from "A Good English Gentleman"
Shelley A. Sizemore
JOHN: You know, the first woman I ever had looked a lot like you. She was older than me — the years of her occupation were quite telling on her person, but you could see she'd been a beautiful woman once. Such a shame, I thought. She was the best whore I'd ever been with.
MARY: Oh, thanks.
JOHN: Don't feel so slighted. I stayed client to that woman for several months. And you know how I like to talk — I would ask her things about herself, but she would never answer me. So, I started telling her things about myself — much the way I'm telling you now. I suppose since I opened myself to her, in turn, she felt more comfortable talking to me.
MARY: Does all this have a point?
JOHN: Oh, yes, my-dear. A very crucial point.
MARY: All right. Continue.
JOHN: Well, slowly this whore began telling me things about herself. About how she was thrown out of her husband's home because she loved another man. And then, how this other man had abandoned her. She couldn't find a job; and one night, while wandering the streets, a pimp raped her. At which point, he kindly offered her a job. Well, all this touched me very deeply.
MARY: Oh, of course.
JOHN: So, I started to cry. I felt so badly for her. She then, held me and spoke to me in a very familiar voice. At first, I couldn't place it. But that's when I realized it all.
MARY: Realized what?
JOHN: That voice —
MARY: You mean, she reminded you of your mother, and you felt disgusted for fucking her.
JOHN: (matter-of-factly) No. That she was my mother.
MARY: (laughs nervously) You're joking, aren't you?
JOHN: To make sure, I asked her what her husband's address had been. She wouldn't tell me at first; but after I threatened her, she finally gave in. It was my father's address.
(He rushes over to her and puts his arms around her.)
JOHN: Please, hold me. Just hold me.
MARY: John, this isn't funny.
JOHN: It was awful. Just horribly awful.
MARY: What?!
JOHN: I killed her.
(Just before MARY screams, JOHN puts his hand over her mouth and pins her down against the bed. He becomes angry with pleasure.)
JOHN: Just like I'm going to kill you now. (He smiles.)
(They struggle.)
JOHN: Mary, Mary, please! Listen!! No one leaves this earth unless they accomplish something, even if that accomplishment is marked by their own death.
(MARY struggles again and tries to cry out.)
JOHN: Just think. You'll be in the papers.
(They roll off behind the bed. She screams. He pulls out a knife from the back of his pants and lifts it up for her to see.)
JOHN: A good, English gentleman. Proper in every cause —
(He violently slits her throat. The screaming stops. Blood spatters on his face and clothes.)
JOHN: Chivalry reborn to a fault.
(He starts gutting the body. Sounds of cloth ripping can be heard. He looks down at her.)
JOHN: Do you hear me, my little one? In the dim gas-glow lights of London, the night is my kingdom. Here, I need not hide.
(Slowly, he gets up and walks out toward the audience, stalking them. The lights dim, till there is only one white light on JOHN from directly above.)
JOHN: (rhetorically) Why do I hate them so much? Why do I want them? (pause) Blood. I want blood. Blood devouring the whores while I take their souls. Mine are the last eyes they look into. Mine. They are mine.
Tonight, my reign of terror ends. But before I go, I should probably tell you my real name. It's Jack. My mother called me good Jack. But I prefer Bloody Jack. My trade is death. My specialty is slitting throats, coupled with a hobby of dissection. My name is Jack the Ripper, and I want blood. In fact, I want you. (He smiles evilly) I really do.
(BLACKOUT as JOHN laughs.)
FINI
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