‘Something Inside That Head of Yours,’ revision 1

So I revised my short story “Something Inside That Head of Yours” into a monologue (about 2.5 to 3 minutes long) to audition for The Theater Company’s upcoming V-DAY production!

Don’t know if I got a part in the show yet, but I was pretty pleased with how this monologue turned out – it makes me want to turn even more of them into performance pieces.

Something Inside That Head of Yours

I like to imagine possible perils. Like, maybe the produce guy will toss me in a box of potatoes and rape me. Or maybe I will get distracted by a man with gorgeous locks blowing in the wind and my guts will go flying everywhere as a car runs me down as I cross the street. Or maybe I’ll get whacked after I accidentally charge airline tickets to a mobster’s credit card.

I know that these things are highly improbable. They just add some extra thrill to my life.

I went into a new bakery and saw a man cutting bread. Perhaps he is a serial killer, I thought. The place is loaded with torture devices – knives, toasters, really hard breadsticks. I thought maybe in a preemptive strike, I could grab the nearest baguette and hit him over the head with it.

He turned around before I could, though. “Can I help you?” he said.

It was then that I knew he was the love of my life. Why didn’t I notice how attractive he was before? Oh, right. He was facing the other way.

“Can I have a croissant with Nutella?” I said.

“No croissants left,” he said.

“Okay. Anything you can recommend?”

“…I really like the croissants.”

“But you just said you didn’t have any left, so that doesn’t really help me.”

It was then I realized my true love was stupid. We settled on a roll.

As I ate, my belly began to hurt and I knew something wasn’t right.

Perhaps he had poisoned me? Or perhaps the poison was intended for him! Maybe it was someone who also loved him!

The pangs started getting worse and I could feel my gastric juices stirring. Maybe they sang their heart out for him in public and he said, “What was that?” and they said, “Taylor Swift’s ‘You Belong to Me,’” and he said, “Ew.” It was probably really tragic.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Probably just upset stomach. Got Pepto?’

“I can check.” He left me behind. A few minutes later, I fell to the floor in pain.

A little after the world went fuzzy and a little before the world went black, I heard him on the phone.

“It’s done, boss. You don’t have to worry about that little rat buying tickets with your card on no Priceline.com no more.”

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About Summer Dawn Hortillosa

Summer Dawn Hortillosa is a journalist specializing in arts and entertainment. Among other things, she is also an award-winning playwright, director, singer-songwriter and actress. Her work has been seen in The Jersey City Independent, The Jersey Journal and other publications.
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