Tragic Monologue

The horn has already sounded and I’m still running. I can feel my blood pulsing in my ears. The sounds of useless advice feels the air. I continue to run. I come across a cave and ran into it. I gasp in shock and as I walk into a lab filled with mindless people editing videos. A film crew rushes at me and says, “If you were able to be in Divergent, which character would you be?” I shake my head in confusion. I attempt to back up slowly, but they grab me and place me in front of a computer and yell, “Edit!” The slam the headphones on my head and everything becomes a blur.

I had never smelled a corpse before today, but now it fills the air like poison, as cruel to the mind as it is to the nose. It’s pungent, rotten, and sickly sweet, the smile on an assassin’s face before he kills your soul. I don’t want to open my eyes to see the source, but it must be nearby, as I feel his cold skin, roughened by the last few months that probably made him grateful of his death, against my own. My eyelids are heavy, begging me not to lift them, not to move at all, to lie there until God takes pity on me too, and lets me go.

Thank you for taking an interest in the role! I really appreciate it. — So I have some background for the Emilia role, but it's open to creative freedom. She, Brandon (me) and the Kit all grew up on the bad side of town (I haven't picked a location yet, as I wanted everyone's input once I got the group together) She and Brandon are very close, almost like siblings, and he's very protective of her; they have a relationship like Dom and Mia from Fast and the Furious.

I don’t like to reminisce on the event, yet when iris plastered all over the papers, 25 years after the incident, I can’t help but remember the affair. Even though I have tried to move on, it will always be a part of my past. A dark, grim, part of it that haunts me up to this day.

Jessie slightly blushed. Irish was trying to push his buttons, and she had a genuine talent at it. "Facing me at firsts of course and then who knows where it would lead, but yeah, you would have your hands full." He teased her back not wanting to be the only one as excited as he teenage boy having his prom night at the playboy mansion.

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”.

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.

I have something I need to tell you. It feels weird announcing this, because nothing has changed. I feel exactly as I’ve always felt, and I’m still the same person I’ve always been, I’ve just accepted a few things. It  almost feels pointless to say, because it seems so obvious to me, but I think I should tell you anyway. I don’t know how exactly to explain myself, because it’s how I’ve always felt, but I’ll try help you to understand without writing down every thought I’ve ever had.

By 8 o'clock, when Kitty arrived, much of the city was considerably drunk. This didn't exclude Kitty, who had helped herself to half of a bottle of wine before heading over, nor did it exclude Ana, whose costume allowed her to drink as much as she wished without notice.

As of late, I have been pondering as to what I should do with thee and thy family. After many a days and long, sleepless nights, I have found my resolve. In the bitter end, my thoughts have concluded not to petty arguing but to a vehement brawl. Only a low-born fool would deny a challenge to defend his household! Is that what thou art? A low-born fool, petty, unmuzzled, and ill-nurtured. Why might I make such a rash decision to fight thee, one may ask. It should be as clear as the day is lively! This matter runs much deeper than futile loathing.

My life was flashing before my eyes, I was realizing what was happening death was coming. Cold and stillness filled the room while the feeling of death started to overtake my body it was a different feeling but it had to come. My limbs felt heavy and I thought real slow everything was slowing down. Just then something odd happened like nothing I ever thought some sound came into the room an annoying buzzing creature.

I am here to tell you a story. A story to torture your thoughts and make you think twice above all. A story of woe. A story about the great Edgar Allan Poe and how I stuck by his side throughout the endless circles of despair. It’s quite unthinkable and unimaginable to believe that we cats are the exactly same as humans consciously. I’m known as an outsider. I’m one of the misunderstood creatures mistakenly created in the eyes of everyone. Edgar was also misunderstood and wanted nothing more than for someone to understand him. I’ve been following Allan all over for as long as I can remember. In the early years of the 1800’s in Boston Edgars mother had died from tuberculosis by the time he reached three. Though for Edgar’s father had left the family early in his life. The remaining few of his family was picked apart and greeted into different homes. They were torn away from the only few people they knew. Poe and me were

Fate is one of the most vile, shameful, and offensive ideas to the power of the human spirit. It amounts all human success and creativity to a predetermined event actualized by an almost infinite number of random factors. Fate mocks human ingenuity and demoralizes our very existence as sentient beings. It relinquishes our power to determine our future to accidental events that are indifferent to the outcome they bring. Fate is the enemy of human progress and to accept fate is to surrender your control.

You broke me. You left me exposed. You only care about your own Depression. My depression reflects yours because I hate to see you hurt. But, you’re putting it on yourself. If it were me, I’d let it be. If you invest in me, in us, your depression will naturally resolve itself.