Church-Hopper Monologue

Recently it has occurred to me, that I am finally free from the shackles of fear and its hold on me, that this might be the end of the trail. Nonetheless, the sense that suffering is chasing me weighs down any notions of comfort or relief, frankly because my valley was once no different than the peak, just as safe and appealing. And so I moved in life, the trail never ended. The same pebbles remained unmoved, the same voices and sounds, everything was the same. Remarkably, the further I climbed, the more my perspective changed drastically, shifting my perception of moments and bonds that I developed with others into everlasting memories. Wounds seem to have healed. Gradually the valley below began resembling a gem with undeniable beauty contradicted

As my car climbed the hill, my heart sunk into my stomach. I parked as far away from my friends as I could and quickly exited the car, not once looking at them. Now it was every man for himself. Emerging into the open air, I suddenly became aware of myself. I could feel my puffy, blood-shot eyes. My palms became slimy. My fingers clinched into a fist and my nails dug into my skin. My sight blurred and my tunnel of vision tried to focus on the front door. Every step seemed more awkward than the last. Eyes pierced me from all sides. I felt naked. My body trembled like a sheep in the midst of wolves.

Imagine, if you will, a brisk night wind coming fast across a lake carrying a pungent smell, something you can’t quite identify, but is nonetheless familiar enough to send a shiver up your spine. As it hits the trees, they creak out a somber call in the still night air. Or was that groan something more…human? You notice, for the first time, the absence of tires humming on pavement and you wonder if it’s that late, or maybe just a slow night. The soft tapping of your shoes on the sidewalk is the only accompaniment your slow breathing has as you move towards the warmth of your home, holding thoughts of a warm bed in the palm of your hand to keep the chill away. You don’t notice at first, perhaps because the reality of what you’re hearing is

I walked upstairs face red, hands trembling, and body aching. I didn’t even think I could make it up the first couple steps before collapsing into a heap.Before I reached the last glossy maple wood step I heard the sound of little paws and nails scraping, slowly, softly, and sadly through the house. This sound made my heart ache.

I couldn’t help but stop, I was mesmerized at how elegant the hall was. It was a long passage, decorated with white tables, mirrors with white trim, white tile, white ceilings, and white lamps placed on every table giving off a ghostly, cold light. Open doors lined the walls. Inside, you could see white decorated rooms.

The pain was gone. I couldn’t feel the warm goo running down my face. I was...glad...that the pain was gone. But now there was a new pain. My mind felt like it was being pulled from somewhere in different directions. “Are you alright?” Suddenly there’s a voice. The pain dulled when she spoke. Her voice was like an angel, (Yes, I know that sounds cliche) but it’s true. Her voice was as soft as a cloud’s depiction, as sweet as a butterscotch candy. She sounded like she was as graceful as a dragon in a story. No matter what she did it was a beautiful flow of movement transformed into an art. Like something you’d never want to look away from. “Don’t be shy, You’re safe now. Come, follow my voice and you shall see the grace of the clouds and the eternal light from the sun and stars above. You can see all of the beauty in the world as if you were there. Come, follow my voice, and the wonders of the world are yours to experience. “Wi-Will I see you?” I ask her. There was silence. A long pause. “If that is your wish.”, she finally said. I moved. I actually felt like I was moving, like I was walking. I started to run. The pain from my mind was dissipating. I was almost there, I could see a silhouette in the whiteness. I felt clear, at peace. It felt nice. I found the source of the voice. She was incomprehensibly beautiful. She looked down at me, her eyes were full of kindness. She smiled lovingly at me, like she knew me. I paused. “A-Are you my

        “If that was her, then that means she must have known who you were the whole time,” Delta says.

Gwendolyn Brooks' "The Preacher Ruminates: Behind the Sermon" gives an eerie look into a minister's mind. Indeed the poem's premise is made clear from the opening line: "It must be lonely to be God" (1). The poem proceeds to note that while God is a much-revered and respected figure, he has no equal. The preacher's revelation provides the reader a unique perspective into religion. Brooks points out due to God's position of omniscience, it is not possible for a figure like Him to have friends. Throughout Brooks' poem, the preacher implores the reader for answers to his questions, finally concluding that to be God is indeed a lonely life and

I began to panic, as more and more of the black dots climbed into me, wriggling up my arms like worms in the rain, hurting me more and more. I dug my nails into my body, trying to stratch them out, to no avail. I couldn’t take the pain, the persistent feeling of being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles, pricking harder and harder each time, the uttermost betrayal from my only friends, the only ones who ever knew me. The fishbowl began to crack, like icy roads in the Monday morning rush. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and began to scoop out the bugs, slowly at first, but then as more began to form, I picked up the pace. Every time I managed to flick one body to the tiled floor, another would begin to crawl up from my toes, coating me in a layer of darkness. My body was numb as lines of ruby appeared on my arms, but my heart raced uncontrollably. Trickles of water slithered down the glass. Slowly, the dots began to fade, almost reducing into mist and floating away, how the trees return to stillness after a storm, as a sea of garnet rushed over me. But this state of relief did not last long- a dark shadow formed in the doorway, blocking all light entering the room. It looked like a shadow; as dark as hell, it spoke words of sin and hate, with a voice low enough to shatter glass. I staggered backwards, and held myself up using the counter behind me. It launched forward, grabbing towards my arms, wrapping around me, choking me in smoke. A waterfall gushed over my face, drowning me. I couldn’t

A couple of bandits gets the drop on kitche together with the lieutenant. The goldfields' are in their dray and to the pairs alarm, eventually exhibit themselves to the highwaymen. They are now all held at gunpoint. Padre has been absent on one of his recurrent roams, returning to see what is transpiring from an unseen remoteness.... He sneaks up on one of the bandits and draws his revolver on him, beseeching to allow these honest people be, and get on their way...

There’s a rock in your right shoe, between your second and big toe. It hurts whenever you take a step, but you don’t mind. The sun is hot, which makes you sticky, the hill is steep, your thighs burn, and the whole business is genuinely uncomfortable, but you like it anyway, because it means freedom. Each step, your steps, take you closer to a future you’re not even fully sure of yourself, and the weight of this settles itself in the form of a pit of anxiety in your stomach, a layer of sweat on your brow. The freedom makes you giddy despite the weight, and you shrug off the thought for another 10 minutes, the absolute last second.

As the sun’s nutritious rays fuel my body; sweat races down my back and accumulates into the threads of my cotton t-shirt. I peer over my neighborhood park fence and gaze over the spacious scenery. The track field was well in shape, free of small debris and ready for a test run and light jump activities in the sand-pit. Soon enough the high temperature fills my head, leaving me in a state of allusion. Images of my friends and I sporadically unfold in front of me and unto the track; as if being placed in a desert mirage. I feel a sense of peace and eagerness surge through my body, while the images continue to appear. Then, a whisper comes into the mix saying some sort of gibberish. Stepping a bit more cautiously then I regularly would I walked

Charlie grasped my chest as Freddie wrapped his arms around my waist, preventing my jump from the ledge into a hundred foot drop to a rock landing. My body had nothing left at that moment, but to fight and slash and scream and pound the earth as if it was my enemy. I fought anything near me. Freddie. Charlie. Myself. I couldn’t control the terror in me. The overwhelming fear ripping from my skin. And the last scream exploding from my body shattered me into a thousand shrapnel, and each piece was grasping for something not

There were times I saw myself rushing on the dark cement floor, phrases such as “don’t go away” kept spurting out of my lips obscurely. A lady was walking in front of me and there was nothing I could catch except the view of her back. Then I would wake up, found myself drown inside could sweat.

The sound of movement to my side interrupted me and I looked up, yelping in surprise when I came face to face with a stranger. In fact, this wasn’t just any stranger, this was a guy. A tall brown haired guy, to be precise, who was at the moment lazily sprawled out on the other half of the bench. His skin was beautifully bronzed and his eyes – a steely shade of blue were full of curiosity.