[Harold sits a small table. There are teacups and macaroons in front of him. He does not touch them though, for he is dead. Soprano, Harold’s wife, enters with a teakettle. She pours some tea for herself and Harold. She sits down across from him. She holds Harold’s hand, maybe wipes some schmutz off his face with a napkin.]

Harold. Harold.
Are you freezing?
I know I am.
I bought you a sweater.

[Takes a sweater out of the shopping bag.]

I know you said you were too old for pink
But I thought you’d think about it again.
I thought you’d think about coming home,
Harold.

[She puts the sweater on Harold with great difficulty. Rigor mortis has set in.]

Life was kind to us at the start.
It kept us warm it gave us our hearts.
With all who are young it has that art.
How was I supposed to know that soon we’d get so cold?

[She continues to try to put the sweater on him. If the sweater is already on maybe she feeds him. At any rate, she eventually lifts him out of the chair and tries to get him to stand up.]

Life was once what I dreamt it’d be.
It was nothing but years quite suddenly.
Free of joy, wonder, or novelty.
How was I supposed to know that soon we’d get so old?
Harold…

[She begins to dance with Harold.]

It’s not your fault nor is it mine,
All we had was patience in the face of time…

[Soprano accidentally rips Harold’s hand off. He’s sort of rotting… like how dead people do.]

But death doesn’t wait.

[Soprano marvels at Harold's hand.]

Time takes and takes and buys back
Our bodies broken and used at second-hand rates.

[She puts the severed hand in Harold's shirt pocket.]

What can we give to bring you home
When everything we have we have on loan?

[Harold, unseen by Soprano, rises from the dead. He stumbles towards her.]

When even my misery isn’t my own…

[Harold, in essence a zombie, latches on to Soprano. She screams and tries to escape him.]

Time doesn’t just want our happiness,
It’ll take our screams back as well!
Harold, you were never mine, you bastard…

(THE WIDOW breaks free from HAROLD and stares at him as if for the first time.)

Harold, you were never mine.

[The soprano pulls out a crossbow from behind the couch. They circle each other.)

What I can I give to bring you home
When everything I have I have on loan
When even my misery isn’t my own…

[She manages to pin HAROLD to the ground. She cocks the crossbow.]]

Time doesn’t just want my happiness,
It’ll take my screams back as well
Harold, you were never mine, you bastard.
I’ll see you, Harold, in Hell.

[The lights dim as she raises the crossbow to HAROLD’s throat.]