Rebel
by William J.
Brazill
(Spotlight
slowly up on Man.)
I read in
Camus what I already knew, that to be human is to
rebel. Say “no,” shout “go to
hell” when things don’t go well. A
midlife crisis entices me.
I don’t
use the f-word or other scent of adolescent
rebellion. I don’t like crack or ice or
snuff or any such stuff. Whiskey is fine and
chablis refined but both would lead in the
amounts I need to alcoholism. A suicide bomb
would do more harm to myself than to anyone else.
My university degree does not let me be crass or
low class or a pain in the ass. So I must find
another way to scream, “I rebel!”
The office
gives me scope, my only hope, to express my anger.
Less danger that way. It must be discrete, not
the stuff of the street, yet a strike at the
system’s heart. Don’t call attention to
yourself, my mother taught me, and hell to pay if
she caught me. So I follow her admonition and
rebel against my condition in a silent
affirmation of self-definition.
My act of
rebellion must paralyze the system, but I must
not be seen. So I will jam the copy machine.
(Spotlight
slowly down on Man. Darkness.)
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