This short monologue was inspired by my short story “Mourning A Friend” which can be found here. It is my first attempt at this type of thing, but I must warn if you are easily upset, do not read on.
SCENE 1 INT. BATHROOM DUSK
HEATH HOWARTH (36), HOPELESS, DESPAIRING MAN STOOD LOOKING INTO THE BATHROOM MIRROR. HE IS PATHETIC, UNKEMPT AND PITIABLE. HE WEARS A BARGAIN PLAIN WHITE T-SHIRT AND CHEAP STONE-WASHED, PALE BLUE JEANS WITH A LEATHER BELT AND DIGITAL WATCH. HE IS SLENDER, BUT SINEWY. PAIN IS ETCHED ON HIS FACE, AND APPEARS TO BE POURING FROM ALL PORES.
Dad… I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. Oh man… I didn’t want this. It’s her… She’s driven me to this, I’m finished. I’m fucking spent man. I can’t do this no more. I’m sorry, Dad…
(Heath splashes his face with cold water and runs his hands through his thinning hair, he breathes heavily.)
I aint gotta tell you Dad, of all people, y’know how hard it’s been for us. Jesus Christ dad, I loved her. She was my fucking girl, I loved her, I fucking loved her… And she does this to me… the fucking bitch. How could she? She said she wanted kiddies, with me dad, with me. I’ve known her since she was two. She was never like that bitch, but she’s turning right into her. And… And, I’m not giving my life up to her like I did her mam. That fucking Manc cow controlled me, and I swore I was never… Oh God, I was never gonna let that happen again. And I did. Dad when she turned sixteen and we ran away…
(Starts laughing hysterically)
We were so fucking happy. We got out. She was nuts, fucking Nurse Rached cuckoo her mam. And I said, I’d be there for her and I have, ‘aven’t I dad? Fecking soft lad ‘ere. I’ve never had much, but what I did have, I gave her. She looked after the money, fucking seventeen dad, and I gave her control, coz… Well… I like a drink don’t I? That’s sommet I musta picked up from you fellah. You liked a whiskey dad, fucking right… I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, but I never… I never did that.
Did I? I fucking… I couldn’t dad. I never so much as touched. Where are the boys dad? We said we’d look after each other, they’re not here are they, eh? No. Where the hell is Uncle Sam, doing a friggin’ ten stretch. Chalky, he’s fucking working, do you believe that? I’m here on a charge o’ fuckin’ kiddy fiddlin’ an’ he’s chasin’ scroats out the Strand. What the fuck?
(Heath takes a bottle of something out of his pocket and downs half)
Jesus! Like swallowing a fucking cactus that is. Dicko’s lad makes it, home made vodka from mashed spuds, it’s evil. It’s time now though dad, if I’m gonna do this, I’ve gotta stay in control. I might leave this earth a convicted criminal dad, I stole cars, I ran drugs… I ran drugs for Dicko, raisin’ cash to get you a deposit together for this fucking place. But dad, I’m all out of fight.
(Extreme shortness of breath, building to a crescendo)
How are they gonna look at me in court, she’s stitched me up good an’ proper, and there aint no wriggling outta this one. If I stick around to be tried, I’m a dead man, and I never laid a finger on the boy. They gonna call me a fucking nonce dad. So, I’m away now. None o’ that is happenin’ to good ole Heath Howarth. I’m gonna go my own way!
(Heath unscrews a bottle of pills and pours them into his mouth, and uses the last of the homemade vodka to wash them down. Heath looks directly at the mirror and says)
Loe, I’m so sorry!
FADE TO BLACK.