A Queens' Brawl

A Queens’ Brawl, AQB, the play, is a massively long black tragedy set in the summer of 2501. It is a dark fantasy about the end of the black race. 475 years prior, the nations of the world engaged in a final conflict, World War III. With the planet mutilated, ecosystems shattered and remnants of humanity in a struggle to survive, black people, of all colors and from every corner of the earth, consolidated their power and found sanctuary on a single island located in the middle of nowhere. Decades later, the radioactive debris that once contaminated the air, water and soil vanished. Alone in the cold world, people of the black diaspora celebrated 100 years of peace, before experiencing an internal struggle that would lead to the development of three independent states, with each governed by a single monarch. Centuries later, in the black forest, princess Kleopatra makes a deal with black gods to free them from their enslavement no matter the cost. With her son taken from her minutes after she gave birth, she has spent the past 16 years planning her revenge. With monsters such as The Beast, The Queen of Obesity, Miz Erabella, and the Bloody Women Warriors at her disposal, the black queen has vowed to bring the sun down.

“We all dream the good dream, of cotton swaying, of chains rattling, of corpses surfacing, of freedom being buried, under the immense pressure of a salty sea of perpetual perplexity, where the sun is unrelenting, unforgiving yet understanding to our black and warm dreams. See I dream the big dreams, of death everlasting, of life never passing, of roads where cars crashing. Yes, I had a dream. A dream of a rose buried deep in the concrete, of a concrete rose, of a garden of hoes, of bright lights on black woes, of black hues on black toes, of black children, with black dreams and black knows. I dream of a black Christmas. Inevitably we are all dreamers. Although only a few of us can dare dream of cotton so rich, it encompasses the chains in which, our freedom is eclipsed, by the illustrious illusion of a rapid river, upon a dead bank of stolen opportunities, forged memories, where the moon does not glow but dims on the precipice of an ambiguous future. Still, some dreamers do not sleep at night, inevitably, not all of us are dreamers tonight,” Queen Kleopatra