STING    3'?m1f Monologue: Where, oh death, is your sting

(based on a story by Frank Paretti)

I used to spend a big part of my summer vacations out in the
country at my Grandma and Grandpa's farm. My grandpa's truck
didn't have air conditioning, so we would drive around with the
windows rolled down. One day as my grandpa and I were driving
along a dirt road, a bee flew in my window and immediately began
buzzing around my head. Naturally, being a city kid, I freaked
out. I began screaming and crying.

Of course, my grandpa tried to calm me. He said, (imitating a 
deep voiced old man) "Relax, baby, it's just a honey bee. He 
won't sting you. As soon as he finds out that you have nothing 
to eat, he'll leave you alone."

But I was unconsolable. I had been stung by bees before and I
just knew this bee was out to get me. I continued to scream
until Grandpa reached out and snatched the bee out of midair
with his bare hand. Then, without warning, he held his fist up
to my ear.

(reliving the moment, cowers, childs voice) "What are you doing, 
Grandpa?!" I asked in a panic.

Grandpa whispered, "Shshshshsh, listen."

Reluctantly I held my head still while he put his fist near my

(relives the moment, cocks head) "Grandpa! He's buzzing! He's
still alive! Isn't he stinging your hand?"

Grandpa held his fist near his own ear. (imitates) "Not yet. But
he sounds really mad. I'm sure he'll...." (pulls hand away from 
ear painfully)

Just then grandpa's face twitched. I knew that the bee had stung
him at that moment. "I'm sorry, Grandpa. That was my fault. If I
had just kept still..."

But before I could finish my sentence, Grandpa interrupted.
"Don't fret, baby." He said. "There's a lesson to be learned

"What lesson?" I asked.

Then without saying a word, Grandpa held his arm straight out in
front of me and opened his hand. (opens hand dramatically near
chin, watches imaginary bee escape)

"Grandpa! You let him get away!"

"Don't fret, baby!

"But he's going to sting me!"

"He can't sting you now, baby."

"He can't?"

"No. Look at my hand." (tilts hand slightly toward audience)
"What do you see?"

"There's a red spot. There." (points to own hand)

"Look closer. What's right in the middle of the red spot?"

"Is that the stinger, Grandpa?"

"Yes, baby. He can't hurt you now." (winks) "His sting is gone."

(sigh, strolls) A few months later, Grandpa was on his death
bed. And, of course, I was crying my eyes out. Grandpa called me 
over to his side and said, (stops) "Don't cry for me, baby. 
Remember the lesson of the bee."

And he held up his fist and opened it for me. (puts fist near 
chin, opens it dramatically) In spite of the fact the redness 
was long gone from Grandpa's hand (points to hand) and the bee's 
stinger had been removed long ago, I remembered the lesson of 
the bee very well, because that summer I put my future into the 
hands of Jesus, (puts other hand into open hand, then opens both 
toward the sky) whose hands still bear the marks that were meant 
for me. 

I'll never forget Grandpa's last words to me before he died:
"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your 

2013 Bob Snook. Conditions for use:
Do not sell any part of this script, even if you rewrite it.
Pay no royalties, even if you make money from performances.
You may reproduce and distribute this script freely,
but all copies must contain this copyright statement.  email: [email protected]