Love And Sacrifice: A Play

Somewhere romantic. Like the alley behind a restaurant. Or a volcano. Pope and Francis share a single stand of spaghetti. On a side note, I learned everything I know about romance from Lady and the Tramp and James Bond movies.

Pope: Francis, you complete me.

Francis: You complete me too, Pope.

Pope: No, I mean literally. Your limbs and head are a perfect match. I’ll finally be more than a torso in a chair.

Francis: But you’re already more than a torso in a chair. You’re a torso in a whicker basket.

Pope: If anything, that’s worse.

Francis: I thought you loved me.

Pope: I love myself, and soon your limbs and head will be part of myself, what’s the difference?

Francis: I don’t think you understand love.

Pope: I’m a torso in a whicker basket. It’s amazing that I can even talk.

Francis: So how does this work?

Pope: Just cut off your limbs and head and graft them to my body.

Francis: You want me to do it?

Pope: I’m a torso in a whicker basket, how am I supposed to do it?

Francis: On a purely practical level, what do I actually do? I mean, I could probably manage the legs, and maybe one of the arms, but I can’t cut off my last arm and graft it to you with it.

Pope: Obviously once I have one of your arms I’ll take over.

Francis: This doesn’t seem fair.

Pope: How could it not be? All’s fair in love and war.

Francis: War has Geneva Conventions.

Pope: Are you going to make me whole or not?

Francis: I’d rather make you whole emotionally.

Pope: Emotions don’t count for much without a face to express them.

Francis: I’m not sure that’s true. While Western culture may currently be going through a phase in which it defines itself by its outward expression through social media, I would argue that the true value of human existence is in the invisible journey we go through on the inside.

Pope: I want legs.

Francis: Fair enough. I’ll go find a saw.

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