Author’s Note: This monologue is from a play I am in the process of writing. I have also acted it out in the audio below. Bear in mind that I haven’t done any acting for ten years…
I have been wronged. I have been thrown to the wolves. They think women have it easy. They think I have it easy. In this courtroom. In this world. I do not feel comforted. I do not feel safe. I do not feel believed. A male murderer is another cog in the machine. A female murderer is a statistic. It goes against nature. Women should be gentle. They should be kind. Take care of the home. Take care of the children. A gun does not belong in a woman’s hand. No. My mother always used to say to me, ‘Hydra, nobody listens to us. We are women. Our throats are raw from all the shouting we must do to be heard.’ If I have had to shout before, then I really must scream now. I have been falsely accused. My DNA was planted at a crime scene by a man I thought I could trust. When I go back to my cell after the proceedings, I can still smell it on my clothes. Those musty benches. The sweat coming from my lawyer, who is doing his best, but I see the weight of the legal system upon his shoulders. I think about what would have happened had I not given that man my food. What would I be doing? A murderous woman is a disease to society. History loathes us. They throw stones at murderous men. They pelt us. I am losing hope. It was once in my grasp, at the beginning. Now. Now I see myself falling down a black hole. I will be killed if I am convicted. They will electrocute me. Smoke will rise from the top of my head. I still remember what I ate that day. It was a triple cheeseburger with extra relish. If only I had just eaten all of it. Every single bite, gone. Then I wouldn’t be here. In this cell. In this hell. No. No. I can’t keep turning this over in my mind. This gum has no taste anymore. Rubber in my mouth. It is old. I am old. Too old for fighting systems and historic prejudice. Take me now. To the chair. To the ground. To my mother, I am sorry. The world did not change.
—Hydra
Courtenay's Corner 