The Duel Of the Decades.

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The Duel of the Decades

Characters:

LORD BYRON: A 19th-century poet, dramatic and ruffled.

CHAD: A 21st-century "influencer" with a tripod.

Setting: A misty, purgatory-like moor.

BYRON: (Brandishing a quill) You dare challenge my legacy with your... "TikToks"? I have bled ink for the soul of man!

CHAD: Bro, your "soul of man" doesn't have a high engagement rate. I have four million followers. How many copies of Don Juan did you sell in the first twenty-four hours?

BYRON: I was the scandal of Europe! Women fainted at the mention of my name!

CHAD: Yeah, well, I have a brand deal with a protein powder company. I’m "physically aesthetic." You’re just... damp.

BYRON: I wrote of the mountains, the sea, the eternal yearning of the spirit!

CHAD: (Adjusting his ring light) That’s cool, but can you do the "Renegade" dance? If you don't have a hook in the first three seconds, people just swipe past your yearning, man.

BYRON: (Looks at the quill, defeated) Is there no room for the sublime?

CHAD: There’s room for a "Get Ready With Me" video. "GRWM: Writing a Poem about Sadness (Sponcon)."

BYRON: (Sighs) Give me the glowing rectangle. I shall learn of this "filter."

[BLACKOUT]

The Script Doctor

Characters:

WRITER: Disheveled, surrounded by crumpled paper.

THE MUSE: A woman in a business suit holding a shredder.

Setting: A dark office.

WRITER: It’s my masterpiece! A six-hour epic about the history of salt!

MUSE: (Feeds a page into the shredder) Too salty.

WRITER: Hey! That was the climax! The Great Sodium Riot of 1648!

MUSE: Nobody cares about salt, Arthur. They want "relatable content." Make the salt a metaphor for a broken marriage.

WRITER: But I’ve done the research! I have maps!

MUSE: (Picks up another page) "Scene 14: The Molecule Speaks." No. Molecules don't have character arcs.

WRITER: This one does! He’s lonely! He’s looking for a Chloride to his Sodium!

MUSE: (Pause) Is there a love triangle?

WRITER: With a Potassium atom, yes.

MUSE: ...Keep writing. But lose the maps.

[BLACKOUT]

ZANE: (Checks the battery) This is from a 2080 model. It’s junk.

continue

The Noir of the Missing Sock

Characters:

DETECTIVE FINN: Wears a trench coat over boxers.

MRS. HIGGINS: A concerned neighbor holding a laundry basket.

Setting: A dimly lit communal laundry room. A single dryer spins rhythmically.

FINN: (Leaning against a vending machine) You sure you saw him, Higgins? The Left Argyle?

HIGGINS: He was there at 2:00 PM, Detective. I saw the diamonds. Deep navy, touch of burgundy. He went into the wash with his twin. Only the right one came out.

FINN: (Picks up a lint trap, inspecting it with a magnifying glass) The dryer—it’s a cold-blooded machine. It eats the weak.

FINN: With a fishnet stocking from Apartment 4B? Maybe. But look at this. (He holds up a single thread). Static cling. This was a struggle.

HIGGINS: What are you going to do?

FINN: I’m going into the drum, Higgins. If I’m not back in ten minutes, tell my tailor… I went out seamless.

[BLACKOUT]

The Dragon’s HR Department

Characters:

BARTIMUS: A weary knight in dented armor.

KRYZELDA: A goblin sitting behind a stone desk.

KRYZELDA: Do you have an appointment?

BARTIMUS: An appointment? I have a broadsword!

KRYZELDA: (Sighs, flipping through a ledger) Broadswords are "unauthorized workplace equipment." Did you fill out the Liability Waiver for scale-related injuries?

KRYZELDA: (Points to a charred pile of helmets) The last "Paladin" didn't fill it out either. Now he’s a decorative ash-tray. Also, the Princess is currently on her lunch break. She’s started a podcast with the Dragon.

BARTIMUS: A podcast? "The Hoard and the Bored"?

KRYZELDA: Exactly. They’re sponsored by a mead company now. Slaying is strictly prohibited during recording sessions.

BARTIMUS: (Sheathing his sword) Fine. Can I at least get my parking validated?

[BLACKOUT]

Characters:

ELIAS: A man from 2150.

SARAH: A woman from 2024.

Setting: A park bench.

ELIAS: I’ve traveled eighty years to find you. To stop the Great Collapse.

SARAH: (Eating a sandwich) Oh? Is it nuclear war? Climate change? AI taking over the world?

ELIAS: No. It’s the "Cilantro Incident."

SARAH: (Stops chewing) The what?

SARAH: It does! It’s a genetic thing!

ELIAS: That post goes viral. It starts a digital civil war. Families are torn apart. The "Suds-Heads" versus the "Herb-Lovers." By 2050, the world is a wasteland of unseasoned salsa.

SARAH: (Looks at her phone, then the taco) So… if I don't post it?

SARAH: (Beat) ...But it’s a really good photo. The lighting is perfect.

ELIAS: Sarah, no.

SARAH: (Tapping the screen) Sorry, Elias. The world can burn, but this aesthetic is fire.

HIGGINS: You don't think he… ran off?

Setting: The entrance to a smoking cavern. A sign reads: "Safety First - 0 Days Since Last Immolation."

BARTIMUS: I am here to slay the beast. To rescue the Princess. To reclaim the—

BARTIMUS: I am a Paladin of the High Order! We don't fill out—

KRYZELDA: Only if you subscribe on Patreon.

The Time Traveler’s Regret

ELIAS: In three minutes, you’re going to post a photo of your taco. You’re going to caption it: "Cilantro tastes like soap. Change my mind."

ELIAS: Peace. Prosperity. And we finally get flying cars.

[BLACKOUT