The Prince of Libya ______________ David Seals

A full-length Stage Play set in the Present, with various locations in Libya, Egypt, Palestine, and the United States

copyright 2011 by David Seals all rights reserved

Act One ______

Scene 1. A dark JAIL CELL somewhere, and nowhere. Occasionally a dim flashlight is seen outside a heavy steel door to the cell. In the total darkness we hear a man thinking aloud, with perhaps a slight Arab accent. He is MUHAMMAD, who will be seen from various ages throughout the Play, in his 20s to 50s. We cant see him yet, but he is nearly emaciated from many years in jail, and his voice is weak, struggling, but still shows a deep latent strength. MUHAMMAD Buried alive and alone underground Ive come to love the Blackness unsounded. This jail is nothing. Seven years. Nothing. TWO U.S. MARINE GUARDS, in crisp khaki uniforms and with rifles, flash their dim lights through a small grated window on the big heavy steel door, at MUHAMMAD, and we get just a glimpse of him in a squalid little cell on a lousy mattress on the cement floor. 1st GUARD Quiet in there, no talking. MUHAMMAD (almost cheerfully) Its quiet alright. 2nd GUARD Shut the fuck up, Ali Baba. The light clicks off and its total pitch darkness on stage again. He laughs a little. MUHAMMAD In physical Space above and beyond the Outer apart, blacker and blacker, lightless, fireless, massless, gravityless, MUHAMMAD (cont) darkly swarming life unatomical freer than richer the richest earth-bound then Travelers than, invisible wavelengths, colorless, fearless, hued achromatic Beauty unknown evry in very light. suddenly a WOMANs VOICE comes out of the darkness, perhaps upstage of him. She is JIBRAIL. JIBRAIL

Good Prince, faithful Son. Do not lose heart. MUHAMMAD What? Whos there? A Djinni, remorseless Captor? JIBRAIL Angel. God has remembered you. I and your Father are on our way. MUHAMMAD Who are you, and do you mean my father Zeid in Libya? Hello? Are you still there? Where are you? Black, black lovelier in comparison no Art of women on shining daytime, approaches, eyesight in reverse image electromagnets where, unaware, were perfectionable idealism arrives and departs, departless, apart, darker and darker indefinite bourns. A Light comes on again, dimly, outside the cell door on the 2 GUARDS. 1st GUARD Did you hear a womans voice? 2nd GUARD It cant be. I dont think I heard anything. 1st GUARD Weve been here too long. I hate this guard duty. 2nd GUARD How long has this bastard been down here? 1st GUARD Who knows. Nobody knows. 2nd GUARD What a pit. 1st GUARD Listen. Is that him mumbling, or a woman? MUHAMMAD The end of light this life and eye of Sun -2nd GUARD (shining the light in his face) What the hell are you --

MUHAMMAD (screaming, covering his eyes from the light) -- no beginningless the more and more is -1st GUARD Hes crazy. Hes gone shithouse rat crazy. 2nd GUARD No human being can live like that. MUHAMMAD -- the means to the ends of endinglessness nor death, nor bodies rotting in the dirt. 1st GUARD Turn off the light. I cant listen to this garbage. 2nd GUARD Yeah. Their flashlights go off again, and its pitch dark again. MUHAMMAD The fairness of it, the sky in justice is what it all is in heaven and earth unsightful, silent, extrahumanly empty and Void fuller than the Whole; teeming with dreams, moons, on their darkest sides the moodiest nymphs so loving the trust in the Voice of God their power and Hers. Peaceful silence and darkness, change slowly into a more normal light and sound of the next scene. Scene 2. Bright daylight. A beautiful ARAB WOMAN in sexy, fashionable Italian mini-dress comes on, young, strong, confident. Her Voice is the same Muhammad heard in the first scene. JIBRAIL Jibrail the Archangel flew west to Tripoli, Libya, from heaven today, knowing she had to fly on the wings of

the prayers of the Prince, first, to his home: home, whereunto all men direct their prayers and best hopes, where Goddess first created them - before the villain, Father Nature, of the Blacks blackest Voice tried to kill Earth. Behold, the last days of his darkest minion, Brother Colonel Muammar al-Qathafi. Lights up to one side on a suggestion of a Beduin TENT, and inside it QATHAFI at work at a desk, in rich flowing desert robes. Hes an old and ugly man who was once handsome and strong, but weakening now. Several big strong LIBYAN GUARDS in uniforms, armed, stand at attention before his desk. JIBRAIL watches, unseen by them, upstage a little.