Sheila Monologue

Sara, 18-years-old youth, always wish to be alone. She would lock herself in her room, looked at herself in the mirror and spit venom at her reflection. Then she would curled up on her bed, with her blanket covering all of her - her body, soul and mind - as a defence mechanism to block herself away from the darkness that are slowly consuming her. A few months after she thought that it went away, it came back. She fought hard to conceal its presence.

The thunder clapped against the sky, sounding like thousands of galloping horses. There was no sign of human life except for the truck and luxury horse trailer that zoomed by. Hard rain hit the trailer, making loud thuds against it's rusted metal. A young teenager with brown curly hair, freckles, and blue eyes sat in the back seat of the red truck. The girl glanced at the camper/trailer behind them and sighed.

“I think you owe it to Jefferson,” Vivian told me one out of the blue, “He’d want for you to read it. He told Paul to give it to you on that day.” We had been sitting in sitting room, watching the kids keep to themselves on the floor. I knew what she was talking about. She wanted me to read Jefferson’s journal.

In order to be successful, people have to choose a career that fits their personality type. Finding the right job is not easy for most of the people because of their lack of awareness about themselves. As a result, psychologists made a couple of personality tests which help people find their proper career path. The results from personality tests demonstrate that Sheila is an extroverted person who is artistic, social, and investigative. Typical jobs for her include interior decorator, actress, and musician.

Reporter stated the following: Two weeks ago, I was on the pier at Gulfport MS.

And when I thought my day couldn't possibly get any worse, it did. Right after I sat down in the cafeteria and started eating my lunch, that stupid Phyllis sat down beside me. ¨I can't believe you cried in the middle of class. You are a crybaby,¨ she says. ¨I wouldn't have done it if you could have remembered the sweater was yours. My birthday wouldn't be ruined!¨ I say. ¨I knew it was mine the entire time! Sylvia and I set this up weeks ago! We just wanted to see you embarrass yourself in front of everybody,¨ she replies.

I get less annoyed with people these days. And when they do manage to annoy me - I just write about them.

The sun was beginning to set on them, and Regina had exhausted herself crying. In one respect she was angry at herself for being so obviously terrified of Robin Locksley, and on the other hand she felt that if she had ever earned the right to cry as much as she wanted, it was on this day. He hadn't forced himself on her, yet, which she was honestly surprised by. She'd felt him wax hard and wane soft so many times in the past few hours that she was certain her first instincts had been right. It had been along her leg at first, but he'd moved, and any hope she had that she was mistaken had long since passed. She'd been with many men in the past due to her...job, but even if they swelled to thrice the size of what she'd

This process repeats about four times before I hear crying. I feel relief. President Lincoln announces that I’ve just given birth to a beautiful baby girl. I’m torn, though. Do I hold my baby? Do I go cry on my dead husband’s shoulder?

Where the heck am I? There’s jagged fences surrounding me and chubby faces attached to short necks are staring at me. How do they reach the leaves on trees? My wife, Lorrie has been hogging the luscious leaves for hours now. I’m starving and those short, weird, giraffes on the other side of the fence, aren’t sharing their food. What are they even holding. It looks like the flowers I used to visit when I lived in Africa. My golly, there absolutely stuffing there faces. The audacity! As I stand here wasting away, they just keep on eating. Maybe if I make a noise and get their attention, they give me some. But how do I do that? Back in Africa, I always had my first pick of the best ree and an optimal position at the water. After my Lorrie, of course.

Death. Oh, how I long for it, how I desire it! It beckons to me like a light to a moth, like a siren to a sailor. All the people around me are tediously dyeing and I just for the day that they do! I am not suicidal, no! A man of logic, such as I, would never succumb to such a petty desire as is self-inflicted termination; it is of paramount priority that I remain poised in my earthly embodiment in order for me to reap the pleasure of lifelessness. Solely the annihilation of others can quench my sophisticated thirst, though it is indeed tempting to see the aftermath of finis. Always, have I been infatuated with the idea of being forever-gone.

Susan. I hate Susan. She has crossed me for the last time now. It's not like she has ever wronged me, but something about her makes me hate her. Everyone just loves Susan, and I can see why. She's just so good at everything. She's smart, pretty, athletic, and just the best at everything. But the worst part is, she's nice. Yeah, I mean it. Earlier today at the lunch tables, I couldn’t help but sneeze all over Susan and her lunch. She just turned to me with her smile that I hate with all my soul and simply said, "Bless you!" with that 'oh so sweet voice' of hers. That just fueled the burning hatred I felt for that little Sausage even more.

My mother and father sat downstairs and talked, Bella sitting with them, while I folded my clothes and put them into my chipped white wooden dresser. I could hear them murmuring between themselves, but I couldn’t hear specific words. My mother came up the stairs about ten minutes later as I was putting the last of my clothes into my dresser. Her five feet two-inch frame stood just inside my door with a Mona Lisa smile. Her eyes were sad and I could tell she was trying to hold back tears. I was confused as to why, and I was going to ask what was wrong, but she told me that my father had something he wanted to talk to me about.

Sheila smiles like the Mona Lisa reminiscing to herself how she met Bev for the first time, eighteen years ago. They met at Meredith’s wedding. The harpist hooking up with the mother of the bride was breaking a bunch of rules in the girl code. But life wasn’t like the movies.A person usually couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the greatest love of their life was about to fall into their lap. Sheila couldn’t stop thinking about Bev, the whole time she was strumming traditional Christmas Carols on her harp. With her dark hair and angular body, Bev looked like the actress Wendie Mallick from Just Shoot Me and Hot in Cleveland.

“A boy! How fortunate for our firstborn to be a son!” His father, Akira Yamamoto, had exclaimed when the doctors placed his newborn son in his arms. He held the boy protectively, and with a look of adoration took in the beauty of his peaceful, sleeping features. His mother, Mika Yamamoto, was also sleeping; on the crisp white hospital bed on which his father was sitting. The medicine they injected into her during the birth was slowly wearing off, and she stirred restlessly in her induced slumber. Pale skin, plump cheeks and a cute button nose graced the face of the infant, and unlike other babies, this one stayed calm and unmoving enough for the father to pick out which features were inherited from him from the features inherited from his mother.