A Micro-Sketch

X: Yeah, that's how you feel. What about me?

Y: Pardon?

X: What about me? Are my feelings to be consistently ignored?

Y: Well–...

X: I mean, why does it always have to be about you? Am I nothing? Am I dust? Am I some kind of monstrous pile of suppurating tumours cut from a pig's gangrenous bollocks?

Y: Well no...

X: What then? A Nazi? A child killer? Did I rape your mum and set fire to your dad's bed while he was asleep? Am I to be shunned and ignored altogether? Am I not human?

Y: No. But you're my psychiatrist. I pay you to listen.

X: Oh. I see. That's all right then. Carry on.

This very short piece was written in April 2003 during a drama-writing workshop. The first line was given; everything else is my own.