Tuesday, 16 October 2012

When Jesus Met Jack

This is a snippet from a Monologue that I will be publishing as an Ebook on Amazon Kindle. There will also be a separate Duologue within the same book.

When Jesus Met Jack

A police interview room with a large one-way mirror.

Jack is sitting alone at a desk wearing a straitjacket.


It was a hot, humid day in July. I was in the kitchen washing my underwear in the sink, when there was a sharp knock on my front door. This gave me a start, as I rarely have anyone knocking on my door. You see, I live on the twenty-second floor of a rundown tower block, and the elevator had been out of action for over a month. I have no friends or relatives, and I keep myself to myself. So why someone would be banging on my door was a complete mystery.
I’m not stupid though - I knew that the only way I would get to the bottom of this mystery was to open my door. Then the doorbell rang. I had forgotten I even had a doorbell. It played a tune, it reminded me of when I was a child, and the ice cream van drove down our street. 
I dropped my boxer shorts into the sink, yes boxer shorts - you might not think it to look at me, but I’m very fashion conscious when it comes to my undergarments.
I then dried my hands on my trousers, rubbing them up and down furiously. I found that when I rubbed furiously, I not only dried my hands, but I also dried my trousers. It’s the friction that generates the heat. My legs felt lovely and warm, so warm that I wanted to lie down. Then the doorbell rang again. Strange that the first time I had heard the bell I quite liked it. But this time, I hated it. I wanted to put my head through that little plastic rectangle, but it was on the other side of the door, so I just covered my ears with my warm hands - that felt nice.
I wondered why whoever was out there, was still there? Why would they stand in that dark concrete hallway, ringing my doorbell? It stank of piss out there. And sick, but mainly piss. Someone pissed through my letterbox once. Yes, pissed all over my carpet. And do you know what? I bet you can’t guess. Can you guess? No! I’ll tell you then. When that young man, because it was a young man, had finished pissing through my letterbox, I opened my door, and invited him in to my home. He stayed for a month, but then he started to smell, so he had to leave. In all the time he was in my home he never once pissed on my floor. I house-trained him. You know like you do a dog. I can’t have a real dog in the flat, the Council won’t allow it. It doesn’t bother me though, I hate dogs. Dirty, smelly things that shit, and piss everywhere. If I had my way I’d kill all the dogs, and their owners. Only joking. I did have a cat. Just for a day.
Right, I suppose you want to know about Jesus?
After I’d held my warm hands over my ears for a few minutes, I took them away, and waited quietly in the kitchen. There was no knocking, or ringing.
I tip toed out of the kitchen, and stood by the side of my front door. I then put my eye against the door’s peephole. At first all I could see was the concrete wall opposite my flat. I looked down the concrete wall towards the floor, and that’s when I saw Jesus. He was lying down, and he had his arms spread out, just like he was when he was nailed to the cross. I tried to look right and left along the corridor as far as I could, to see if there was anyone else out there.
I could see no one.
I then took off the door chain, and unbolted the locks at the top and bottom, and removed the wrought iron grill. I turned the latch and slowly opened the door. I peeped my head round the frame, and peered down both sides of the corridor. Other than Jesus the whole place was deserted.
I then stepped outside, bent down and quickly grabbed Jesus by his shoes and dragged him into my flat. He stank. There was vomit on his face, and on his jacket. He looked a fucking mess. I closed the door and locked it.
I left Jesus with his head propped up against the front door and went and made myself a cup of tea. I think I had two chocolate digestive biscuits with my tea. No, that’s wrong, I had custard creams.
I then heard Jesus moaning, so I went to see what he had to fucking moan about. His eyes were still shut, but he was saying, ‘fuckers,’ over and over again. Then he said, ‘I forgive you fuckers.’ I made it clear to him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t allow dirty language like that in my home. I said to him ‘no dirty language in my home, you dirty man.’
I then poured my hot tea over his face......

This Monolgue, along with a separate Duologue are now available on Amazon. HERE