February 11 Play: RIGMAROLE

42: RIGMAROLE - by Ed Valentine
© February 11, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com

IN DARKNESS: BANG! A gunshot. Then a terrible thud.

LIGHTS UP: HAROLD stands, with smoking gun. WALLACE kneels by a dead horse, a bullet hole black in her forehead.

WALLACE: She didn’t deserve that! Why? Why would you -

HAROLD: Didn’t do it for her.
Did it for you.
Ma asks, I’ll tell her your horse broke her leg so it was a mercy killing.
And it was.
-
What you’re doing is unnatural. You hear?
Un. Natural.

WALLACE: Shit. You don't care about that.

HAROLD: Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe best way to get at you, Wallace. Best way to get at you.
Come on now, let’s bury her.

WALLACE: My poor Rigmarole.
My poor Rolly.
My poor poor Roll.

WALLACE cradles the horse. Pieta. Harold’s gun still smokes. The smoke rises in the light.

Lights out.

END OF PLAY.