Whose?: A monologue of posthumous days

There is always a moment - it comes to all of us irrespective of race class religion and all the other what-nots - when you take someone aside and point out everything - everything that has gone wrong. And there is always so much of it and it takes hours days of patient recitation probably from a book because it is far too long and involved - like a twisty rope left out too long in the rain behind the house you know it you have seen it with your own eyes - to commit to memory even for an old hand such as myself. You completely and utterly exhaust yourself in the doing you end up speechless breathless spent. I do anyway. One cannot walk away from ones nature.In this monologue of a minds slow dying an actor man of abundant words faces his final audience: of himself. It is a face that he barely recognises through the mist of his own tragic decline...