Anthony's Monologue

Today is the day. Today is finally the day that I am to be released from the psychiatric hospital since that day when I passed out. I know last time you heard from me, I was broken and unhappy and had hate for the world, but i'm in the best state i could ever be, I really am I tell you. Oh how excited I am to see old Phoebe. I haven’t seen her since i’ve been admitted into this wing of the hospital. Oh I wonder how much she has grown< She was so intelligent and pure, nothing could ever compromise her. So I hope nothing hasn’t. I was retrieving most of my belongings before I left, when I happened to run into old Ms. Patty. This was my nurse and oh, how lovely she is. “Oh hello Holden, leaving so soon ?” she said so to me with great compassion. Naturally I said, “Why yes sadly, I must go on with myself and enjoy the world, perhaps find myself a woman”, I said this suave as hell, I tell you.

Face pale with terror, Adam's shaky hand moved to switch on the bedside lamp. Images of Fire and Brimstone, and writhing figures, - men, women and children all - screaming in pain as flames consumed their bodies, flowed through his mind. Eyeballs exploded, and liquefied flesh oozed into fiery lava pits, leaving nothing but a collapsed pile of charred bones on the ground before moments later the victim's human form was resurrected in its entirety, and subjected to the same agonising fate again. Over and over, ad infinitum.

The rain had just stopped pouring, and we had all gathered in a park nearby, as a makeshift memorial for Johnny. It wasn’t really a funeral, we didn’t have the budget for that, and it wasn’t like his parents cared enough to give him a proper goodbye.

I kept writing. It was hard, but I could get everything off of my chest. I could explain to people what had happened to me. I could tell my English teacher. It was a little hard, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Greasers didn’t cry.

The furious winter swindles our space by wearing its spurious faces and sending the echoes of a promising message over the sea. Today they will get the satisfaction they need and tomorrow your doubts shall outstrip the benefits of a prime litany. As for them who distance themselves from failing company expansive time exists although the alimentary rudiments will trigger their senses with false alarm.

Inspector Male, I just wanted to reach out and let you know the amazing efforts of Andrew Crowe and Greg MacArthur on Monday December 28th. Sorry for the long winded e-mail but I think it’s necessary.

“Dear Evan Hansen, today is going to be a good day and here’s wh-” “We’ve been stuck on this island for how long?! And you’re still singing those stupid songs?” There she goes again, always yelling at me for singing my songs. That’s Kaylin. I know she means well, in her defense we have been stuck here for 288 days and not being able to listen to new music can really make a girl upset. Anyways, i stick my tongue out at her and we laugh. “Why are you guys just sitting there? We’ve got drinks to carry!” There goes emily again, She’s always the one telling us what to do. In a loving way of course, i mean we probably wouldn’t have survived this long without her keeping us calm, cool, and collected. Me and Kaylin go to help Emily carry the coconuts

When I knocked on alfonso's door a older lady with orange hair and wrinkles came up and answered the door.

Through The Looking Glass Disclaimer: No, silly, I never have nor will I ever own The Outsiders. S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. *sighs* :( I simply borrow them for my own creative enjoyment purposes.

It’s been six months since her husband Samuel died. It’s been hell since the day she found out. Like being pulled into a black hole. The moment those words left the man’s lips, she started falling into a black hole. When she made the funeral plans. When she packed all her belongings and all her son’s belongings into boxes and moved from California to a small town called Collinston. She just fell deeper and deeper. She isn’t the only one who has suffered from this loss. Her son William is 7 years old and will not talk to anyone other than his mother ever since the event of his father’s death.

I awoke to beams of a dozen spotlights, my vision gradually adjusted to the brilliant white light which illuminated everything around me. The realization that I had fallen asleep during rehearsal caused my eyes to widen in utter shock and confusion.

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.

"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine" I reply. The he whacks me in the back of my leg with a club and I fall to my knees.

Make room so he can stand in front of me. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, that you are

He then remembered that he had a spare key in his bag. As he, rummaged through his bag he finally opened the front door and got into his home. “Honey i'm back home”, he shouted.