Tales of a confession - Monologue prompt

 

Mack hides in the king’s bedroom. He looks around. The moon shines from the open window.

I miss Aliz. I miss her so fuckin’ much. Wait for a confession... I know but… I could make him confess. It would count, right? I can’t even ask her. I wish I could. I miss her. I miss her laugh and her eyes when she looked at me. I miss her lips when they touched mine… her sighs and moans… her sleeping body tucked against mine.

He’ll confess, I’ll make sure of it. And when that’s done, I’ll see her again. (Mack caresses his lower lip then chuckles.) We’ll celebrate. As soon as I’m with her, we’ll celebrate like we never did when we were alive.

The door is slightly ajar, Mack peeks out. The king is sitting with his back to Mack, writing something.

He’s only a few meters away. Three steps. Okay. Maybe five. I can take him… no… I can. He’s not changed one bit... just older. I guess that’s to be expected. She’s the only one who didn’t age at all. He never gave her that chance.

What stops me from killing him? Nothing. Her. A figment of my past… a beautiful light who guided me out of the darkness. He took her from me. He knew and he took her anyway. Why shouldn’t I thrust my knife between his ribs? In his kidneys? It wouldn’t kill him straight away. He wouldn’t be in pain like she was but… It’d feel so good. Better than any other time I killed. Picture his eyes open wide in shock. Imagine his blood leaving his body as he realises what’s happening.

His fingers twitch, the movements uncontrolled. A maniacal laugh escapes him. He covers his mouth quickly. The king stops writing and turns around. Mack steps away from the door.

This would make me happy, so happy. She’d want me to be happy, right? She knows he deserves it. I could cut his guts open. No bones there, it’d be like a knife in butter… would be quick… painful but… maybe too quick. Yes. I should work on him like an onion, take each layer apart. Slowly. Carefully. Cut his flesh… peel it away. Cut through fat an’ muscles. His blood would flow through my fingers like filthy water. I’d cut through rib bones and see his heart beating like a bird in its cage. It’d be heartless to keep that bird in there. (Mack chuckles again.) Does he still have a soul? Would I see it? Would it be as cold and dark as I imagine it? What do you think Aliz? Maybe I should find out.

He looks again at the King, reading something at his desk. Mack touches the door handle, ready to pull, his hand on the hilt of his knife, still in its sheath at his belt. 

Don’t do it. I can still hear your voice, Aliz. That’s what you’d tell me. He’s just there and you’re the only thing that’s between me and revenge. You’re not even here with me. Not here for me to hold you and love you like I promised on the day of our wedding. I couldn’t protect you. Can’t avenge you. You protect him. Even in death. You protect him.

The door opens and one guard speaks to the King. From his viewpoint, Mack watches the King nod and follow the man. After the door closes, Mack walks out of the bedroom.

You’re right. I’ll wait. I need to prepare. I’ve waited for seventeen years, what’s a few days more?

I wrote this as part of an exercise, all the while thinking about this character and his loss, his pain and his love. I guess there's still some work to do, but I found this exercise really interesting and loved writing in Mack's head.