The curtain rises on a solemn scene: a small room with white walls, no windows, lit by a candle sitting in the middle of a small round wooden table in the front center of stage. Next to the table and left of it is a straight-back wooden chair. Against the back wall stands an 8 foot high statue of the purest gold. It is the statue of a confident man. He is naked. He stands at ease, with well-developed arms folded across his powerful chest. His eyes look out level, confidently, as if ready for action. There is the hint of a good natured smile upon his lips. Above the head about a foot or so is a placard. On the placard is written the word HONESTY.
Obam (the king) enters swaggeringly from the door at stage right. He leaves the door open, but as he steps into the room it swiftly swings shut and there is the sound of a clicking lock. Obam turns, steps, jiggles the handle, but the door will not open. Then, through a hidden loudspeaker, a voice is heard which seems to emanate from Honesty’s mouth.

Voice: Obam, liar of liars, thief of thieves, murderer of murderers, destroyer of your country, hater of freedom and independence, come, stand in front of the statue of Honesty.

Obam: What do you want? What kind of joke is this? Why?

Voice: I want nothing. I have everything.

Obam: I was tricked into coming here. Why? What do I have to do to get out?

Voice: Tell the truth.

Obam: What do you want me to say? I’ll say anything!

Voice: Do you love your life?

Obam: Yes! That’s right! I love it!

Voice: Tell the truth.

Obam: I love it, I tell you; I do!

Voice: Do you love America?

Obam: Of course I do! I love the sufferers!

Voice: Tell the truth.

Obam: I do! I do!

Voice: The truth.

Obam: All right! I hate it! I want to destroy it! All these successful businessmen, these dreamers, these inventors, these stupid young people who have great hopes! I’d like to kill every one of them!

Voice: You want to get out of here?

Obam: Yes. You mean, now I’ve told the truth I can leave?

Voice: First you must sit in the chair next to the sacred flame of life.

[Obam, who’s back has been turned to the audience all this while, turns to walk in front of the chair and sit down. His face is full of deep lines and wrinkles. He looks extremely old. He slumps into the chair as if he was very tired.

Obam: [in a ragged, crackling voice] Okay, now what do I do?

Voice: Lean over toward the flame of life.

Obam: Now what?

Voice: Look at it. What do you see?

Obam: Nothing; just a stupid little flame.

Voice: Take a deep breath.

Obam: Okay. Whatever. [he takes in a deep breath]

Voice: Now blow.

[The stage is in total darkness for ten seconds. There is heard a weird scream, and a sound like a trapdoor opening and closing. Then a man, dressed in work cloths, wearing a tool-belt filled with hammers and screwdrivers and other tools, enters and switches on the overhead light. Only the table and the candle are there, and the statue.
Man [yelling over his shoulder]: No, no one’s here! [He walks over and lights the candle, turns, faces the audience, and unconsciously folds his arms across his chest, just like the statue]

Curtain