(George? is lying faced down to the ground with an enormous head wound caused by a gun shot. Next to him lies a pistol. Behind him is a big screen where George! appears on. Both people look exactly the same, with the same appearance and the same cloth, apart from the head wound.)

George!: Suicide. Murder. Murder. Suicide.

George?: Suicide.

George!: Murder.

George?: Murder.

George!: Suicide. Rotten flesh, bones, blood. In sweat and mud. Covered by dirt and dust. Died in dignity. Spending death in his own excrements. Shivering, shacking, crawling for mercy. Unheard, unseen, but smelled. Badly Smelled. Tasted. Salty. Tees smashing crunchy worms, dry earth, rotten flesh, bones, blood. Covered by dirt and dust. In sweat and mud. Bugs obsessing the place where the consciousness used to be. Flies harvesting the space where we located the soul. But it is gone anyway. It is gone. Never been there. Or here. What is left is lying head faced down to the ground. Unable to breath, but unable to breath anyway. Faced down to the ground. Static ground. Solid ground. Adamant. Solid as a rock. Do not make room for this body. Do not let the dead poison your realms. His spoiled fluids dripping in your precious water. Yours is yours, mine is mine. Rotten flesh, to rotten flesh, bones, blood. Cover me with dirt and dust. In sweat and mud. Leave him here. Leave him to me. I will stay with him. I will care for him. I wouldn't slaughter him again, as he did before, as I did before. We did what we had to. We saved us. We saved the world. Our world. Leave him to me. Leave him to me, but leave. Leave us to ourselves. In dignity. Dignity at last. He got what I lost. He took it from me. With him it is gone. But I will find it. I will find it in his organs, in his veins, maybe. I will look for it in any single blood cell of his body. Of my body. It has to be somewhere.

(George! Disappears from the screen and comes on stage, next to George? With a knife in his hand. Approaching George? Going down on his knees beside him, looking down on him. The knife put next to the pistol. )

George!: It has to be somewhere. Tell me where it is.

George?: I can only tell what rotten flesh can tell. Rotten flesh, bones, blood. In sweat and mud. Covered by dirt and dust. But I remember a time different from the time now. A time where I knew nothing but myself. Yourself. I found a short cut. You found a short cut. My way out of the misery. Now I am here for you to find yours. You are on your own to find it. But I am here with you to find it. Do not wait do not hustle do not trust someone else to do the work for you. There is no one giving you redemption, there is no one giving forgiveness. Even if you seek it. I forgive you, as you forgive me. But we only know what we make us believe to know. Believe in what you know! I will make you believe in redemption, in forgiveness. If it is in you. Look if it is in you. Redemption of blood, forgiveness of flesh. Ripping it of from the bones of what you believe to be true.

George!: I cover myself in sweat and mud. In dirt and dust. Here: your body lying in front of me. Faced down to the ground. My body lying in front of me. Faced down to the ground. The head wound. Witness of our relation.

(George! is grabbing the knife pointing it to the head wound of George? Then pointing it to his own head, where the head wound would be. Beginning to push it slightly against his head. Taking it of again. Taking a closer look at the knife. Fancying the idea of hammering it in his own chest. Starting to treat the knife as a beloved child. Softly grabbing his arms around it. Cradling it as it would be child.)

George!: It would not be the same.
(Then pointing the knife to George? Again. Weaving it upon his body.)
George!: Here is your identity. I can see it glancing, almost shining. Precious identity. Outstanding identity. Almost like everyone elses, but with a little touch of purple. The education of your honoured parents. How they taught you to become the human you are now. To have respect for every living being.
(George! Pulls back the head of George?. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Do you notice the irony?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

George!: They taught you to have mercy with the poor, give shelter to the weak, not to take advantage of your strength against them but to use it in order to protect them from evil. To deny of your own evil inside. Locking up the beast which always finds its way out of its cage. Can you see how it starves inside you. For violence. For rape. For blood lusted murder. Free it I say. Free it, or let it die. You can not keep it as a pet. Violence is nothing to be domesticated. But let us see what we have there, beside it. There is the heritage of your ancestors in your genes. Your intelligence. Your sharp sense of humour. Your mental disorder. But is it really in your DNA? Did it not evolve later on? At least we got your brown eyes, your light skin. Your membership card for the white race.
(George! Pulls back the head of George? again. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Don't you feel guilty?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

George!: There is the country you were born in. Where you decided to grow wise or old instead. Imagine you were born in Malaysia as a little child working in a shoe factory.
(George! Pulls back the head of George? again. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Don't you feel guilty?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

George!: Here is your gender.
(George! Pulls back the head of George? again. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Don't you feel guilty?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

(George! Pulls back the head of George? again. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Don't you feel guilty?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

(George! Pulls back the head of George? again. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Don't you feel guilty?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

(George! Pulls back the head of George? again. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Don't you feel guilty?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

(George! Pulls back the head of George? again. Shouting in his ear.)
George!: Don't you feel guilty?
(George! Lets go of the head. It falls down on the ground.)

(George! Smashes the head on the ground over and over again evolving in a blood rage. He stands up and drags George? Around the stage. At some point he exchanges the body with a dummy filled up with animal organs. He drags the body to the place where George?s body lied before the blood rage. George! Takes up the knife again pointing it to the heart of George?-Dummy. Stabbing it and pulling the heart out of the chest.)

George!: Here is your hatred for niggers.

(He wipes the heart of the knife and throws the heart away. George! Is pointing at George? Testicles. Beginning to stab them and pulling them out of the chest.)

George!: And here is your love for their women.
(He wipes the testicles of the knife and throws them away.)

George!: No dignity. No honour. No mercy. No truth. No justice. No freedom. No equality. I can not see them. What is dignity. Where is equality. Only Words. Nothing real. Have you touched honour, have you smelled truth, have you seen justice, have you heard mercy, have you tasted freedom. There are no such things in the world. You made the up. You came up with them to hold me down. You can’t hold me down any more. Look at yourself. You can’t even look at yourself any more. You came up with them to make me feel guilty. To make me feel ashamed of myself. But there are no such thing as guilt, there is no such thing as shame. Take a close look to the world and tell me where you can see guilt in it. Shame in it. I only can see flesh. Breathing, living flesh, bones, blood. Washing away the sweat and mud. The dirt and dust. Who is breathing? Not you. You rotten peace of past. Here you can see the blank future without the pressure of dignity, honour, mercy, truth, justice, freedom, equality., shame and quilt. If you could still see. Walking flesh, bones, blood. I see what I can see. I do not believe any more. I do not have to believe any more. No short cut. No you. No me. No saving the world. Only being in it. Only being.



Post scriptum: Inspired by a bad flu.