The Hopeful Romantic
By: Timothy O'Neill
Tags: Fiction, Self, Play, Drama, Dreams

The Hopeful Romantic

A One Act Play

Image by WikiImages from Pixabay

To finally realize one’s own mortality in a way that makes space for its inherent intimacy is a challenging task. Death may seem alien to us, being so far removed from our daily experience, but it is a fundamentally natural part of life that every entity must endure. We make room for death, we invite it in, we huddle against it. Some will fight against it to the bitter end, as is their prerogative, and others will accept it with a sigh and shed a lonesome tear. We, the living, are perpetually the pioneers, going on a journey whose route has yet to be charted. We must not be afraid. We must remember that our last moments will be remembered, even if we are not there to appreciate them, and we must act accordingly. So we go, until death open its gates to us…

I think, I think I’m dying.

You are.

Nothing we can do?

No.

That’s too bad. I was finally coming around.

To what?

To life.

You were?

Oh yes, to the struggle and salvation of it.

Damnit.

I know.

Let me get you some more water.

I’m fine, I just like to watch the birds at the bird feeder. Those starlings are tenacious.

They’re bullies.

Always had a soft spot for bullies.

Really?

Yes, they’re lacking something. They’re scared, they’re hungry, they’re in pain so they go looking for trouble.

I suppose.

Was I a bully?

When you were young.

How bad?

Honestly?

I wouldn’t have anything else.

You were the worst. You were the angriest, meanest, most sadistic and threatening bully that ever walked the playground.

What happened to me?

You grew up.

That’s not an answer.

You filled the empty places. You accepted and forgave yourself. You turned to God.

God didn’t help, I did the work myself.

You don’t think He helped you?

He told me He wouldn’t. He said it was something I had do by myself, for myself.

Why do you live in filth?

Laziness, boredom and an odd sort of fear.

Fear of what?

I can’t name it. Fear of keeping it together and what that would mean for me.

Change.

Maybe. And you know what change means…

Yes?

Death.

Always?

Without fail. And now that I’m dying I see how silly that is, how much I missed out on because I was too afraid to try something else.

You have regrets?

Countless.

Hard way to go.

Yes COUGH COUGH it really is. What would you have liked to have seen for me?

A bigger life. You lived a small life in the shadows, trapped with your neuroses and I would have liked to have seen you spread your wings and really explore the world. I would have liked to have seen you smile and laugh like you meant it. I would have liked to have seen you free.

COUGH Free. What a word. Was I not free? I’m going to have to agree with you. I think I was a prisoner to my many fears, to fear itself.

You don’t sound afraid right now.

It’s still surreal. It hasn’t gripped me yet. It will soon.

I could give you something to relax you.

That’s okay. Death will be the last experience of my life and I want to fully appreciate every moment of it.

Are you in pain?

Yes.

You shouldn’t be in pain. Take a little morphine.

Nothing. COUGH COUGH I’m almost ready. I can feel my soul shuddering, yearning to be set free.

I shouldn’t say this.

Out with it.

I love you and I’ll miss you.

I love you too and I will miss you until infinity binds us together as one.

You’re a hopeless romantic.

I’m COUGH COUGH a hopeful romantic. Because I know the cynics and the nihilists are wrong.

How?

Because I’ve lived it. Because I’ve seen the full glory of God’s creation. Because COUGH I know what it’s like to sing a dream into being and to dance through it with arms spread wide and feet twirling.

We should have more time. We should have MORE TIME.

We have what is gifted to us by the universe. COUGH. Alright. I’m ready.

You’re leaving?

I’m leaving.

Again I say, I love you.

Again I say, I love you too.

The End