A monologue from the play by Michael Tooher
In the grip of PTSD, the Soldier has taken a Gardener prisoner in the mistaken belief that he is an enemy from a forgotten battle.
After being repeatedly asked by the Gardener why he wants to hurt him, this is the Soldier’s reply.
Soldier (nineteen – twenty six)
You want an answer? Here’s your f***ing answer. We’ve lost lots of people, Ali. Men and women. Good people.
People with futures. People who joined up because they just wanted to do their time and get a little money so they could get an education or start businesses.
Or just chase their dreams. People like me. And a lot of them are no longer here. They are dead, Ali. Dead.
And those of us who are still here are really angry about that. Really angry. We’re angry about what your raghead brothers have done to us.
We’re sick of saying goodnight to our buddies and discovering them dead in the morning, slit open ear to ear.
Put yourself in our place, Ali. Thousands of miles from home with an enemy that can appear and disappear at will.
Once, you’ve seen the sh*t come down, it makes you hard, man. Sh*t that would have made you blow chunks before you got here becomes standard operating procedure.
People can become used to anything. I know I have.
And when you’ve had a friend, a buddy, someone you care about, someone who was very much alive a second ago,
suddenly stone dead at your feet, well, you’ll do anything to anybody to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Anything.
