betreyal

(The lights shine down on a lonely sergeant with his squad, the squad are at an opposite side of the stage to our soldier crowded around an armoured jeep. Our character starts to speak)

I don’t know where I stand nowadays I tell yer (he slings his prop m-16 over his shoulder) if it wasn’t for the bloody Americans we’d all be dead by now, dead and buried in an unmarked grave. I remember my first contact, ‘s**t’ I thought ‘looks like Mr.taliban’s come out to play again ‘cept this time he’s bought all his mates and his overnight bag with him’ ‘cept they wouldn’t need it since they had just been pumped full of lead covering every square inch of their skin turning their white hijabs crimson ‘rather it you than me’ I thought to myself with a smirk. It was part of the job description by now, kill or be killed, was my sergeants advice (glints at the sky) great man, great leader. Ill never forget the day he lost the game to a bunch of twitching junkies, remember it like it was yesterday ‘take cover’ they were his last words before his body earned the tag ‘corpse’ and was lashed viscously against the wall.

(Getting riled up, he intensifies)

People just don’t understand you know? The pain’s not only getting shot at by some extremist without a cause, or waking up in the morning and finding yourself in a hospital bed without an inkling on why your there. No. (Walks closer to the audience staring down every eye in the building) The real pain, the pain that doesn’t fade, the pain that iodine wont heal, is the sleeping with one eye open or staring down the barrel of a sniper to pick off some 7 year old ‘bomb mule’ and watching his head pop like a watermelon (gaining momentum he carries on) that’s where the real pain lies! And ‘the kick in the teeth’, ‘the salt in the wound’, ‘the venom in the sting’ comes when you realise just what you’re actually fighting for, America? Na, pride? Na, political and economic power? Well I’ll leave that one up to you to decide.

(It’s getting dark. He orders his squad back to the tank and they drive back to base. The lights fade, leaving the audience guessing; suddenly the silence is interrupted by the rumble of a 50. Calibre. A fog light illuminates him and his squad)

What? O, that? Na don’t worry, just another day at the bloody office. An extremely dangerous day at the office, granted, but none the less. (Distant Taliban return fire) you know sometimes I wonder what force is better, just like the lads decide between Rambo or braveheart. The taliban in many ways have every right to kill us, I mean, it wasn’t the Uk’s war anyway. Mr. Blair’s pocket was feeling empty one day so he wanted a piece of the action. I know people who have gone against the British armed forces before to join the taliban. I can’t say I blame them. I mean they were greeted with opium, money and most of all respect. Something money can't buy. They were real men; they were more Rambo than braveheart.

(With the speech over and the gunfire suppressed the light fades, and footsteps and chatter are heard, its about midnight and his squad are off to bed. Our character sits on the edge of his bed)

I don’t need this, this constant struggle with life. Coming home to greet a steel locker and a foam mattress. I bet the taliban don’t have this problem, many say Islam Is an alternative reality, a ‘see things from the other side’ sort of reality. Right now I’m waiting, waiting for a signal to become ever joyful and indulge in Islam. We all end up dead, its just a question of how and why. I always knew I was more of a Rambo guy, I was never braveheart. Allahu Akbar.

(With that he reaches for his belt and looks skywards. The lights fade and the set changes to a destructed version of the old. There’s an almighty bang and the lights blare, the audience are greeted with total carnage and the knowledge of what has just happened.)