The Interior Monologue

The rain had just stopped pouring, and we had all gathered in a park nearby, as a makeshift memorial for Johnny. It wasn’t really a funeral, we didn’t have the budget for that, and it wasn’t like his parents cared enough to give him a proper goodbye.

I kept writing. It was hard, but I could get everything off of my chest. I could explain to people what had happened to me. I could tell my English teacher. It was a little hard, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Greasers didn’t cry.

I’m sitting at my computer, ignoring pages of economics homework and mugs of cold tea now strewn about my desk, as I search for a direction to go with my life. Such was was my predicament several months ago. It’s undeniable that I’m an artist, hard and true, for a pencil found its way into my hand as a child, and no desire of mine nor of the universe ever tempted it to pry away. Throughout my earliest years and memories, I maneuvered with graphite, paint, and crayon every adventure that I ever dreamt of pursuing. Oh, I was a resilient child, as well, who refused to take part in any art class at school or as an extracurricular for an abundance of years, as I was invariably convinced that I could learn all I wished on my own accord! Consequently,

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?

The bell had just rang, school was out. “Olivia, Mrs. Larsson calls.” Olivia is in 6th grade. Her teacher Mrs. Larsson talks to her every day after school telling her the same thing over and over. “You been misbehaving at lunch today”! But this time it was different. “Olivia it's your turn to stay after school and clean the room”. Olivia hated cleaning the room after school, she always ended up staying too late. “ Now run along and tell your mother, I don’t want her to worry like she did last time!” “Ok Mrs. Larsson.” I reply, I run to call my mom but she didn't answer, and my dad was at work so I couldn't call him. “Yup my mom knows.” I say, but she really didn't. “Ok then, well I am going to go home so behave yourself!” Mrs. Larsson says

I awoke to beams of a dozen spotlights, my vision gradually adjusted to the brilliant white light which illuminated everything around me. The realization that I had fallen asleep during rehearsal caused my eyes to widen in utter shock and confusion.

Thornton Wilder, a Wisconsin native, is the writer of the Pulitzer Prize winner play Our Town. In Our Town, Wilder tells the story of a town in Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire, and the daily lives of the inhabitants. In the play, the author uses minimal props and scenery as well as including a main character known as the Stage Manager that has the ability to break the fourth wall, allowing him to talk to the audience. This factor of talking to the audience is a major component of making the public a part of the town. Throughout the play, there are many instances in which the Stage Manager uses various cues as well as dialogues to incorporate the audience and develop an intimate relationship to create a true sense of “our town”.

Upon the clearing of the smoke, the scene of a gruesome battle appears. Furniture haphazardly toppled over; shattered glass daring anyone to step foot on the floor; clothes strung out everywhere. At one glance one might think that this was the work of a robber; but upon closer inspection, it is realized that nothing of monetary value has been stolen. The scene shifts to earlier that evening where a party was in full swing. The smell of alcohol seeping into every piece of fabric in the room. The sound of loud music vibrating the very core of every living person within hearing distance. There is an immense amount of people crammed into the tiny living room and red, plastic cups scattered throughout the house. All throughout the kitchen they lay; the trash can filled to the brim with these traitorous cups. The red appearing to be the color of hell fire, calling the sinners to

Nothing was heard, only the water droplets that drops from the crack ceiling. Making a small puddle on the ground, having mice roaming around the place.

He hadn't thought it would hurt. Of course, everyone had said it would, but everyone is not the Winchesters.

I stood at the very rock where she had last lied. Her putrid string of words interfering with my line of sight. I had only met her days back, however, I had felt I had known her for eternity. A constant pressure of darkness looming over my back.

The heavy mint cream white fog pours into the room from all sides near and far. In the foreground I can see brilliant cherry red and lime green laser lights flood the room. The four strobe lights positioned behind me are all scintillating a pearl white, in a synchronized pattern. Hundreds of people all sitting out in front of us fill the whole room. The giant vermillion and charcoal colored stage curtains hang from the ceiling all the way down to the floor on the stage right in front of us. Then the giant curtain splits in half both ends quickly accelerating left and right.

They won't find me here. They'll assume I scampered off home crying again, not today. Today I'll make a difference. A plethora of trees and broken branches, just like the broken people here before me. A sacred place that holds the life of many just the same as I, broken, bruised, and belittled by the same taunts I received. I've finally made the decision and it'll be great.Fiinally made the choice to end it.

I got into work this morning I was tired and didn't wanted to got to work. I was 30 seconds late but no one caught me being late. I like my job a lot because I get paid good. It's actually hard working here because we have to do a lot of stuff. I miss Jonas I left them when I was 13 so it has been 5 yrs i've never seen him. I'm now 18 and I feel great.

One summer morning, Jesse and Mitch--brother and sister--decided to enjoy an afternoon under the cooling shade of the Halifax Public Gardens. “Mitch,” exclaimed Jesse, “let’s go look at the bandstand, man!” Jesse is extremely tired from working long hours, attending summer school, and studying for the GRE (Graduate Record Examination). Furthermore, she genuinely wants to relax and savour the radiant, balmy day. They each bought a large ice cream, at the concession stand, and sat down on the benches near the fountain. “Just think of how many musicians have performed here over the years,” she mused.