.)

THE FARMER (Cont.)

Look here you cogs; this is my favorite cow. It is she and I that understand this solitude that has befallen us in the end of the world. Where the sun and air hurt from behind a smokescreen, and the earth cannot provide for us anymore. Though she is a cow, and I am a man, we speak the same language of suffering.

(COW brays again loudly. THE FARMER turns away from the AUDIENCE to directly face COW. He screams as loudly as he can back at COW. Blood flies from THE FARMER’s mouth.)

You, see? We know each other.

(THE FARMER turns back to the AUDIENCE. There is blood in his teeth. COW staggers to join THE FARMER at center-stage, its gaze is on GOAT.)

When the fields became dry from drought and turned into kindling, igniting fires that were already burning down the world, I brought my animals here.

(Raises his arm behind him to point at the barn wall. It is on fire now.)

To this barn, that my grandfather built. I took my last three chickens, when the rest dissolved from the raging flames. I ushered in my last goat, and my last cow, and we shoved ourselves into the molting pens and laid on withered hay.

(THE FARMER looks now again to the remains of GOAT.)

The fire…it took the barn with no remorse and broke away in blinding beams of wood that fell on my last goat. The flames devoured my chickens. And the roof caved in on my beloved cow.

(Suddenly, the barn wall gives a mighty groan. THE FARMER jumps out of the way in the nick of time as the shoddily put together set, still aflame, falls forward and crushes COW. It’s still silent. He looks back to the AUDIENCE.)

I am alone.

(Time is now set to double speed; we watch in an immeasurable span, THE FARMER become desiccated and shriveled. Mummified, but not preserved—that would imply there is someone left to remember. There is no one. The AUDIENCE doesn’t count, they’re dead too.)

(BLACKOUT)

(END OF SCENE)

ACT I

Scene 2

The dark, dilapidated theatre still stands. The seats are still covered in soot. The smell of smoke is even heavier now, since in between scenes, the office building across from the theatre started to burn down. The remains of the barn door have been removed from the stage, as have the remains of both GOAT and COW. The grey ground and smattering of ash and sand is all that’s left. The lighting has been set to a dim fluorescent glow. The filters in the vents have stopped working, and now a low haze hangs over the stage and rows of seats. It’s quite hard for anyone to breathe now.

SETTING:

THE BODY has stumbled across the acres of its razed land, and laid itself burdened and unburdened center-stage, beneath an invisible sky. Its feet point stage left, its head points stage right. Only its side profile is visible; it stares upward and empty. The AUDIENCE understands that there’s nothing left. The air inside the theatre is so hot, the waves are visible in front of the stage. It is dead silent.

AT RISE:

THE BODY

(Speaks flatly.)

And so, this body is only a body. The passage of time, unilateral in its pursuit, has left me to my solitude. There is no identity, no memory. There is no soul that remembers—I am left to my own expressionless existence. Once the Farmer, now a title of meaningless letters, I am reduced to an it. An unidentifiable reference. A monosyllabic anomaly abandoned to this never-ending dusty plane. I have no space to realize this shortening of self. I know nothing but the fog that has encompassed me.

(THE BODY falls silent for a moment. The AUDIENCE gets the impression that it would be crying if it had any capacity to, either as a form able to contain water or as a living person capable. As it is, THE BODY continues to speak flatly.)

I cannot recall, in this husked form, the way trees stretched so far up into the clouds, which filled a sky that fell in radiant blue, to orange and pink, to the speckled welcoming darkness of night. I cannot recall the way my fingers used to delve into damp, rich soil—full brown and layered with remains of plants, and minerals, and thick worms.

(With great effort, THE BODY twitches its fingers to swirl along the dust of the grey packed soil, untilled and suffocating)

I cannot recall the loving touch of a sun that didn’t burn as much as it gave life. How viridian and jade greenery flourished under a warm glow. There is no light now, only heat. I am simply an empty body on an empty earth. Void of vibrance.

(Slowly, THE BODY turns itself so that as it lays center-stage, it is now on its side, facing the AUDIENCE. This takes a full forty minutes, in which time is not sped up. There is complete and utter silence as it moves itself to look out to the hazy auditorium.)

THE BODY (Cont.)

All the world is a cycle. In this finale of ash and dust, I will become the dirt below me, and seep into the resting earth. And after this dead epoch, millions of years from now, where none of us are even a memory, there will be another beginning born from a big flash bang, blinding crash of light. Another middle of life. And another passing end until everything dies in a fiery flash bang once again. And again. And again. Over. And over. And over. So, sit here and view this phony narrative of your own demise. We are all food until we all become dirt, anyways.

(THE BODY continues to drag its fingers in little circles along the ashy dirt. Over. And over.)

We are the same. Dead things in a dead place.

(Dirt pours from THE BODY’s mouth as it begins to rapidly decompose in real time.)

(BLACKOUT)

(END OF PLAY)

Chloe Mohs is a 21-year-old queer writer from Tacoma, Washington. She graduated from Tacoma Community College in 2023. They are set to be published this fall in Voices of Tacoma: A Gathering of Poets, which is a local poetry anthology. Mohs is currently writing their first novel amongst a multitude of other projects, as they cannot be held down by one genre.