I have probably never mentioned this before, but I love theatre. Script writing and directing feels better than anything else in the universe. Incidentally, a few days back, I got to perform a monologue for my Theatre Studies class. I will admit – I am not really a very good actor. But writing – ah, that I did. For myself and many of my classmates. Here’s a is glance at shameless self promotion. My monologue -
(Sitting at the center of the stage)
Don’t worry, my baby, it will be all right in a matter of a few moments. Never again will you have to wither in agony. Just a little while now. (Bursts into hyterical tears, stops the rocking motion. Cries loudly.)
I am so sorry I took your life away, my child! (Standing up) I know that everyone will look at me and equate me with a monster, but what could I do? You were so sick, so weak. It shredded my heart to pieces to see you undergo a lifetime of pain every time you moved.
Everytime you called for me, your voice seemed to become softer, more fragile. Everytime you cried when you had to get up to eat, you became weaker. Everytime I had to help you bathe, you seemed more ashamed, more helpless. Your strength wavered everytime you raised your eyes to look at me.
But doctors (laughing hysterically), they congratulated me. Told me you would be able to continue existing. Whether you were able to truly live or not, did not matter to them. They took immense pride in telling me that even in this condition, you will not die. As if not dying is all there isto living. these doctors apologised too. with lowered eyes, they told me your treatment is too expensive, I cannot afford it. And that was it. Your destiny was sealed. I could not pay for your treatment. Still, I didn’t give up. I begged for help. But everybody I went to, turned their backs on me. People who had meant the world to me, who I would have done anything for, tore my hope apart. Left us to rot in our misery. So, I did the only thing I could. I sent you to a better, less cruel place.
What do I do now? I cannot let my child’s murder go in vain. Everyone needs to know. They need to realize what monstrosity I had to commit to relieve my baby of pain. They need to know that though mine were the hands that took his life, they are all his murderers. I have to …I have to…(In a frantic manner, she dials a number on her phone. Speaks extremely calmly.) Hello? Police station? Yes, this is Aisha. I live in B 303, Brigade Gardenia. There has been a gruesome murder here. Could you send some people? Thank you.
Now they will know. Know what my helplessness drove me to do. Trust me child, I did everything in my power to fix you, to make it better. But I lost. Over and over again. And I couldn’t bear to see you like this anymore. But don’t fear, don’t worry. Your mother is joining you in death.
(Picks up her knife and slits her wrists)