Place Called Heaven

In this monologue, GEORGE has been locked up for twelve years.  As time has passed his mind has begun to wither away. He has been contemplating suicide.  

GEORGE:  Sometimes I wake up in the morning to a cooling sensation from the soft breeze coming from my window.  Before I even open my eyes, I’m smiling.  For a second I can even smell the sweet rose scent of my gentle wife Rosemary.  But then I hear an echo of a voice that pulls me slowly out of my joy.  I fight hard to go back to that place…the place I call HEAVEN but it never ceases to escape me.

The sound of echoes become more clear and I can hear the boots of men walking across my new home.  I hear the chatter of thousands of voices scratching me in my ears like the roaches I hear scattering at nighttime or the rat claws scurrying along the cement floor in the wee hours of the morning.

I cry on the inside of myself.  Heavy tears expressed with the outside coldness of a stone face.  That’s the way one must be in this place.  Stone.  But even stone can get chipped away and carved into something much uglier than your worst fear.


You realize, as you slowly open your eyes in the morning, you are living a nightmare far beyond human conception.  That hell is your destiny.  You glance around your cell and you get that sick feeling in the center of your chest, like a pounding that only gets stronger, never letting you go.  This pounding I’m talking about, is beating so hard, that your brain shutters inside your skull, all day, each day and never subsides.

Yes, this is my home.

Joseph Arnone


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