Cast
Theo: late thirties, skinny-normal build.

Scene
Theo sits. He is largely unemotional and speaks with a wry, sardonic tone throughout. The lights come up and he studies the audience before speaking.


People have called me a hero, a killer, a saint and a psychopath. They even used to say the first three all in the same sentence: hero, killer, saint.

Maybe you’re thinking “army.” Prancing around the desert saving his country from towelheads. That ain’t me. I don’t give three tosses about my country and I sure as hell don’t want to die for it. I’m not a cop or a bodyguard or anyone else where you’d expect “killer” and “hero” to go together.

My name is Mark Theo Carter and until recently I lived a completely unremarkable life. Last five years I hardly worked a day and more or less lived off welfare. I’m not a stupid person, but I’ll be the first to admit I’m inherently lazy. If someone else wants to do something for me I’m not going to get in their way. The only thing most of you would find interesting about my last five years is that I killed sixteen people. Only got charged for four of them but that was more than enough for the life sentence.

I did the first one not too long after I quit my job. My latest de facto relationship had just broken down and I was going through some shit. Killing someone wasn’t exactly on my things-to-do list but, you know, the right situation crops up and you never know what might happen.

It was late at night on a Wednesday. There I was walking through Hyde Park when I come across what looks like a couple of teenagers having a root. Not many people go in the dark spots around here but I always walk in a direct line to where I want to go. When I get closer I see the guy has his hand clamped down on the girl’s mouth and there’s something glinting in the lamplight. He sees me and freaks a bit, holding what I can now see is a knife at her throat. “Fuck off or I cut the bitch,” he says.

What a charmer. I keep walking towards him. She can’t move her head but her terrified eyes fix on me. He gives me that “second and last warning” bullshit so I say to him, “You ever done this before, boy? You’re holding that little butter knife like you’re ready to spread some vegemite on your toast.” I’m real close now. I can see he’s still got his pants on. “If you don’t mind me getting her a little messy I can show you a trick or two with your Swiss Army.”

The guy stares at me. He recognises a stronger male. The girl’s so scared she can’t move a muscle, let alone work up the breath for a good scream. I crouch down beside her and look the guy straight in the eyes. He’s curious so he hands me the knife.

I feel this overpowering hatred take control of me. This sensation is way too strong for me to deal with and I need to get rid of it. Fast. I grab the knife and....

END OF EXCERPT​​​​​​​