Summary: A cautionary monologue about the dangers of unforgiveness.
Style: Dramatic. Duration: 5min
Let me tell you a story about my friend, Joan. She and I, and another girl, Diane, grew up together in the same street, and went to the same school. We had our childish arguments, but managed to remain friends into our teenage years, and beyond. We were bridesmaids at each other’s weddings.
One sad day, though, Joan and Diane fell out in a big way – I forget now what it was about. Joan stormed off, saying she would never speak to Diane again. On the way home, she found a little furry creature with huge blue eyes. The little thing seemed hungry and begged to be picked up. Joan picked him up, needing to hold something and be comforted. The creature nestled in her arms, and she hugged it to her. When she got home, she gave it some food, and it settled down to sleep. After an hour or so, she tried to put it down, so she could carry on with her work, but it woke up and said to her, “I will love you forever, but there are three things you must do for me”. Joan, charmed by the comfort she received from the animal, said, “Yes, anything, what are the three things?” The creature replied, “You must always feed me, always keep me near your heart, and never, ever put me down”. Joan said, ”Of course I’ll do those things”, and went to open a tin of meat. She fed him by hand and kept him close to her heart.
Day after day she did this – feeding, holding, and never putting down the animal. She fed him from her own plate, and slept with him clasped to her heart, waking several times a night to give him food. Her husband was at first dismayed, then angry with her obsession. After a few months, he could not live like that any longer, and left. The sad thing was that Joan hardly seemed to notice.
I tried to reason with her, saying “Please put it down – he’s growing, and everyone can see that you are weary with his weight”. She grew angry with me, and told me never to come round again. But I was alarmed by the change in her pet. When she had first shown him to me, he was small, with big, innocent blue eyes and beautiful soft fur, the sort of pet you wanted to pick up and stroke, had she let me; but now he was growing big, the soft fur was changing into hard scales, the big eyes were slit-like and full of hate. His teeth and claws were growing long and sharp, and his breath was putrid. She had forbidden me to come round, but I rang her several times, and even over the phone I could hear the beast breathing.
I tried once more to see her, but as I drew up to the house, I could see an ambulance, and a stretcher being loaded onto it. Joan had had a massive heart attack. There was no sign of the beast in the house, just a few scales on the carpet.
There were few people at her funeral, and even fewer at her burial, just her parents, me and Diane. When it was over and we turned with heavy hearts to make our way out of the graveyard, out of the corner of my eye I saw a movement in the bushes. There was a small, furry animal with soft fur and appealing blue eyes. Just waiting. For someone.
© Copyright Susan Walton, all rights reserved. The script may not be reproduced, translated or copied in any medium, including books, CDs and on the Internet, without written permission of the author.