No More Girl


A person rises from her bed. The sheets are tangled. She hasn’t slept well. In a thin white nightgown, she walks to centre stage and faces the back drop. It transforms into a beach. 

The audience gasp and applaud as real water laps at the sandy shore of the stage. 


The person drops her nightgown. She starts to tear off her soft, round flesh and hurl it at the sea.

The audience stop clapping. 


Piece by piece, she is no more a girl, but violently a woman. 


“No more girl would die for you,” she says. 

“It must be love, its such a tragedy,” remarks the audience.

“No more girl bites her tongue,” she says.

“Just hide this anger under your skirt, no one wants to see it,” advises the audience.

“No more girl burns herself for a good impression,” she says.

“Look how good she is at this. She’s almost ash,” compliments the audience.


The person picks up her nightgown. She exits stage left. 

The audience applaud themselves. 

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