Daniel Conderman 
THE LAST LIVESTREAM
A One-Act Play
CHARACTERS
- CORA LUXE (20s-30s) – A wildly successful social media influencer. She radiates confidence and performative charm, but beneath that veneer lies a vulnerable soul terrified of losing control.
(Optional Offstage Voices could include brand reps, fans, or flight control, but this can also be done as a solo piece.)
SETTING
- Time: The near future or an unspecified modern era.
- Place: Inside a cramped, high-altitude capsule that has ascended to the edge of Earth’s atmosphere.
- Stage: A minimal set suggesting an enclosed space—a chair or small bench center stage, maybe surrounded by black curtains or a backdrop of stars. A single window or projected backdrop can symbolize the stratosphere.
- Props:
- A smartphone (Cora’s lifeline to her audience).
- A harness or seat belt to suggest a flight chair.
- Possibly some blinking LEDs or simple control panels to evoke an aircraft console.
LIGHTING & SOUND
- Lighting: Starts bright and hopeful, then gradually becomes stark and cold as tension mounts.
- Sound: Soft ambient hum of machinery or wind at high altitude. Might intensify as the situation deteriorates.
PLAY BEGINS
SCENE 1 – LAUNCH AND GLORY
(Lights up. Cora stands or sits in the capsule, phone in hand, streaming. She’s energetic, smiling, full of adrenaline.)
CORA (to phone, bright and bubbly):
“Hey, Luxies! Gasp We did it—we are officially on top of the world! This is Cora Luxe, coming to you live from the highest balloon flight ever attempted. We’re basically knocking on space’s door! (She angles the phone as if showing the window.) See that curve? That’s Earth, my loves! Is this insane or what?”
(She glances at imaginary control panels.)
CORA (still streaming):
“We’re 120,000 feet and climbing. Gotta thank my sponsors—SparkFizz Energy, Lux Studios, and MyGloss Cosmetics—for making this possible! You see what we can accomplish when we come together? (Winks) I’m literally out of this world right now.”
(A moment to read imaginary chat on the phone.)
CORA (laughing):
“I see you, chat! ‘Where’s your oxygen mask?’ Right here, babes, but I’m all good. State-of-the-art tech in this capsule. Okay, let me show you the—”
(Sudden beep or crackle from the console. Lights flicker subtly, indicating a system anomaly.)
SCENE 2 – TROUBLE IN PARADISE
(Cora notices something amiss. Her smile strains.)
CORA (still addressing her stream, forced calm):
“Heh, must be a little glitch. You guys, hold up, I need to check something.”
(She sets the phone aside briefly, pushing imaginary buttons. The hum of the capsule changes pitch, becoming more ominous.)
CORA (uncertain, under her breath):
“Altitude thrusters… why are you…? (Presses more buttons) That’s weird.”
(She picks up her phone, returning to a cheerful persona, though cracks are forming.)
CORA:
“So, slight hiccup with the altitude controls. No big deal! (Fake laugh) Just, you know, at the edge of space, but we have backup systems for everything, right?”
(An escalating alarm or beep intensifies. Cora’s façade slips momentarily.)
CORA (quietly, eyes darting):
“Come on, come on… (She tries tapping into communication) Ground control? Hello? … Copy? I—I can hear you a bit. No, I can’t descend. Something’s jammed. Do I have rescue incoming? Hello?”
(Silence or static. She looks at her phone, decides to broadcast her distress.)
CORA (to phone, tense smile):
“Hey, so, minor update: My thrusters are glitching, so I might be stuck up here for a bit. (Uneasy chuckle) Let’s get NASA on the line, folks! Flood their feed, tag them in the comments. Let’s show the world we can crowdsource a rescue, right? #SaveCora. Let’s do this!”
SCENE 3 – HOPE WANING
(Time passes. Lights shift to a colder hue. Cora’s hair is disheveled, her makeup smudged. She’s still streaming, but her tone is edgier.)
CORA:
“You guys, it’s been… (checks phone) six hours now? The air’s thinning. I can’t keep… I—I need someone to come get me. Are we trending? Is NASA seeing this? Elon? Blue Origin? Private jets? Guys, I’ve got all the money in the world if that’s what it takes. (Voice cracks) I’ll pay for the biggest rescue operation ever. Just—somebody do something! Please?”
(She tries to maintain composure, then reads imaginary chat comments aloud.)
CORA:
“‘Hang in there, Queen!’ Thanks. ‘Use a parachute?’ I don’t have one—this isn’t that kind of flight, guys. (Sees a trolling comment, grows upset) ‘She’s faking it for views’? Are you serious? Do I look like I’m faking?!”
(She slumps, exhausted. A flicker of overhead lights might mimic a dying battery.)
SCENE 4 – DESCENT INTO DESPERATION
(She coughs, rummages for a small water bottle—sips it, trembling. The phone’s viewer count may be displayed on a screen or simply implied.)
CORA (hysterical edge):
“Where’s everyone going? My view count—(reads phone) We dropped from a billion to… eight hundred million. Then five hundred million. (Laughs bitterly) Only five hundred million people. Great. Now it’s… a hundred million… (Voice cracks) Guys, please, please stay with me. Don’t leave me alone.”
(She stares out the window, gripping the phone tight, tears forming.)
CORA:
“Anyone have coordinates for a rescue balloon? A supersonic jet? … God, if only I had kept that partnership with the search-and-rescue brand. Ugh. Doesn’t matter—this is worthless up here, all of it!”
(Pause. She breaks down, shaking, tears rolling.)
CORA (soft, near tears):
“I’m so—so stupid to believe that all of you, all these billions, could actually save me. I have everything, and it’s worthless when I can’t fix a jammed thruster. I’m just a girl in a balloon about to run out of oxygen.”
SCENE 5 – FINAL DECLINE
(Time jump. Lights are dim. Cora is weaker, hair a mess, eyes red from crying. She clutches her phone, sees the viewer number is drastically lower.)
CORA (voice trembling):
“Five thousand viewers? That’s it? (Deranged laugh) I had over a billion at the start of this fiasco! Where did they all go? Did they get bored with my near-death experience? Or maybe they think I’m a lost cause. (Coughs) Maybe I am.”
(She tries to speak to one last dedicated fan in chat.)
CORA:
“To everyone still watching—like, all five thousand of you—thank you. Really. It’s not your fault. You can’t magically build a rocket to get me. You can’t fix my thrusters. You can only… watch me… fade.”
(Moment of raw emotion. She can cry here if desired—truly letting it out.)
CORA (gentle, resigned):
“I’m so cold… So tired. Oxygen’s nearly gone. (She holds the phone close, tries for one last strong note) Remember me as the influencer who soared too high… (small, sad laugh) literally. If you can share this stream, maybe it… helps someone… somehow.”
(She slumps, losing strength. A final beep signals an alarm for critical life support.)
FINAL MOMENT
(She sets the phone down, letting it face her in a final shot. She tries to keep her eyes open, breath ragged.)
CORA:
“Mom… Dad… I—I’m sorry. You said real life was more important than… likes. Guess you were right… I… I just… wanted to show the world…”
(She trails off. Lights flicker. We see her breathing slow. The phone chirps with new messages, but no rescue arrives. Then, with a quiet hum, the capsule’s power fades to black.)
END
PERFORMANCE NOTES
- Minimalism: You can stage this with just one performer, a phone, and subtle sound/lighting cues. The claustrophobic vibe is key.
- Audience as Chat: You might have the house lights low, creating the sense the audience are the “viewers.” Occasionally, you can improv short lines as though reading chat in real time.
- Emotion: Let the desperation grow organically—from confident showman at the start to a sobbing, terrified human by the end.
- Pacing: While this script reads in about 10–15 minutes, you can stretch or compress each scene based on how you handle transitions and monologues.
This one-act play underscores the central theme: no matter how many followers you have or how much money backs you, some circumstances reduce everything to one undeniable fact—we are all mortal, and fame can’t rescue you when reality crashes in. Use your real tears on stage to deepen the emotional resonance for the audience, leaving them with a haunting sense of both awe and heartbreak at the powerlessness of a “virtual empire” to save an endangered life. Break a leg!
