Night Vale Monologue

The speaker reveals that home beat all and that relocation will inevitably lead our heart to long for our original home. To begin, the speaker expresses her feeling of homesickness for the atmosphere of her hometown. She stated that she feels “homesick for the streets unkempt with crowds of people, overfilled…” (4-6) The diction of “homesick” and the utilization of imagery to describe the business of the streets reveal that

I started getting involved with running my senior year of high school. This was a very terrifying time in my life because I was running with people who have been doing this their whole life, which is quite intimidating when you’re new to the process. The reason why I gave running a chance was the constant begging from my younger and older sisters. They both ran and thought this was something I could potentially be marvelous at. I gave running a shot and ended up accomplishing my goal of being on varsity my senior year. Running is something that I’m genuinely passionate about and also something I’m literate in. I use running as my literacy practices whenever I’m at practices, a meet, or for therapeutic reasons.

I used to be able to run so fast I could fly. Racing through the woods behind my house I was untouchable, unbeatable; I imagined I was a graceful as a fox and as fast as a deer racing over bushes, logs, and ditches. Running served as an escape from the perfect student, perfect manners persona I adopted in the classroom allowing me to break out of my shy shell and go from being ¨the teacher’s pet¨ to ¨the fast girl.¨ My love of running-- as well as my parents-- drove me to play soccer; I ditched my goody two shoes for cleats and never looked back. I could chase down any opponent and outrun any defender, through sports I completely let my boundaries down.

If you have never listened to Welcome to Night Vale, it is very hard to describe Welcome to Night Vale. True, it is a friendly desert community, but it is so much more. As someone who has listened to Night Vale for years, now doing so while I make dinner most nights, I was skeptic that the magic and weirdness conveyed as you as you listened to Cecil broadcast on his community radio show would translate to the page. Yet, much as advertised, this novel is a perfect introduction into Night Vale if you have never listened and a great companion piece for long time listeners to the show. It captures the fun, weird, creepy, and downright horrifying aspects of everyday life in a town where time is weird and it's really hard to leave.

“Alright Leslie, you’re here!” some lady exclaimed. The whole town was in a type of quiet unison. It was implausibly light outside despite the fact that it was only 6 in the morning. The streets were flawlessly black with no cracks whatsoever. It was so peaceful considering that it was 200 people outside and Leslie was quite frightened by it.

EXT. Forest - NightThe establishing shot starts with a wide view of a forest at night. It's quiet and still, we start to hear lots of rustling. A girl (10 years old) runs past, out of breath. A few feet behind her a silhouette walks by.

As I turn away, it starts to rain. For a few seconds just a drizzle, but then a downpour. I pick up my pace, a fast walk, then a jog. Maybe I can duck inside some place. But the bus leaves in 20 minutes, who knows how long the rain will last. Run or walk, I’ll be soaked regardless, why not avoid the heavy breathing. I put my head down and walk straight ahead.

With tennis shoes tight on my feet, my legs begin to pound into the pavement on my road. My feet race on, one right after another, along the road. It isn’t long before something feels wrong. I can’t tell what it is. My gate seems off, and my legs seem almost more free. I keep looking at the world racing by me. Sun and blue skies warm my face, and chirping birds keep me company. A summer day couldn’t be better. Then, it strikes me. How could I have not noticed it before? The free legs! The chirping birds! It all seems so obvious now. I reach my hand down to my pocket to confirm the growing suspicion in my mind. Upon contact with the empty pocket, my suspicions are confirmed. I had forgotten my phone. How could I go for a run without one of my favorite podcasts? I suddenly

I’m wide awake when my alarm goes off at 5am. I pull on my sneakers and soon they’re slamming the pavement. But the thoughtlessness never sets it. My brain is stuck running around in circles. All I can think about is last night. Liam’s face right before he kissed me. The way he brushed my face. This isn’t happening. Then I realize: This can’t be happening. It’s not just the fact that Whitewater, Ohio isn’t exactly known for its liberal thinking. My dad will kill me. The pavement under my feet blurs and tips as I run faster. I run parallel to the chain link fence of the town park. Through it, I see a couple, an old man and woman, sitting on a bench, holding hands. I feel a sharp twinge in my heart.

Narrator: Not true sir, I myself had experienced, waiting on a road hoping for someone to pass by and not ignore me as if I was not there. I cannot simply turn back as if I have

“I get the feeling that I’m right where I belong. Why am I the one, always packing up my stuff?” Yes, that is a lyric of a song by Fun. but this is also one of the many questions I ask myself. When I finally get used to the country, I have to move again. I’ve been moving every five years or so in my life.

On Oxford Street, the buildings all seemed to have stories just waiting to be told. From the unique architecture to the displays in the windows, my eyes were filled with something strikingly opposite than Powell. The pavement under my feet carried me along the street. Suddenly, my ears were filled with the sound of live music, seemingly coming from every corner.

We drove to our favorite breakfast joint, a 5-minute drive from our house. House, not home. “I hate this house,” Alan had just admitted. I was encouraged to agree. I hated it myself. We’ve lived here too long.

On a chilly October evening around 8 o’clock a sole road leads me from Bowlus to Royalton. My eyes burn from the wind blowing into them all evening, my body aches from sitting in a single spot for hours, unable to make a move, not seeing a thing. As dusk sets, the chilled air pricks my pale skin with an abundance of goosebumps. The heat blasts through the vents to prevent the windows from frosting over and brings warmth to my skin. The car has no insurance yet, so my parents were hesitant to let me drive it. After pleading to them that I was responsible and old enough, the moment finally came. They said multiple times that I needed to be extra careful, but eventually they handed me the keys. The radio echoes the lyrics May We All through the car while I hum along. The rumbling of my stomach silences the thumping of the bass, since the last time I ate had been around lunch. The sky was somber and the moon was hidden behind the jet-black clouds. The headlights of the car reflects off the tar like a spotlight lighting up an empty stage. Warm air glides across my relaxed hand on the steering wheel. Corn and bean fields, soon to be harvested, surround the road that takes me home. It's a serene night. I am about five minutes away from home and just about to go around one of the only curves that I drive on every day, so I slow my normal 65 to about a 60, and prepare for the turn.

As I drive up the hill, passing the mailbox and the meticulously groomed lawn, I find myself taking on a transformation. I breathe a sigh of relief and feel the tension drain from my body in anticipation of seeing "my place." As I turn the corner I see it, to anyone else it just looks like a simple field. But to me, it is my sanctuary that I can escape from the hectic world. This is where I can relax and feel like I’m a kid again. In my field, for a short while time stops, and I don’t have to worry what needs done next. This place also holds many wonderful memories as well as making new ones each year.