A Full Life

(Sitting and looking at chair. Resting pistol against his head.) Four thousand, one hundred and sixty dollars. Phew. There’s no way to say that lightly. (Stands up. Pacing.) What has a man done with his life to owe four thousand, one hundred and sixty dollars of his livelihood to another man. What paths does he have to follow to bring him here, today. Ropes binding his hands and feet in some display of pitiful arrogance towards his ancestors. Sitting, waiting, ready to let go, ready to die. (At die pulls pistol up and holds it at chest height. Stays there for a couple of seconds. Holds pistol back down. Sits down and looks out over pool.)

You know, they say that taking a life is the hardest thing man has done, but man, MAN, has always been capable of incredible things. But what am I, incredible? No. What have I done to deserve such a title? My title is Janitor. “Sweep,” they say. “Sweep, clean out the pool. Sweep, clean the damn bathroom.” I... I’m goddamn tired of this job. (Turns back to man) For twenty thousand dollars a year I am a... a servant of the working class. And do you know what? I am damn good at it. Maybe that’s why I don’t leave. Plus there’s this; this “job”, if you want to call it that. Dirty, nasty business. That’s all it is. The dirt and grime rejected by society. Lowlife criminals like yourself owe someone like your boss a lot of money, no? Haha. But you know how this goes. I am the end of the line. I am the last face you will ever see. And they’re paying me a hell of a lot more than twenty thousand dollars. (Laughs)

You lived the life of these men, damn near walked in their shoes. How does this make you feel? Your whole life has led up to this very moment. Every (emphasis) decision you have made since your eyes first caught a glimpse of this magnificent world of ours has brought you to this. Very. Moment. (Pauses) Every decision I have made has brought me here today. And what have I done right to be the one holding the gun and not looking down it’s barrel. Maybe none of my decisions were right. Maybe my decisions were just less wrong than your’s. 

Who’s to say you haven’t lived a full life? Hell, I don’t know a damn thing about you. You could have once had a dream, a life, a girl. But you threw that away didn’t you. Crime itself is a drug. That’s what I always say. (Emphasis) You think all of those dealers and druggies on the streets are out there throwing it all out there for a reason? No, no man. They are a slave to the rush, the, the false sense of purpose and power that comes from disobeying. They seek to overthrow, to prove their worth, and for what? Status and singularity. They long to be unique and to stand out from the crowd. It starts young; they always do. I did. And I’m not talking about selling weed on the corner. I was never about that life. Harvard educated, not top of the class, but up there. I had a girl, a life, a dream. But I just couldn’t be happy, could I? I had to go and rebel, I had to be unique, to stand out. (Laughing) But look at me now! (Gestures around room, arms spread) A rec center my kingdom and a mop my staff! This is living, is it not! (Laughs)

No, I should be as fortunate as you to have the comfort of death. You don’t have to worry about anything at all. Not a care in the world. At least, not in this one. But, ah, listen to me ramble on. I am selfish, taking up so much of your time. We have work to do, do we not? Thanks for listening. (Raises pistol quickly and fires almost instantaneously. Picks up mop and begins to clean up blood. Fade to black.)

End.