(moving a chair)
Jesus, the last damn thing I want said about me is, “They got to the Col,” or, “He chickened out. Broke down and talked.” Some private or corporal hear that and say, “If he can’t take it, how the hell am I supposed to?” I won’t talk. (pause) There’s enough broken glass in this cell to slash my wrists. There’s been enough shit littering my days and nights in Iran to tempt Jesus.
(standing on the chair)
Hey Buddy, you knew you were gonna walk up that Mount, gonna have a few nails pounded into ya. That’s same as takin’ your own life. You made a choice. I seem to have a few options here. Slit my wrists, swallow some glass, bash my brains out on the wall. I think I prefer the old Spanish mode of capital punishment for my sins.
(LELAND hops up and down several times, trying to reach a cord hanging above him)
Son of a bitch, is this why you made me so goddamned short? This is the goddamn method I choose. It’s the safest, cleanest, most sure way and I want some kind’a goddamned help from you.
(LELAND hops, reaches and grabs the cord)
Thank you. Thank you.
(Tying the cord around his neck)
Bless me Father for I have sinned, I have not been to confession for some 270 days. I’ve been swearing every day since, so I can’t give you a count on…..
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- Written by: Dominique Cieri