SUSAN: I died when I was seventeen, on August 13 1955,  but it wasn’t all romantic and flowery like your movies make it out to be. My soul was condemned to hell when I was sixteen, the Fourth of July 1954. For having sex out of wedlock. Feeling like I was in Heaven for once in my life got me sent below. No one really goes to hell for that nowadays, he sure didn’t.

Stop screaming, there’s no point in trying to move houses again. I’d just follow you. It was originally that you could move and I’d stay here in this house but after watching one too many modern ghost flicks, the big red man himself decided it would be way funnier for us to mess with you a bit more before collecting your soul and dragging you down to hell.

You don’t think your going to hell Mister? After what you did to that young girl? Nah, you have a special spot on his list at the moment, right near the top. He may be the Devil, but he doesn’t tolerate men like you. So sit your ass down you disgusting pig, and let me tell you how I died, and how I’m going to kill you just as painfully.

It was a Saturday night when it happened, and me and my best girlfriend Nancy Robinson were heading down to the sock hop on 44th street. After spending hours powdering our faces and making damn sure our hair wouldn’t go flat in the heat, we headed down the main road along with six others.

But then Nancy decided it would be better to walk down a different path with her, on our own.  Ten minutes of her constant worrying that the crowdedness would wreck the roll she had put in her bangs, I agreed. She was always a little dense, she didn’t really understand that the party was going to be even more busy and it was likely to deflate anyways. We went down the back road where hardly anyone walked when going to the dance hall, only traffic runs down there at that time of night. We were about to cross the street and Nancy stopped to retie her Oxford shoes and I didn’t notice. I kept walking and I looked to my left, but it seems I forgot to look to my right and-

Bang!

A mint green Ford Thunderbird rolled me right over. The hot new model. I felt heated metal collide with my hip, sending me up onto the hood, my head crashing through the windshield. Glass cutting into my skin and bones snapping like twigs on impact. I dropped to the ground like roadkill and the car ran over me, crushing whatever bones I had left into dust. It hurt like a bitch but I was already dead by the time the ambulance got there. My face was so messed up it took three people to recognize me.

I guess the worst part about dying is that I never did get to dance with that cutie from the basketball team, I wonder if Nancy took my place while they scraped me off the pavement. She was always a bit of a tart. Also it sucked that the blood would never really wash out of my best dress. But you want to know the best part about being dead? The best part is that now, I get to rid the world of people like you and put you where you belong. In Hell.

So if you don’t mind Mister, I’m going to tear you to pieces and drag you into the fiery depths.

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This is a monologue I wrote for my Drama 20 class and it was performed as a Reader’s Theater. This was partially inspired by Claire Pitman’s Class Act that she wrote for our Drama class.

The image is actually drawn by me as a reference to what I thought the character might look like. I know the colour scheme doesn’t really match my blog’s aesthetic but I just didn’t really want to colour it at the moment but I might later on and update the image.