A Play by Linnea Rose

The stage is barren. No set. No props. X tells the story and creates the props and images through the dialogue.


The loading screen. It serves the purpose of letting me know whether—ugh! Low data. Here we go.

Left. Denial. Right. Approval.

“I am a jazz musician—” No—. Left.

“Likes nature.” Pensive. Right.

“Child free.” Good to know.  Right.

“I will push a boulder up a hill in one several ceremonies of fitness for you.” That’s…sweet? Left.

“I like to take road trips.” Ah, a voyageur. Maybe I’ll ask them where they have traveled. Right.

“I am want to meeting someone open-minded, liberal, passionate and creative”. Right

That’s just your chest. Left.

Where is your bio?— Left.

An hour later. The inbox is empty.

Left. Denial. Right. Approval.

“Daydreamer.” Right.

“The inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.” Wow. Deep. Eh. Left.

A thought: for every ten cis men, there is one cis woman or agender human.

“Mark Twain Quote”. Only. Left.

Where is your bio?! Left.

An hour later. The inbox is empty.

Left. Denial. Right. Approval.

“Scientist. Not yet mad.” Alright. That was funny. Right.

“You’ll be a model someday, I promise.” Aw, that’s inspiring. Left.

Please stop quoting famous dead people. Left.

“I could never do without alone time. Or at least time I don’t have to be engaging. Pretty strong introvert.” At least they are expanding outside their comfort zone. Right.


An hour later. One message.

Left. Denial. Right. Approval.
(The stage goes dark.)


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