Alessia Monologue

I connect mostly to this passage because August knew he was sick but he still went to Amsterdam with Hazel. He did not let his sickness or his parents stop him from doing something he wanted to do like travel. I was once told that I could not do something but it was not by my parents and it was not related to my health it was my education. Through my whole year in kindergarten I had my teacher say that I had a problem with my learning skills that I as dumb. This stopped in first grade but started again in fifth grade . My teacher would always say that I would not be able to go the 6th grade and that made me feel bad about myself. At that point I got tired of teacher saying that i'm not cable of doing this and that because I don’t grasp the content as quickly as the other students. When she told me this I wouldnt say anything because I was scared that maybe that would happen to me. That I would repeat the grade again and I thought if that did happen how would I live with myself, I would be a failure to my whole

Hearing the sound of the one I love's laugh brings me the joy in the day today I need. Knowing he is happy makes my happy. I don't show my feelings, but Midoriya knows what I'm feeling. Show I don't have to show them.

The smell of burning flesh is repugnant. It lingers on every street corner, on every piece of cloth, in every shallow breath. The sky is red. Glowing through black clouds that are heavy with the ashes of those who have stopped screaming. More than three thousand tonnes of high explosive bombs are dropped. Again. Again. Again. Just like dust caught in a sunbeam, the ash swirls a slow descent. The air pulls in. Pauses. Pressure building. The blood in your veins almost recoils, your brain bruised in your skull. A moment of vertigo. Then nothing but noise. Loud. Angry. Ringing. And pain, so much pain. Screams rise, the crescendo approaches. Hellfire rips through the buildings, the sky, the people, your heart. This city is a firestorm.

As you walk down the ally it rains, it is night you should not be out here everyone knows that except you. You are just visiting from acrost the bay. Tonight while walking back to your car, you relise that your car was stolen. All that's left is your keys in your right pocket next to your phone and a peice of gum. Then just as you think that it just can't get worse, a mugger comes up from behind you. He puts his gun to your stomach and says " We both want something the other person can provide, I want money and you don't want to get filled with led, so..." after that all you hear is a scream. You look up and all you see is somthing unhuman this creature had long pointed ears, it had wings that were 6 ft across, and you can already see the

At a young age I became acquainted with life's greatest pain. Loss. My parents, the Heroes of Alrudia, went off on a mission. It wasn't that difficult a task for Luiknights of their grade and they had two additional teams to go with them. But, they never came back. I remember that day. I opened the door and came face to face with a grief stricken man. The fact that I recognized the man was a bad sign. I knew immediately that something was wrong. It was the hardest I've cried in my entire life. I thought the grief would last only a short time but it stuck with me. It devastated Jas. Then and there I knew I had to be strong. I had to be strong for her. I thought that if I hid my agony, buried it deep within myself, that I could move on. Oh how wrong I

I choke on laughter at her suggestion. How in hell could she possibly think that I would agree and go with her and Diego the Brazilian bull-dozer that ripped our family apart to live with in fucking Argentina?

A particularly nasty group pf men set at the far end of the bar, their drunken crooning filling the rest of the tavern with horrid, off key notes. From what Marco heads from their legible conversation, much of what they "say" are merely drunken slurs, it appears that they are a band of mercenaries or something similar.

The time was early in the summer. I felt like I had been waiting for eight long months and finally the day, it was a Friday afternoon, when Sariah and I met Emmie and Pepper.

“Bien, pero había mucho trabajo, algunos de los cuartos estaban muy sucios.” Mami responded beginning to complain about her day. After they talked about their day, Luis began to ask the question he asks every day: “Can you give me money, I need it for gas?” With a dry, neutral tone he takes a sip of his ice cold Budweiser, with a blank, careless face, he begins to question my mother if she has any money for him. My mother with her now abrasive tone she tells him that she’s tired of giving him money every single day. “You used all the money I gave you?” Mami inquired, even when she knew the answer. “Well, you didn't give me enough!” He responded beginning to raise his voice. As little as twenty dollars a day and as much as a hundred a night intimidated she gives it to him. Scared thinking, “If I don’t, what’s going to happen to me, or even worse, what’s going to happen to my children?”

When after quite a while Gracia and I could talk alone for a moment, I commented her those thoughts of mine, and she warned me:

Pressed against the cold wall, I emitted a set of vehement screams. I struggled against my shackles, rattling them vigorously. I let forth more screams, as a frigid object was thrust mere inches from my face. The motion recurred, but this time, the blade slashed off my ear. I howled in torment, feeling the blood gush from my wound, hoping that someone would hear my agonizing pleas and rescue me. Each time I screamed, my shouts echoed back, surpassing my own in volume. The imitations continued relentlessly as I attempted to shout more forcefully. I shouted until only one stone remained in the wall my betrayer, Montresor, was building around me. I no longer had hope, the fight was dying from me. Surely this was just a joke, a frivolous farce?

Dear K., there’s a mosquito stain between the pages of your book, a streak of platelets beside my index finger. The broken microscopic cells have escaped the hurly-burly of the wide aorta, the stark unholy flow through veins and tubules. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mistake anatomy for emotion. My heart is meat and gristle, like Artaud’s:

Yet you only found rot and an empty heart, I hope you feel my sin

Agapé The sky is as blue as it is always; grey Yet there it is again, outside lurks a sensual whisper from the wind Remaining stars left weakened in dismay – I will wait! My promise hung open those obeying oceans, Blurred blank; a tide pulls back from a shore of opaque truths With

I had been at it since 7 o’clock in the morning, my body aching for rest. My father paid for the Ballet Lessons to teach me more discipline,