A Cuckoo's Lament

A beloved friend had been gifted with a genuine Black Forest cuckoo clock, an old-fashioned, intricately carved wooden timepiece. For many years she had much admired what she called these "amazing hand-made contraptions," and often remarked she would like one.

Now in delightful possession, she placed it on a wall in her bedroom and, not being aware that she could turn off the mechanism to prevent the bird from announcing the hours and half-hours during the night, she quickly found it annoying. The phrase, 'Be careful what you wish for' came to her mind.

Wondering which room in her home would be most suitable for it, she decided on the foyer where it would greet all who entered her home with its noisy charms.

However, it soon became obvious to everyone in the house that the clock did not behave as it should. The cuckoo did not fly out of its box on the required times, but instead either did not show or, when it did, would cuckoo less or more than the hour required.

The clock was taken down and the back opened to see what the matter might be, but to no avail. Its intricately detailed clockwork mechanism appeared to be sound.

My friend and her family decided, with a firm nod to whimsy, that the bird itself was the problem; that it might be a uniquely 'possessed' bird, a statement made in jest, but, like so many such jests, came to be honestly believed, especially so after the alarming discovery one sunny morning that the bird no longer inhabited the clock. The two little doors above the clock face were wide open, but the bird was gone. It was not on the floor, where it may have fallen had the glue on its perch failed, and no one in the household confessed to mischief.

Wherever it had gone, it had left no trace. The bird had, to use the cliché, 'flown the coop.' To this day, it has not been found.

So, this monologue for an actor about a possibly troubled cuckoo in a cuckoo clock was born.