It is a cold morning. Snow lays heavy on tree branches. The sun has not yet risen. A solitary bird (yes, a mockingbird) sings sweetly. Front doors are just starting to open for the morning paper. On a sidewalk, the silhouettes of two men can be spotted, talking in low voices.
Rambo: Atticus, I'm glad you agreed to meet me here this morning. The siuation could not be more dire, and we're in need of every good man who can hold a gun. And let me tell you, word has gotten around that you are a remarkable shot--the way you killed that rabid dog and all.
Atticus: Mr. Rambo, it's nice to make your acquaintance, and I've always said that it's best to meet with someone face to face, no matter how you think you may disagree with them. In meeting, one often finds that the human heart is more similar than not.
Rambo: Huh?
Atticus: What did you want to ask me?
Rambo: Good--I like a man who gets straight to the point. I want you to join my army.
Atticus: Which army might this be, Mr. Rambo?
Rambo: Well, it was originally the United States military, but they refused to fight the war that they needed to fight--the war that basically said Yo, Wussies, fight this war or else! And the military wouldn't let us fight the GOOD FIGHT, you know? All those feminists, equal rights people, and civil rights groups getting in the way of WHAT WE NEED TO DO AS A COUNTRY, and as the human race.
Atticus: Allow me a moment to catch my breath, Mr. Rambo. And, as a personal request, would you mind putting down the AK-47 as we speak?
Rambo: I don't put this gun down for many men, but because I respect you, Atticus, I will.
Atticus: Thanks.
Rambo: But only for three and a half minutes.
Atticus: Then let me ask you this quickly: who do you want to fight?
Rambo: Sweden.
Atticus: Sweden?
Rambo: Yes.
Atticus: The entire country, or just someone named Sweden?
Rambo: The entire country.
Atticus: Can you share your reasoning behind this desired assualt, Mr. Rambo?
Rambo: There are a lot of reasons, Atticus, most of which I can't go into. But I will share these three: 1) I have so many huge guns (both on my body and actual weapons) that I feel this insane craving to use them fast. I haven't gotten to employ them since, like, a long, long time ago; 2) Sweden is always so annoying, you know? Just kind of sitting there pretending like it's all friendly and everything. But I'm thinking, What if it's not? You know? Sweden could be preparing a massive take-over of the United States, which absolutely NO ONE would ever expect. Except for me, that is. Finally, 3) All of my guns have been loaded and then reloaded thousands of times, and the process is becoming very boring without anyone to shoot at.
Atticus: I see. Have you slept recently, Mr. Rambo?
Rambo: I don't need sleep. I just reload my guns whenever I get tired.
Atticus: I see. Have you recently read a good book, or visited with friends
Rambo: The way I see it, books are for people who don't know how to reload their guns. And friends are for people who need help reloading their guns, which I never need help with.
Atticus: Have you tried putting your energy and strength towards something which doesn't require shooting a gun at someone?
Rambo: Why?
Atticus: Have you ever tried it?
Rambo: Guns solve problems. This is my war. I have the guns. I must solve the problem--if only the wussies would get out of the way and let me do it!
(In the distance, the mockingbird sings sorrowfully, flying closer to where Atticus and Rambo speak.)
Rambo: Excuse me, Atticus, let me take care of this measly little creature...
(Rambo picks up his AK-47 and begins firing. Atticus Finch--with a strength no one, and certainly not Rambo, would ever have guessed--grabs the gun from Rambo's thirsty hands and empties all the cartridges from it.)
Rambo: (In shock from the strength of the older man) What did you do that for?! The stupid bird is getting away! Look!
Atticus: (Shakes his head and offers up a silent prayer) It's a sin to kill a mockingbird, Mr. Rambo. And it's a sin to kill for courage, too. Courage is more than a man with a gun in his hands.
Rambo: (Utterly confused) Then...then...what is it?
Atticus: Follow me; let me tell you about it.
(As the first shafts of sun peek through snowy tree branches, Atticus and Rambo walk off, talking deeply. Rambo's gun remains on the ground, empty, already becoming buried in the light dusting of snow that begins to descend. Fade to black.)
