A spotlight finds The Guy.
He’s angry at himself. He’s been carrying something around that has been driving him crazy. And in this second, he wants it out of him, wants it gone, wants it to disappear and never return.
So he reaches into his chest -- splitting the skin, cracking bone, ripping muscle, blood spraying everywhere – and pulls out his heart.
His beating human heart, which continues to pound in his hand once he’s pulled it out.
Since this is a play, he doesn’t die. It doesn’t even appear to hurt him. It’s only gruesome and violent (like a Tarentino flick).
The heart beats on, doing what it has seemed to do all the goddamned time for the last few months – want. That’s all it does – WANT. As if there’s nothing else in the world that matters, nothing in the world to be done other than wanting and being wanted in return.
You can see how needy it is when it pulses. It pulses like a heart that’s looking for attention.
But now that’s done. It’s out of him. For good. And although he’s made a bit of a mess and left quite a hole in his chest, The Guy is happy.
The heart throbs in his hands, completely undaunted.
It says, “I want, I want, Want me in return…”
The Guy admires its persistence.
The lights go down.
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