Desperate Times Come With Tangible Lies: Desperate Times Short Play Series Presents: I'VE NEVER HIT A WOMAN, BUT I COULD SURE STRANGLE A GIRL

(Author's Note: I should start by clarifying for my readers - both of them - that this is all free prose fiction with a dash of truthiness.)

Strange Days - The webmaster is gonna have a field day cleaning this shit up. Poor Garbage Men. Oh well - they always do a bang-up job regardless of the volume of waste. I hate to say it, but I'm gonna have to pollute the web with more shitty writing to sublimate my pretentious impulses.

                     I'VE NEVER HIT A WOMAN, BUT I COULD SURE STRANGLE A GIRL

(LIGHTS UP on a stark industrial complex looking white-tile bathroom with steel trim walls. No windows except for a 4x4 black steel frame, allowing dusk to shine in on the room. A brunette girl, no younger that nineteen, is chained to the wall. She wears what was once a cocktail dress, that, after months of rape and torture, has devolved into rags. She cries. She bleeds profusely. She is gagged with blank staff paper. Two men enter adorned with political rally buttons and flags. The girl goes unnoticed.)

                                                                  HIM
... I thought he was a radical.

                                                                  HIM
No. He's just loud and headstrong.

                                                                  HIM
Ah cocksure.

                                                                  HIM
Yes, sure-cockness can often take the guise of a new radical, when in fact the man standing in front of you is no longer a man, but an old hat.

                                                                 HIM
I like old hats.

                                                                 HIM
They fit comfortably on one's head.

   HIM
They do.

                                                                 HIM
But they must be replaced.

                                                                 HIM
Why?

                                                                 HIM
Because change is essential.

                                                             HIM
But I like my old hat.

                                                                 HIM
I like your old hat too.

                                                                HIM
Thank you.

                                                                HIM
It's very nice.

                                                               HIM
Thank you.

                                                               HIM
Yes.

HIM
I got it at the ballpark in Aut-Three.

                                                              HIM
Aut-Three. Good season.

                                                              HIM
Great season. The Sticks against the Brooms.

                                                              HIM
Ah yes. The brooms were up three games to none.

                                                              HIM
They couldn't sweep.

HIM
Oh, come now.

                                                            HIM
You handed it to me.

                                                             HIM
I did, didn't I.

   HIM
Yes. It was more like an invitation engraved in Platinum.

   HIM
Still - you must change hats. It doesn't suit a gentleman to be caught in the same cap year after year after year.

   HIM
I like my old hat.

                                                              HIM
So do I.   You must change with the times my dear boy.

                                                              HIM
But you do not wear a hat.

                                                               HIM
No. No I do not care for hats.

                                                              HIM
But you just said I should replace my old hat. If you are not a fan of hats, then why tell me to replace my old one.

                                                              HIM
It's not that I'm not a fan of hats persay.   I'm simply not a hat wearer myself.

                                                               HIM
Oh.

                                                                HIM
You like your hat.

                                                               HIM
I do.

                                                               HIM
It makes you happy?

                                                               HIM
It does.

                                                               HIM
Then you should continue to wear one.

                                                               HIM
But,

                                                               HIM
But you should find one that suits you. This one is worn out.

                                                               HIM
It's comfortable.

                                                              HIM
That is why you must take it off. And put on a new one. (HE hands HIM a shiny new top hat)

   HIM
I rather like this new hat.

                                                              HIM
Have you tried on others?

                                                               HIM
Yes.

                                                              HIM
And you still like this one?

                                                               HIM
Yes. Very much so.

                                                             HIM
Then I think this is the hat for you.

                                                              HIM
I believe it is. (HE lights them both a cigarette, as HE is occupied with the long wonderful process of admiring his hat. Suddenly the girl's cries become audible. The hat wearer goes over to the girl and efficiently strangles her to death.)

                                                             HIM
Quiet! (SHE goes limp. THEY smile.)

                                                      [BLACKOUT]

   the end