by Shelly Trivedi

Edmund: [says while peering into the audience with a spotlight on him] She was a girl of paradoxes; profound yet illegible, elegant yet promiscuous, illuminating yet dead, black yet white. A villa in Tuscany was her place of stay – a villa, as beautiful and tender as she but cold and old when touched. And still, every man became her suitor knowing what they knew about her “medusa-like-elegance.”

[After a long pause the stage set up is illuminated]

Mr. Brady: [mesmerized, gawking at Edmund] Wow…and she was how young at this time?

Edmund: Oh about sixteen – the peak of anyone’s beauty.

Mr. Brady: I see [says while staring intensely – he then takes a long drag of his cigarette but then shakes his head out of procrastination] Now, what weapons did you use to remove her heart?

Edmund: A shovel. Her heart was buried under her flesh of nothingness.

Mr. Brady: Uh huh and at what point did you start…um well…consuming the corpse?

Edmund: After I documented all her secret imperfections that everyone pretended didn’t exist. She had a fuckload of stretch marks.

 

Back to FICTION