a monologue

by Richard Nathan


LINDEE is seated though the entire monologue.

                                    You ask if not believing in God makes it harder
                                    to die.  Are you kidding me?  I've had three kinds
                                    of cancer, they took my spleen out, I had to
                                    have my hip replaced, and the artificial hip didn't
                                    set right because I couldn't move out of the hospital
                                    bed.  I fought it all, and got better, found a good
                                    man - or the base materials for a good man, which I
                                    took the trouble to build into a good man, and then
                                    the cancer comes back.  If your God could treat me
                                    like this while I'm alive, why should I think he'd treat
                                    me any after I'm dead?  You want me to be like
                                    one of those women with an abusive husband
                                    who thinks, maybe if I give him one more chance,
                                    he won't beat me this time.  Except you want me
                                    to think, maybe after God kills me, he'll start being
                                    nicer.  Do I look that stupid?  Yeah, they took a
                                    tumor out of my brain, but the tumor wasn't the
                                    part I think with.   So no, not believing in God
                                    doesn't make me afraid to die.  If I did believe,
                                    I'd have more reason to be scared.  Hey, God,
                                    how many more kinds of cancer you got
                                    waiting for me on the other side?   No, I don't
                                    hate God.  You can't hate what doesn't exist. 
                                    But I'll tell you who I do hate.  Anyone who
                                    tells you they will give you messages from the
                                    dead, if you pay them money.  You think the
                                    dead would talk through people who are charging
                                    hundreds of dollars from the people they loved
                                    most in the world?  Yeah, I'm going to help some
                                    jerk steal a fortune from that boyfriend I spent
                                    so much time on.  I do not believe in life after
                                    death.  I do not.  But when I die, if I could send
                                    a message to a "psychic,"  I know just what
                                    it would be.  "Hey asshole, you try charging my
                                    loved one one cent for the privilege of hearing
                                    from me, and I and everyone else on this side
                                    is going to spend the rest of your life shouting
                                    in your ear what a worthless piece of shit you
                                    are."  That would almost make it worth dying. 
                                    Almost.  Almost.  Almost.

She weeps.


2005 by Richard Nathan.  All rights reserved

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