This is a snippet from a story I am working on called Null Object Pattern. Works as a sort of weird monologue and should hold a casting directors attention.
N U L L O B J E C T P A T T E R N
BY: Paul William Fassett
You don't matter. I wouldn't shed a tear for you no more than I would shed a tear for the millions that died in the Holocaust. Now I don't deny it was a tragedy, I'm not a complete monster. There's just no emotional attachment there. I didn't know anyone that died there so how could I weep?
After all, people cry more for dead pets than they do the deaths of people they never met.
Just yesterday I was coming home from work and through my windshield I could see a bunny, or a rabbit, (hard to tell the difference). It was white, with pools of blood gathering at its matted fur. It must have gotten hit by a car maybe, I don't know. It was limping, bloodied, up to the curb dragging an injured leg behind it.
The curb was too high for it to climb but it tried nonetheless. Over and over again. Failing each time. Smacking up against the curb flatly, then falling back until it finally just laid there, breathing heavily, ready to accept death.
But death never seemed to come...
It just kept on breathing, and breathing, and blinking, and breathing, and breathing. Blink, expand, contract, expand, contract, blink...
I watched unable to move, unable to think of what I could do, aside from watch and feel sadness for the pitiful little thing. His blinking became slower, his breathing shallow, until its body shuddered with a coughing fit. Slowly its chest rose, and deflated. Mouth dropped open, eyes stared ceaselessly at me, as if pleading. Pleading for help, or comfort, as if I should run from my car, cradle its head and shout up to the dark sky:
“No! Not this one! You can't have him!”
I didn't posses the power to do anything, and it didn't matter... It was a dead thing, and didn't matter...