The Girlfriend's Story

School Shooting
The Girlfriend’s Story
An idea for a scene in a play that was in development - contains violent themes of school shootings.


A girl sits centre stage on a chair. The stage is dark. In the wings the chorus, wearing dark clothes hovers- as if they are hovering on the edge of her consciousness, attacks her from the sidelines. Malevolent but subtle movements.
A light draws onto her, interrogation. Perhaps a torchlight. She goes to stand, indecisive, but sits back down gripping the edges of the seat. A voice comes out of the darkness- one of the 'subconsciousness' chorus members, faceless.

Voice one: Tell us what happened.
Girl:I…I knew him. At least, I thought I did.
Voice one: Yes. What was your relationship with the accused?
Girl: Harry. His name is- was, his name was Harry.
He was my boyfriend.

She stands and the lights go up, she loosens up as she talks, pacing around.

Girl: Me and Harry were dating for two years. I never- I never thought he would end up like this. There were hints, clues- he was changing…I just didn’t see him doing something like that. I never could have imagined that those conversations would lead to this. We were the golden couple. She smiles. Everyone loved us! Some of the girls were jealous of me, of course, they were! Harry was gorgeous, handsome, smart and athletic, the whole package. He had funny ideas sometimes, was reckless, did stupid things- but we... We did what all kids do. We all just laughed at his mean jokes and applauded his stupid stunts. It was his quirk. It made him...him. Pause like she is listening to her interrogators, but they remain silent. What made him do it? I couldn’t tell you. He had some strange ideas, he liked looking at the stories about shootings, you know, in the news, online and the like. He thought it was, he told me he thought it was disgusting that people we protesting it, that they wanted gun control. He had always been a strong supporter of the 2nd Amendment, he hunted with his dad at the weekends, but sometimes, but sometimes he said to me - A voice, the voice of the shooter, repeats her words as she says them. 

Together: Don’t these stupid people feel guilty? That they should have died too?

Girl: He was violent sometimes, he was funny in the head, I think. He would hit me. She pauses, cups her cheek, as if remembering the pain but then brushes it off, laughing nervously. Nothing I couldn’t handle of course! No one knew he would actually do it. It was a joke you know, something we all just played along with, as we always did. Of course, I feel terrible now, I could have done something, we could have done something - any of us I - Pause. I don’t know where he got the gun from. Suddenly he was there, Harry, standing with a gun in his hand. I remember a teacher screaming but no one else made a sound. As my friends and peers fell down around me, mowed down by the bullets from my boyfriend's gun I stood in resigned shock, I didn’t hide. Somewhere deep inside, despite the way he had treated me, I knew he would never shoot me.

The lights dim. The people around her have been creeping in forming a ring around her, but chaos and un-ordered. The confrontation between shooter and girlfriend. Recognition.

The look lasts, and then it passes. She is the only one left standing. The chorus falls and creep away hidden by the flashing lights. The chorus vanishes. She sits back down and the lights go up.

Girl: I don’t know why I survived. I won't ever know. All I know is it can never happen again. Never again.