CLONE WARS
By GAVARRE BENJAMIN
© BENJAMÍN GAVARRE SILVA
Contact this address if you have produced it or wish to do so: gavarreunam@gmail.com
CHARACTERS:
- JULIAN (Alfredo): 22. Architecture student at Columbia. Pristine, rationalist, "aesthetic control" fantasy.
- FELIX (Felipe): 22. Sociology student at CUNY. Long hair, silver earring, armed with social dialectics and resistance theory.
- DANTE (Diego): 25. Julian’s friend. Upper East Side, "polyvalent," and pragmatic.
- SLOANE (Ximena): 28. Felix’s friend. Brooklyn intellectual, bold, and unfiltered.
SCENE 1: THE ORIGIN OF CHAOS
A pretentious "open queer" bar in Hell’s Kitchen. Neon pink and blue lights. Thick smoke. Constant electronic beat.
[LIGHTS UP ON A DIVIDED STAGE]
RIGHT SIDE (UPTOWN STATUS)
JULIAN looks into an imaginary mirror, adjusting an all-black silk shirt. DANTE waits with two overpriced mezcals.
JULIAN: (Whispering) Dante, this place is a bit too... "eclectic." Leather jackets from the 90s and... denim? Not to mention the architectural disaster. Those columns are spray-painted styrofoam, dude.
DANTE: Dude, relax. We’re here to "expand your horizons," remember? Enough with being married to your blueprints. You need to be more curious. Live flesh—man, woman, whatever—just flesh. I promise.
JULIAN: You’re too much... I have my doubts. I’ve already decided to become a monk. Everyone here is a disaster. This "buffet" of people looks like a cheap 24-hour diner.
DANTE: You need a drink. You’ll be seeing everyone through rose-colored glasses in an hour. Make it three drinks and ten minutes.
LEFT SIDE (MADE IN CUNY)
FELIX ties his hair back. He wears a hand-painted t-shirt (Tamayo-style skull). SLOANE pulls him toward the bar.
FELIX: (Gesturing wildly) This is pure cultural appropriation. Look at this: Doric columns and Art Nouveau chairs... Alebrijes on the walls and LED mirrors? It’s an eclectic, failed appropriation by the pretentious petty bourgeoisie, Sloane. Pure Eurocentrism and a blatant disregard for our roots. What do alebrijes have to do with Doric columns? Tell me that.
SLOANE: Shut up and drink your beer, Professor! Three beers! You came here to hook up, "hetero-curious," you said... so no backing out now, okay? You need to feel some skin. This place is anyway... you’re not in a seminar. Look around. People are... interesting.
FELIX: It’s anyway, alright. Just a bunch of trust-fund bros... look at those guys in the corner with their silk shirts and designer labels. Total bore.
THE CROSSOVER (CENTER STAGE)
Both groups converge at the bar. Dante and Sloane recognize each other.
DANTE: Sloane! What are you doing in this "diversity" trap? Didn't know you leaned this way.
SLOANE: Dante... I could ask you the same. Finally out of the closet, or just "touring"?
DANTE: I identify as polyvalent, hetero-flexible, and borderline polyamorous.
SLOANE: As long as you don't identify as a "stray dog." What do you call those? "Bears"?
DANTE: Very funny. But honestly, I’ve always liked your vibe. Want a mezcal? My treat.
[Sloane looks behind Dante and sees Julian. Dante turns and bumps into Felix. Time freezes. The music drops.]
DANTE: (Turning pale) Dude... Julian... what the hell? Why is there a clone of you here?
SLOANE: (Nearly dropping her glass) Felix... do you have a millionaire twin brother?
[Julian and Felix face each other. The video screens project images of the patrons, focusing on them. Their resemblance is undeniable.]
JULIAN: (With aesthetic disgust) Dante, please. This subject is an exercise in personal neglect. That style is so cliché... and the hair reminds me of those hippies selling wire-wrapped crystals and earrings in the park. The resemblance is, at best, a structural coincidence of the jawline... and perhaps the nose. Maybe the mouth, mmh...
FELIX: (With disdain) Sloane, the "resemblance" is a projection of your aspirational, bourgeois side. My face is a common archetype of the Latin American diaspora. He’s just... a plasticized version of what I’d be if I lacked a social conscience.
DANTE: But you have the same mole!
JULIAN: It’s a freckle.
FELIX: It’s a common mark, a product of actual labor in indigenous communities.
DANTE: You’re the same height! You move the same way!
SLOANE: (Laughing) Oh, come on! You even make the same face when you’re annoyed. Look at yourselves!
JULIAN & FELIX (In unison, with the same sneer): We look nothing alike!
[They turn their backs. The DJ screen projects a TikTok video using AI where they appear side by side.]
DANTE: (To Sloane) Your "revolutionary" friend is hot, isn't he?
SLOANE: (To Dante) And your "super-prep" friend has something... but he lacks street cred, and he lacks me.
DANTE: (Completing the thought) "But he doesn't know it yet"...
SLOANE: Not yet.
DANTE: Wouldn't recommend it. He's one of those toxic types. Nothing fits for him, and no one... well, at least until now.
SLOANE: Yeah, he has that vibe like he wants to... fit in... or be fitted. And you?
DANTE: Oh, me? I’m tested, tried, and seasoned.
SLOANE: Ooh, that excites me... "seasoned" with different flavors?
DANTE: Strawberry, vanilla, chocolate... want a taste?
SCENE 2: THE TABLE OF DISCORD
Communal "industrial-chic" table.
[Dante and Sloane sit close. Julian and Felix sit at opposite ends, mirroring each other's posture.]
DANTE: (Enthusiastic) Come on, guys! Lose the sour faces. Felix, Julian is the best architect I know, even if he takes three months to render a kitchen. Julian, Felix is... uh... well, I don't know... he says very deep things.
FELIX: (Correcting him) I do analysis of urban power structures. Not "deep things."
JULIAN: (To the ceiling) And I don’t "do renders." I design spatial experiences. But I understand that for someone who feels like a shaman, terminology is irrelevant.
XIMENA: (Drinking beer) Ooh! Getting intense. Leave the class struggle—I mean, the ego struggle—aside.
DANTE: Let’s check the stats. In a good way. Julian, you’re 23?
JULIAN: (Fast) 22. Feb 27th. Pisces. Obviously.
FELIX: (Tensing up) I’m 22 too, according to this... and I don’t believe in the astral determinism of fashion magazines... but my parents registered me on Feb 28th. That was the day they brought me home. I’m adopted, Julian. Just in case your "blue blood" genetics are panicking.
JULIAN: (A flicker of surprise) Adopted?
SLOANE: Yeah, dude. Felix was found in a public institution...
DANTE: Julian’s mom always tells him he's adopted too, because he didn't get his dad’s blue eyes. He's not as "blue blood" as he thinks.
JULIAN: (Regaining his poise) Genetics aren't exact. Blue eyes mean nothing. Thousands of people have brown eyes and millions are born in February. But explain to me why he’s wearing that anarchist pirate earring while I’m wearing silk and actually have good taste.
FELIX: "Good taste" is a tool of segregation, Julian. My earring has more history than your designer shirt made by exploited hands in a sweatshop.
SLOANE: (Fed up) Shut up! Dante, it’s like a sauna in here.
DANTE: Yeah, the heat is hellish... I’m taking my jacket off. How about we dance? (He stands up, impatient).
SLOANE: (To the "twins") Come on, you two. Peel off the layers. Let’s hit the floor. The DJ is a genius.
JULIAN: I don’t dance to "mixed bag" music.
FELIX: Social exhibitionism without erotic ritual is meaningless.
DANTE: Then be erotic! It’s an open queer bar! No one’s judging.
[Music swells. Dante pulls Sloane away. Julian and Felix are left alone.]
JULIAN: (After an awkward silence) Your friend is... persistent.
FELIX: Your friend is... loud. (Pause). Are you really an architect or do you just like to criticize styrofoam?
JULIAN: I did a gallery project in Brooklyn. Minimalist. Exposed concrete.
FELIX: (Sarcastic) Ah, exposed concrete. So artists can feel the existential void of gentrification while drinking cheap wine. How innovative.
JULIAN: (Angry, unbuttoning his cuffs) You know what, "Sociologist"... you’re a bore. You have so many labels glued to you I don’t even know if there’s a person underneath.
FELIX: (Standing up, taking off his shirt) You want to see if there’s a person? Let’s dance. But I’m warning you: my rhythm isn't from a Columbia textbook.
[They both strip off their shirts. On the sternum, both have a tattoo that looks like a star. Underneath, both share another mark—a mole or a moon-shaped scratch.]
DANTE: (Returns, stops) Dude!
SLOANE: (Staring) Holy shit... Did you guys agree on the tattoo or are you in a cult?
JULIAN: (Looking at Felix’s tattoo) It’s... remarkable.
FELIX: (Looking at Julian’s, disturbed) It’s... very similar.
SCENE 3: THE POST-BAR TRUTH (AND THE REALITY AT THE END)
Outside. Hot dog stand. Hell's Kitchen streetlights.
[The four are on benches. Julian and Felix stare at each other with a hunger that isn't for food.]
FELIX: (Leaning into Julian’s face) We’re the same, man. It’s the same DNA. If I kiss you, I’m kissing my brother. I can’t.
JULIAN: (Losing it, he stands up and rips his jacket open with violence). We aren’t brothers, dammit!
DANTE: But the mark! The goddamn star!
JULIAN: It’s not that. (He takes out his iPhone and turns on the flashlight). Felix... your star is a birthmark. (He touches Felix’s chest with an open hand).
FELIX: Your hand is cold. (Smiles). It feels good.
JULIAN: Felix... yours is real. But mine... (He takes a key from his pocket). Look!
[Julian begins to scrape the edge of his "star" with force. His skin turns red, he hurts himself a bit.]
SLOANE: Dude, you’re gonna skin yourself! Stop!
JULIAN: (Panting) It’s not a birthmark... It’s a tattoo. It doesn't come off because it's ink! It’s a fucking tattoo, Felix! I wasn't born with this.
FELIX: (Frozen) What? Then…
JULIAN: I saw this design in a book of ancient symbols. I thought it would look good. I got it because I wanted to... (He looks at his chest, terrified). I didn't know you existed!
SLOANE: (In shock) The same tattoo? Or the same star in the same place? That’s "destiny."
DANTE: Hell yeah... it’s not a coincidence. The universe is talking to you.
FELIX: (Runs a finger over Julian’s irritated skin. His voice drops an octave). You drew yourself on your chest... without knowing... what I carry in my flesh.
JULIAN: (Trembling slightly) It was a coincidence. It means nothing.
FELIX: (Staring at him with animal curiosity). There are no coincidences like that, Architect. If you tattooed it without knowing me, it’s because I was already inside you.
[Felix pulls him close. Dante interrupts with a grin.]
DANTE: Alright, brothers or not! Fuck it if you're cousins or primates! Let’s get to the After-party!
SLOANE: (Pulling Dante toward the building). Come on, you "stray dog"... I want to see that third floor with the lights off. Don't leave me behind.
[Dante and Sloane enter. Laughter fades. Only the hum of a transformer remains.]
JULIAN: (One last doubt). This isn't logical, Felix. What if we hate each other tomorrow?
FELIX: (Closing the final inch. The air vibrates). Or what if we don't?
JULIAN: Or what if we don't?...
[Julian touches the mole on Felix’s chin. Felix closes his eyes, accepting the contact. Their noses touch. Just as their lips are a fraction of a second from meeting...]
SLOANE: (From the stairwell, mocking and mischievous):
— GET UP HERE ALREADY! GO AT IT LIKE YOU HATE EACH OTHER... OR LIKE YOU’VE MISSED EACH OTHER YOUR ENTIRE LIVES!
[Julian and Felix share a quick, complicit half-smile, without breaking eye contact. Just as they are about to kiss...]
[BLACKOUT]
THE END
