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.


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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