MONOLOGUE: Mrs. D finally cracks

mrs humpty dumpty

Oh my god. He wasn’t pushed; he fell. He fell. There is no story here. There is no story. H-h-he insisted on sitting on that wall, he knew what might happen if he fell and –   And he climbed up there anyway, day after day after day, sitting there,  like, like an idiot, and…. Knowing! He knew, what might happen – and it happened, okay, he fell.


Now I’m alone with a dozen kids, alone, no father to…. The idiot.

Don’t look at me like-  You think we’re all the same. We’re not all the same. You are. You with your stories, your your relentless looking for, appetite for – what? This is news? Is this entertainment? Is this entertaining you people?

Here’s the news: he- he wasn’t good or bad. He wasn’t brilliant or special or –  He was just a guy. Not a punchline, not a lesson. He was just a guy who liked to sit on a wall, and watch the traffic, and one day, I don’t know, I don’t know, he just just shattered and –

He was there, and then he wasn’t, and…and nobody really knows. Nobody knows.

He just fell.

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About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
This entry was posted in Grief soup, Monologues, Plays and Playwriting and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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