Room 101 Monologue

Fuck what they talkin' 'bout All a nigga hear is my chains clinkin' back and forth right now, nigga Fuck with me Why the fuck you so opinionated? Sayin' how you do it but they ain't did it, baby

A pair of dark lavender eyes split open as a young man startles awake with a gasp of frigid air entering his lungs. His body is aching and burning as if he has been running for miles without rest. "Where am I?" the man rasps out in between a huge gulp of air. He looks to his surroundings and sees the shadows cast by the morning light spreading over the many bodies littering the ground around him.

You run, stumbling over roots and rocks, terrified out of your mind. You cannot think, and your breath comes in stutters. Your instincts tell you to hide, to try to outrun the being that is ravaging the corpses of your fallen comrades. You do not know where you are going, but your brain and your body are screaming at you to GO AWAY RUNRUNRUNRUNRUN so you do.

Hi, my name is Finn Pherb, don't laugh. I was run over by a truck while trying to save a child. So, after passing out from the pain, I woke up in a pink room? Shouldn't I be in a white room. "Usually you would be but I thought it looked boring so I changed it to pink. What do you think?" a cute, almost childish, voice asked. Nice I guess if you're a 8-year-old...Wait who said that?

I stare at myself in the mirror. What do I see? I see a socially awkward teenager, I see someone who is oblivious to the immensity of real life, I see a dancing phenom. I like to compare myself to John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever, and it's not my groovy hairdo and careless attitude that builds this parallel, it's the fact that we’re both kings of the dance floor. Unlike John, I'm no connoisseur in the art of 70’s disco, instead, I’ve mastered the Latin dances of quinceañeras.

I am on the hospital bed laying here thinking what did i do to deserve such a horrible life.

Narrator walks to table with handcuffs on and sits down. A small light hangs above him. Detective closes door and walks to table sitting down on the opposite side of Narrator.

Really? I would have thought you would have come across a lot of Aries. Well, Aries and a Leo are filled with a lot passion and energy. And make one of the better combos :) That is true ... it would be worse to love the process only to later distance yourself. The process is what makes it fun though. Well I guess sometimes not so much but it's all about the journey.

As an individual who’s been drawing and painting since before she could even hold a pen – apparently, I used to spill my grandma’s tea and make shapes with it – art has always been my favorite pastime. It’s tranquil and relaxing, and mixing paints is the most satisfying experience. Thus, it’s no wonder that the activity that I’m most invested in is art.

The lonely night before work requires much rest, for there was no stopping of the labor at the factory. Every morning I would get dressed in my valued ragged clothes that I could barely afford, and put on the shoes I found on route to the factory. I mustn’t think of the tyrants that lead the horrific operations enclosed in the factory. I mustn’t think of the blood that will stain my delicate clothes and essential footwear, as they have already suffered too much. I must go on, for the riches I’ve been promised in this new strange land are ahead of this layer of Hell itself. They were torn, a gaping hole revealing my bare toes. They were a swell find in my situation. I started my long walk to the tall mechanical castle, and I could tell I was

In my life I have failed at many things, but I have always been able to recover. When I was in the sixth grade I had convinced myself that I was the most accomplished artist in my entire school; I thought I could challenge an eighth grader in the school’s bi-annual art competition

Last but certainly not the least in any way, the resident’s bedroom. Plaid royal blue sheets concealed the California king bed that looked only partially inhabited on the right side. Dirty clothes covered the pale carpet like hot lava at the center of a volcano. Treading lightly in order to keep everything undisturbed the special agents move to the only window in the room which was on the other side of the enormous bed. Vivid scratch marks are present making it seem as though someone struggled to pry it open. Looking at the Earth outside the tampered window the officers gasp. A body sprawled and bleeding out lay frozen still on the hard dirt. Confused, the special agents contemplate the suicide note and the letters from the unknown source.

Red and blue lights flash outside the window of a teenage boy’s room. The calm atmosphere of the night is abruptly ruined by frantic shouting and sirens. Paramedics rush frantically in a blur inside the apartment complex and into the room where the boy lays unconscious on the floor. His body is curled up tightly into a ball, arms wrapped around his abdomen. His skin is pale and his face is contorted into a troubled and pained expression. Not far from the him lays an empty bottle of prescription pills and a half-empty bottle of rum. The boy’s family watches the paramedics lift him onto a stretcher before carting him out of the room with solemn expressions. The scene fades out into black.

When Kise saw him, he could hear something sizzle from within his chest. With a snake-like hiss, low and hushed, it snapped at him with a bite, concocting minute droplets of poison, dripping over him — burned the skin, peeling it off alive with tiny touches of death.

In the rather limited amount of years I’ve been on this Earth, I have found myself drawn to the world of creativity. I kept it in my pocket constantly, always knowing that I’d need creative insight in this world to solve difficult problems. I always had art as an outlet for many things, and soon I became addicted to colors, shades, and designs. It’s very important to me, and I hope to go further with it. To me, it is vexing when others hold an obvious distaste for trying anything new or creative. I don’t hope to change these individual’s minds, as that would be impossible, but rather, I hope to educate them on why having a creative, or artistic sense-the new ‘sixth sense’ if you will, is vital to being a part of society. Being creative, or artistic, is important, because it allows me to break away from the stubborn rules society has forced upon us. When I draw, I have no boundaries other than what I give myself. I don’t have to restrain what I draw, as no one else will see it unless I want them to. It’s important to have this break from ‘the real world’ because without it, the world seems very bleak and downright sorrowful. Artistic values are a necessity to me, because without them, I wouldn’t have as many opportunities to better the world around me. Art provides many career paths, such as comic books, or even advertising. Every art community can have a huge impact on people’s daily lives, without them even realizing it. Take for instance, the billboard you drive by every day to work, or the comic strips you read on your Sunday paper. Though seemingly insignificant in your eyes, they are so important in the way you make decisions. When advertisements on TV are shown, no one really thinks about the artistic aspects the creators use to influence decisions. A prime example of this, that everyone knows purely by the now recognizable song, is Sarah McLachlan’s ASPCA commercial seen constantly, with the same set up. But what everyone might not know, is that it took creative insight to pair the sad puppy images, with the depressing song. The artists knew that these things would guide you to feel sympathetic, and maybe even adopt a puppy. The world would be very different if there were no artists to create these. It