描述
Act I: The Shit Brick Hut
Scene: The Beach on the Desert Island, Midday
The sun hangs high above the island, casting a relentless, burning light over the scene. Dr. Julius Von Scheetroll stands proudly, hands on his hips, outside his newly completed Shit Brick Hut. His body, weathered and scarred by his many ordeals, now bears an aura of triumph. Sweat glistens on his chest as the humid air clings to his skin, but Scheetroll feels nothing but satisfaction. He’s accomplished what many would deem impossible.
Behind him, the hut stands as a testament to his resilience and sheer willpower. Made entirely from the fiber-rich, hardened feces he produced after his near-infinite consumption of All-Bran cereal, the structure is crude but undeniably sturdy. The shit bricks, meticulously crafted and baked under the sun, form solid walls, each brick packed tight with determination. A slanted roof, fashioned from old metal panels scavenged from the wrecked plane, rests atop the hut, giving it a rustic, almost surreal look.
Scheetroll: (grinning, speaking to himself) "Well, well, well… look at this masterpiece. Who would’ve thought… from nothing but shit and sand, a home fit for a madman."
He turns, admiring the work, his chest swelling with pride. His trousers are held up by a pair of mismatched suspenders, and his bare feet dig into the hot sand as he paces back and forth in front of the hut, inspecting every detail. The pile of leftover feces sits nearby in an old rusted barrel, ready to be used should he decide to expand his home.
Beside him, the crab scuttles in and out of the shadows, its pincers clicking softly. The two of them have grown into an odd partnership, a strange companionship that now feels almost natural. Scheetroll pats the crab on the shell as it moves past him.
Scheetroll: (with a satisfied nod) "It’s perfect, isn’t it? Stronger than I could’ve hoped. A fortress made of my own bowels, built with these hands."
He holds up his hands, now calloused and stained from days of labor. He laughs to himself, a soft, manic chuckle that echoes across the beach.
Scheetroll: (laughing) "Who would’ve thought I’d survive all this… on shit bricks and All-Bran."
The crab pauses for a moment, its pincers hovering near the pile of feces in the barrel. Without hesitation, it snips off a small piece, lifting it to its mouth and nibbling contentedly. Scheetroll watches with amusement, shaking his head.
Scheetroll: (smiling) "You’ve grown quite fond of that, haven’t you? Well, who am I to judge? We’re both just doing what we need to survive."
The two of them stand there for a moment, side by side, basking in the surreal calm that has settled over the island. The ocean waves crash softly in the distance, the breeze rustling through the sparse trees. It’s a peaceful scene, in a strange and twisted way.
Act II: Reflecting on the Journey
Scheetroll walks over to the entrance of his hut, running his hand along the rough surface of the shit bricks. The texture is surprisingly solid—firm, reliable. He steps inside the small structure, the cool shade immediately providing relief from the blazing sun. Inside, the space is simple: a makeshift bed of palm leaves, a fire pit in the center, and a small stash of supplies he’s gathered from the plane wreckage.
Scheetroll: (muttering to himself) "It’s not much… but it’s mine."
He sits down on the bed of palm leaves, leaning back against the cool wall of shit bricks. The crab scuttles in after him, finding a spot near the fire pit, its pincers clicking rhythmically.
Scheetroll: (sighing) "I’ve come a long way, haven’t I? From the labs… from Los Angeles… from Mariana…"
He pauses, his thoughts lingering on Mariana. He hasn’t seen her since the tsunami, hasn’t even been sure if she survived. The memory of her haunts him, a specter that tugs at his mind in quiet moments like this. But here, in this shit-brick fortress, he feels oddly safe. Removed from the chaos of the world.
Scheetroll: (whispering, staring at the ceiling) "Maybe this is where I’m supposed to be… Maybe this island is my penance."
The crab, of course, says nothing, but Scheetroll imagines its silence as agreement. He smiles faintly, feeling a strange sense of contentment. The shit brick hut stands strong around him, a monument to his madness, his perseverance.
Act III: The Future of the Hut
After a while, Scheetroll gets to his feet, pacing around the small space. His mind begins to wander, thinking of what more he can do. The hut is just the beginning, after all. He still has plenty of shit to use, plenty of ideas bubbling in his mind.
Scheetroll: (grinning to himself) "There’s more to build… I can expand. A tower, perhaps? A lookout point? Yes… yes, a tower of shit…"
He chuckles, the idea taking root in his mind. He turns to the crab, his eyes gleaming with manic excitement.
Scheetroll: (laughing) "What do you think, my little prophet? Shall we build higher? Reach for the sky with our shit bricks?"
The crab clacks its pincers, and Scheetroll takes that as encouragement. His mind races with possibilities—expansions, improvements. He paces back and forth, already planning the next phase of his mad architectural project.
Scheetroll: (muttering) "It’ll be a palace… a fortress… something no one’s ever seen before. And all from the filth of my own body."
He steps back outside, the bright sunlight hitting him again. He stands tall, proud, his hands on his hips as he surveys the island. His island. His kingdom of shit. The crab follows him out, its pincers snapping in what seems like approval.
Scheetroll: (nodding, voice filled with conviction) "This is just the beginning, crab. Just the beginning."
Japanese Translation:
第一幕: 糞レンガの小屋
シーン: 無人島の浜辺、正午
太陽は島の上に高く昇り、激しく燃えるような光をシーンに投げかけている。ジュリアス・フォン・シートロール博士は、手を腰に当て、自らが完成させたばかりの糞レンガの小屋の前に誇らしげに立っている。数々の試練によって刻まれた彼の体は、今や勝利のオーラをまとっている。湿気のある空気が肌にまとわりつく中、胸に光る汗も意に介さず、シートロールは満足感しか感じていない。彼が成し遂げたのは、普通の人が不可能と思うことだった。
彼の背後に立つ小屋は、彼の忍耐力と強靭な意志の証だ。すべて、彼が延々とオールブランのシリアルを食べ続けた後に生産した繊維質に富んだ硬化した糞から作られている。その構造は粗野だが、間違いなく頑丈だ。糞レンガは太陽の下で焼き固められ、一つ一つが決意でぎっしり詰まっている。屋根は、墜落した飛行機から集めた古い金属板で作られ、どこか素朴で超現実的な風情を漂わせている。
シートロール（微笑みながら独り言）:「さてさて…この傑作を見ろ。誰が思っただろう…糞と砂だけから、狂人にふさわしい家ができるなんて。」
彼は振り返り、作品を眺め、胸を誇らしげに膨らませる。ズボンは不揃いなサスペンダーで吊られており、裸足は熱い砂に深く沈み込んでいる。彼は小屋の前を歩き回り、細部を点検する。使い残しの糞の山は、古びた錆びたバレルに入っており、必要に応じて家を拡張するために使えるようになっている。
彼の隣では、カニが影の中を行ったり来たりしながら、鋏がカチカチと音を立てている。二人は奇妙なパートナーシップを築いており、その関係は今や自然に感じられるほどだ。シートロールは、カニが通り過ぎるのを見て甲羅を軽く叩く。
シートロール（満足げにうなずきながら）:「完璧だな。思った以上に強い。自分の糞から作った要塞、これを自分の手で作ったんだ。」
彼は、日々の労働で固くなり、汚れた手を持ち上げる。そして、浜辺にこだまするように、柔らかな狂気の笑い声を上げる。
シートロール（笑いながら）:「誰がこんなことを予想しただろう…糞レンガとオールブランで生き延びるなんて。」
カニは一瞬止まり、その鋏はバレルの糞の山の近くでホバリングしている。ためらうことなく、鋏で小さな塊を切り取り、口に運んで満足そうにかじる。シートロールはそれを楽しそうに眺め、首を振る。
シートロール（微笑んで）:「気に入ったようだな？まあ、俺が言えることはない。俺たち二人とも生き延びるために必要なことをしてるだけさ。」
二人はしばらくの間、並んで立ち、島に漂う奇妙な平穏を味わっている。遠くで波が静かに打ち寄せ、そよ風がまばらな木々の間を通り抜けていく。どこか歪んでいるが、確かに穏やかな光景だ。
