Dr Phillips Monologue

Deputy Wells and I responded to a home where a 16 year old girl allegedly cut herself. When we arrived to the scene Deputy Wells’ zone partner was already on location. We entered the home together and came into contact with the kid’s mother who stated that she saw the cuts on her daughter’s wrist and determined that she had been cutting herself with a razor. When we enter the girls’ room, she was being comforted by another teenage girl, who we found out was her close friend. The victim was crying and appeared to be extremely emotional. Deputy Wells made several attempts to find out why she had cut herself. Finally, the girl admitted to cutting herself and stated “I don’t know why I cut myself.” The other teenage girl got up from the bed and

I peeped my head out out from the cloth like a curious meerkat, then scooted out from under the table. I grinned inward and glanced at my laced up boots. If I was in heels I would not have been able to do that.

What's wrong? - Nothing, Mom. I was in the building, so I thought I'd come and check on how things are going. I'm your mother.

When the image of a spy headquarters comes to mind it usually prompts the shadowy corridors filled with even more shadowy people, talking in hushed voices about the hottest assassination or newest spy gadget. It made sense that somewhere filled with killers and spies would take on the character of its inhabitants. If one were to base the character of its inhabitants on the appearance of the JNI HQ in Poltaur, they would expect themselves to be in the company of priests or perhaps a school teacher.

I can't stop. I won’t stop. I must keep running. The Slave Catchers’ and their dogs were right behind me. I pause for a second to catch my breath and look behind my shoulder. But, I can’t stop. I have to keep running. I know they aren't that far, but they aren’t too close.. I can hear them rustling through the tree and bush branches. I continue running, occasionally stopping to catch my breath.

His name was Daniel. He was creative and smart, but no one ever noticed his specialties. He was handicapped. All of his life, he felt as if he couldn’t do anything. He always knew he couldn’t do as much as his friends. The truth was, he didn’t really have friends; they all just teased him. Every day in school, he had to suffer more and more from the kids in his class. He pretty much had a torturous life. He always wondered what he had done wrong to deserve this kind of misery.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be pushy,” Anna says trying to apologize. “I thought your writing was really good.”

I’ve told you all I know. Look, Ciaran, I appreciate you rescuing me last night, but I really have to go. Right now.”

"So," Jackson muttered with his mouth full of a big mac, "you said it was your dad's birthday?"

I was looking through profiles, and came across yours. I like the content of your page, and the way you speak about God and the Bible. It seems sincere. I also like the way you candidly mention some of the weirder things that you’re into. We have a bit in common.

Ok, as you sound French, I shall respond in the style of Bernard-Henri Lévy a man you may be aware of who speaks your tongue and is as provocative as they come...

I don’t know why I’m here. It makes no sense. I’m confused, and I’m angry at mother. Who is she to tell me that I need some new scenery, something to take my mind off of Anne? I’ve been fine for months; why is she just now sending me off? Mother says that London will be good for me. She says that the abundance of people will make me forget, but how could I ever let the memory of that night slip away? Anyway I’m here now; I’m supposed to help the Williams family. Mr. Williams is a member of Parliament, and he’s a greasy old toad. However, I will never utter those words aloud, for I’d be in quite the predicament. Mr. Williams’ wife, Liza, is like a fresh spring breeze; she is so kind and gentle, and she braided my hair every night this past week. I still haven’t met their daughter, Abbey because she is at boarding school, about to complete her last semester. They tell me that she is

Every morning I woke up and remembered the sweet scent of momma’s talcum powder. She always put it on at night to keep herself from sweating too much. No matter how hard I kept my eyes shut, I was always awakened by the brutal voice of the man in white. I sat in bed and stared at the wall in front of me, I realized that the window I had drawn was smudged, I re-drew it with the small rock that I kept under my pillow which served as my only protection. “Get up nigger! Don’t make me throw you in the cellar!” that voice sent chills down my spine. I immediately jolted up out of bed and into the line with the rest of my people, we were so cramped that it was almost like being back on the ship. We all followed the same routine every morning: Wake up, get in line for scraps, then off to work. When they handed me the bread, ripped of a small sliver and then stuffed the rest in a pocket I had made in my skirt. When I reached the front of the line, they were giving out the jobs for the day, the woman in white pointed at me with a long wooden stick, “ You, You’re going to

The theatrics seem to die a little "Ok, I understand all this, Madame. But if you find me so shockingly offensive, why are you here? Must have been quite the walk" he says, sitting back calmly.

There once was a quote by George Bernard, it says “There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it”. This quote may sound a little confusing at first, but after thinking about it, it actually makes a lot of sense. Most people spend their entire life, or at least most of it, searching for one thing. They aspire to one specific thiing and that’s all they know. They want it, they need it, and once they finally get it everything will work out and be perfect. We get our heart set on a specific thing, and if we never get it; it’s like we will never really know what we are missing out on and will never be truly fulfilled. Not getting one’s heart’s desire is a true tragedy.