Monologue Barry arrives smiling at the bus stop. A young woman is there and a man of about sixty. They look bored. Barry nods to the old man and he nods in reply.

Just One of Those Days

Barry arrives smiling at the bus stop. A young woman is there and a man of about sixty. They look bored. Barry nods to the old man and he nods in reply. Barry looks over to the King’s Head pub and notices that a man in a soldier’s uniform steps out, holding the door open for a young woman. Barry has a flashback that takes his breath away as he remembers. The old man at the bus stop looks tired, but Barry talks to him anyway.

I was in the army once, you know. (Barry ignores the old man’s confused look and continues). For most of the time I was based in Belfast… Yes, I well remember the day I signed up. I kissed my wife and my baby son goodbye and left to join my training course. He was only seven months old.

But I already had the special skills they desperately wanted. They needed me on the front line, so I was pulled out of training early and went on a mission. At first there didn’t seem to be anything to do. I watched the rest of the lads get legless. I cleaned my M15 rifle. I didn’t really want to use it, except in defence… You know, I saved many lives with that rifle.

Later we saw some real action. At first we were excited but things soon got bad and my squad split up in the crossfire. One by one they were picked off until it was just me and Stevens, my CO. I wasn’t too sure about him. Everyone said he was trigger-happy but when he bought it I felt so bad.

You see, that time it wasn’t the IRA that was to blame. It was my fault. (Barry pauses to light a cigarette. His hands are shaking).

There was a man walking confidently into a group of civilians while Stevens and I watched from the shadows. We were on patrol and safe for the time being but we had been warned to watch for revenge attacks on the locals who were helping us.

Stevens barked an order at me. “Do it!” he said. “He looks like the one”. But I told him straight, “No way. I’m not ...

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You see, that time it wasn’t the IRA that was to blame. It was my fault. (Barry pauses to light a cigarette. His hands are shaking).

Stevens barked an order at me. “Do it!” he said. “He looks like the one”. But I told him straight, “No way. I’m not killing another man just because you think he’s the bomber”. The man entered the crowd and he looked like all the other people around. Not different, not dangerous. “For God’s sake, do it!” Stevens hissed urgently.

Bang! A car backfires. Barry focuses back on the street scene and notices that it is just him and the old man now. He takes a drag on his cigarette.

The blast killed Stevens and sixteen innocent people. The only reason that I survived was the body of a seven year old boy that sheltered me from the worst of the blast. His torn and mangled remains cushioned the force. It was one horror too far. I ran and ran.

They found me a week later, but I had lost my mind. That was the end of the army for me. They sent me home, a wreck.

I got back to the country I loved, England, but I wasn’t the same. I couldn’t just go home, you know? I couldn’t just be normal. I didn’t want to think about what I had done. If I thought about it, talked about it, then it would become real. I thought it was would be better to get drunk. I stayed on the street. I don’t know how long for.

Then one day I woke up sober and missed my family. I went home. I opened the front door and went straight to the fridge. As I opened the first can of the six pack I remember thinking, “since when does Sara drink this muck?” Still, a drink’s a drink, isn’t it? So I downed the lot in no time. I was a mess.

I took out my army knife to look and I heard Stevens ordering me again and again “Do it! Do it!” The words rattled round my head. I threw the knife in the bin to get rid of those memories but then I was crying and pulling it back out. I just couldn’t give it up. With the knife back in my pocket I headed upstairs. I wanted to see my son. I opened his door and kissed his sleeping head. Even in that state I could see how much he had grown. Then I heard voices in the next room. My room.

Across the landing I pushed at the door. Why was it locked? I stood for a moment and then kicked out at it. The door crashed open. I shouted, “Who the f*** is that?” Of course, I was drunk and angry, but who wouldn’t be? I wasn’t expecting a medal or a hero’s welcome, but I was expecting some loyalty. “Calm down, Barry”, Sara begged. Suddenly I was holding the knife. The inevitable scream followed. The man was lying in a pool of blood and Sara was staring at me. I turned and ran. I never even knew his name.

Weeks passed. Months. I lived on benches and street corners running from every siren or blue light. I got mixed up with the wrong people. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? I did some bad things. But there’s not much call for my special skills at the Jobcentre.

Every day was the same and they all merged into one long nightmare. Day and night. It didn’t matter what time it was… I remember one cold morning waking up on a flat roof in Glasgow. No idea how I got there. I stank of urine. There were empty cider bottles all around me. It was so deathly cold. I remember that clearly. Then I noticed the syringe still dangling from my arm. I pushed the rest of the smack in and once again I was in heaven.

There were lots of days like that, just bits of memory. Until one day I needed a hit so badly that I felt that if I didn’t get a fix I would die. I saw a woman on the floor. She was bleeding, almost definitely dying, and I knew it was me. I had done those hideous things to her. Caused those injuries. Even so, I took her handbag and that’s all I can remember.

Barry’s head is in his hands as the memories cause him great pain.

The next time I knew anything was the day I was locked in a prison cell. I was in isolation. I thought that was harsh but I soon found out why. The drugs had destroyed me and I was like an animal. I had these fits of rage and attacked anyone that came near me. When I finally got clean I had lost four years of my life. But that was not all I had lost to drugs and drink. Oh no. I had lost my home, my friends and, worst of all, my family. In the end I was released for good behaviour. (Laughs).

This time I went to rehab and stayed the course. Life was good. Things seemed to be turning out better. I felt more like my old self, my true self again and finally my memory was coming back. Getting off drugs and staying clean is one of the hardest things I ever had to do.

Now I’m waiting for a bus to go to my first interview in six years. I’ve got custody of my boy now, after his mother committed suicide. I can’t say she didn’t deserve it. He’s six now. I’m clean and I’m dating a new girl. Her name is Sara too, funnily enough. We met at an AA meeting and I’m just waiting for Ben to get off his school bus before I catch one to my interview. Here he is now.

Barry stands up to meet the bus, but suddenly bends over clutching his chest. He falls to the corner of the bus stop. The paramedics arrive but sadly he is already dead.

Every day now I have that same dream. That death will release me. But the reality is I’m sitting here in the corner of the bus stop, a dirty, smelly tramp with no company.

A police siren sounds.