The Last Slice

Here is an original two-character short micro-play by the blogger called The Last Slice, about two roommates arguing over the final piece of pizza in the fridge.

The Last Slice

Characters

SAM: Hungry, tired, and deeply protective of leftover food.

TAYLOR: Equal parts cunning, charming, and desperate for a midnight snack.

Setting

A small kitchen at 2:00 AM. A single dim light glows over the stove.

The Scene

(SAM stands at the open refrigerator, the cold blue light shining on their face. TAYLOR leans against the kitchen counter, watching closely.)

TAYLOR: It is calling my name. Listen. “Taylor… eat me.”

SAM: (Without turning) It is not calling your name, Taylor. It has my name written on the box in red permanent marker. In capital letters.

TAYLOR: That marker looks faded. Legally speaking, un-bolded ink after midnight becomes public property.

SAM: (Turns around slowly, holding a white paper plate with one single slice of pepperoni pizza) I wrote this at 7:00 PM. It is fresh ink. And it is mine. I worked twelve hours today.

TAYLOR: And I watched a sad movie for two hours. That takes an emotional toll, Sam. Equal value.

SAM: Not how the world works.

TAYLOR: (Steps closer) Name your price. What do you want? I have half a bag of stale pretzels and a gift card to a hardware store with four dollars on it.

SAM: Can the hardware card buy me this pizza back? No.

TAYLOR: (Sighs, stopping just an inch away) We used to share things. Remember kindergarten? We shared crayons.

SAM: You ate a blue crayon then, Taylor. You do not respect boundaries.

TAYLOR: (Softly) Just half the tip? The crust part?

SAM: (Looks at the slice, then looks at Taylor) ...If you touch the pepperoni, I end the lease tomorrow.

(SAM breaks off a tiny corner of the crust and hands it over. TAYLOR takes it like a priceless treasure.)

TAYLOR: Worth it.

(Blackout.)

(The lights fade back up immediately. Same kitchen, five seconds later. SAM is holding the remaining slice. TAYLOR is chewing the tiny piece of crust happily.)

TAYLOR: (Swallows) Exceptional texture. Perfectly aged.

SAM: Good. Now leave. I want to eat my prize in silence.

TAYLOR: (Staring intensely at the plate) You know... eating an entire heavy slice right before bed causes vivid nightmares. I read a medical study.

SAM: I like nightmares. They are more exciting than my actual life.

TAYLOR: What if I challenge you for it? One game. Rock, paper, scissors.

SAM: No.

TAYLOR: High-stakes coin flip?

SAM: No.

TAYLOR: Staring contest. First one to blink buys the next entire pizza.

SAM: (Pauses, tempted) ...No. I am not risking my food on your lizard eyes. You never blink.

TAYLOR: It is a medical marvel, honestly.

SAM: (Raises the slice to take a bite) Goodbye, Taylor.

(Suddenly, the kitchen light flickers and goes completely dark. Total blackout.)

SAM: (In the dark) Taylor? Don't you dare move.

TAYLOR: (In the dark) I am completely frozen. I am a statue.

SAM: I hear shuffling. You are rustling!

TAYLOR: That is just the fabric of my sweatpants!

SAM: If I feel a hand near this plate, I am swinging the paper plate like a weapon.

(The lights click back on. SAM is holding the plate high in the air, defensive posture. TAYLOR is standing exactly where they were, but now holding a fork.)

SAM: Where did you get a fork?!

TAYLOR: I always keep one in my pocket. For emergencies.

SAM: You are a deeply unhinged human being.

TAYLOR: Look, look, look! (Points out the kitchen window) Is that a shooting star?!

(SAM automatically looks toward the window. TAYLOR lunges forward with the fork, snags the lone pepperoni off the top of the slice, and pops it into their mouth.)

SAM: (Snapping head back) You didn't.

TAYLOR: (Chewing triumphantly) I did.

SAM: (Stares at the pepperoni-less slice, then looks up with cold fury) Get the laptop.

TAYLOR: Why?

SAM: We are drafting the lease cancellation document right now.

(Blackout.)

(The lights flash back up. The kitchen is still dim. It is now 2:15 AM. A laptop sits open on the kitchen counter, glowing brightly. SAM is typing furiously. TAYLOR sits on a stool, looking slightly regretful but still holding the fork.)

SAM: (Typing loudly) "...due to repeated and unprovoked cured-meat theft, Tenant A hereby forfeits all rights to the communal living space."

TAYLOR: You are using legal jargon incorrectly. "Cured-meat theft" is not a recognized felony.

SAM: It is in this house.

TAYLOR: Look, I went too far. The pepperoni adrenaline took over. I apologize.

SAM: (Stops typing, looks up) You aren't sorry. You still look smug.

TAYLOR: I am a little sorry! My stomach is satisfied, but my soul feels slightly compromised.

(Suddenly, a loud, heavy thud comes from inside the refrigerator. Both Sam and Taylor freeze.)

SAM: (Whispering) What was that?

TAYLOR: (Whispering) Your conscience?

SAM: My conscience doesn't make a thudding sound in the crisper drawer.

(Another loud THUMP shakes the refrigerator door. The door slowly swings open on its own. A mysterious green glow spills out into the kitchen.)

TAYLOR: (Grips the fork tightly) Okay, I take it back. The pizza was calling my name. It’s alive.

SAM: (Slowly backs away from the counter) Taylor... what did you put in the back of the fridge?

TAYLOR: Nothing! Just some leftovers from three weeks ago.

SAM: What leftovers?!

TAYLOR: ...Seafood Alfredo.

(A deep, wet, bubbling sound echoes from the bottom shelf. The white paper plate on the counter—still holding the plain cheese slice—begins to slide slowly toward the open fridge, as if pulled by a magnetic force.)

SAM: It wants the rest of the pizza.

TAYLOR: We have to defend it!

SAM: Why?! You already ate the pepperoni!

TAYLOR: Because if that thing gets the carbs, it gets the power!

SAM: Teamwork?

TAYLOR: Teamwork. If we survive, I get 20% of the crust.

SAM: Deal.

(A glowing green tentacle made of mutated fettuccine pasta slowly creeps out from the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. SAM and TAYLOR scream in unison.)

(Blackout.)

(TAYLOR grabs the laptop and slams it shut to use as a shield. SAM grabs the paper plate, holding the pizza close to their chest.)

continue

(The lights flash back up. The kitchen is in total chaos. The green glow from the fridge is brighter. SAM is standing on top of the kitchen stool. TAYLOR is on the floor, holding a broom like a spear.)

SAM: (Pointing wildly) It’s looping around the toaster! Cut it off!

TAYLOR: (Swinging the broom) Back, foul creature of the deep crisper! Back!

(The kitchen door swings open. A bright overhead light clicks on, blinding everyone. The green glow immediately disappears. The "tentacle" is revealed to be just a tangled, moldy string of old takeout noodles dangling over the shelf. CHRIS stands in the doorway wearing fuzzy slippers and a bathrobe.)

CHRIS: (Staring blankly) It is two in the morning on a Tuesday.

SAM: (Frozen on the stool) Chris. Do not move. The Alfredo has achieved sentience.

CHRIS: (Looks at Sam, looks at Taylor on the floor, looks at the fridge) You two are sleep-deprived lunatics.

TAYLOR: (Defensively) It reached for the pizza, Chris! It used magnetic force!

CHRIS: (Walks over, grabs the takeout container, and drops it directly into the trash can) It didn't use magnetic force. The fridge is tilted because the floor is uneven. Everything slides forward.

SAM: (Slowly climbs down from the stool) Oh.

CHRIS: (Notices the paper plate) Is that the last slice of pepperoni?

TAYLOR: Well, minus the pepperoni. I had a momentary lapse in judgment.

CHRIS: Good. I hate pepperoni.

(Before Sam or Taylor can react, CHRIS grabs the remaining slice of pizza, takes a massive bite, and walks right back out the door.)

CHRIS: (Muffled, from the hallway) Clean up this kitchen. You're waking up the neighbors.

(SAM and TAYLOR stand completely still in the quiet kitchen. They look at the empty paper plate, then look at each other.)

SAM: ...So.

TAYLOR: ...So.

SAM: Do you want to go to that 24-hour diner down the street?

TAYLOR: Only if we share the fries.

SAM: Deal.

(SAM deletes the text on the laptop and closes it. TAYLOR puts the broom away. They walk out of the kitchen together as the lights fade to black.)

(The End.)

If you want to start a brand new story, let me know:

What setting you want to try next (e.g., a spaceship, a haunted elevator, a job interview)

The vibe you are looking for (funny, spooky, serious)