Monologue for Theater Class

I can hear his footsteps squelching softly in the mud. It must be Friday. Greg comes by every Friday, before work. I guess these visits help him.

I can see him now, enveloped in the fog. He’s bringing flowers, again. I wish he knew that they really aren’t necessary; all that matters is that he still comes by. He’s already done more than enough. Does he think I still blame him?

He’s wearing a thick jacket. It must be getting colder, but that doesn’t stop him. He came all last winter, even when it snowed. I worry though… if the winter is harsh, will he stop coming?

What will happen if he forgets? What will happen if he does finally find someone else, if he can stop blaming himself? What will happen if he can let go of the past, which would mean letting go of me? Will he be better off? Part of me wants him to move on, take control of his life… but another part of me wants him to keep coming back. Am I being selfish? How long can I expect him to keep coming?

It’s… well, I guess it’s been about two years now. We’ve both been counting the days, in our own separate ways. And I know that we’ve both been re-living that awful night. We’d both had too much to drink… I’ve been sober ever since.

He’s almost past the trees now. Just a few more steps, and he’ll be here. I wait. Patience is something I’ve learned since the accident. A bird cries in the distance. Greg kneels, and places the flowers. He can’t see me, but I’m smiling. Slowly, he stands up, and begins walking back down the path. And I begin waiting for next Friday.


-----



...from my window to yours...

Angsty Love Scene for The Voice

I stared out at the moonlight bouncing off the choppy water. The small waves distorted the reflection, ripping and tearing it into millions of shimmering pieces. I blinked once, and then twice, trying to hold back my tears. I couldn’t let him see me cry. I couldn’t seem weak, or needy. I leaned up against the wooden railing, sticking my face out into the breeze. The cool wind felt nice ruffling my hair.

His footsteps creaked on the dock behind me. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t say anything. He stood next to me, and we stared at the lake in silence. It was easier than looking into his eyes.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. “I… I hope you have fun at State.” He nodded. “I hear they’ve got some great parties.” There. I said it. I pushed my hair back into place, and looked at him with a mixture of apprehension and fear.

“Yeah… my brother says they’re awesome,” he mumbled, still staring out into the darkness. Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d be as vague as possible. My hands tightened around the rough wooden railing. What I needed was something more like “Yeah, but I’d rather be with you”, or “I’ll miss you, Alex”, or something like that. Something to push away the nightmares. The constant dreams about him drunk at some party, forgetting about me in a haze of alcohol and hormones.

A tear slipped out of my eye, and started crawling down my cheek. I turned away from him, hoping he didn’t see. “Call me whenever you can, okay?”

He grunted in response. Of course, he wouldn’t call; he’d forget. I’d be the one calling him. I’d be the one leaving tons of voice mail messages, all saying the same thing. “Hey, how are you? How’s school? Are you doing okay? I miss you! Call me!”

I turned to him again, not caring anymore about the tears weaving their way down my face. Wrapping my arms around him in an awkward hug, I clung to his side and buried my face in his shoulder. Here I was again, being clingy and insecure. I bet he couldn’t wait to ditch me as soon as he left.

I looked up at his face, but he was still staring out at the moon. I wished that he would at least look at me. I felt as turbulent as the water out on the lake, but clearly not as interesting. No, I didn’t feel like the water, I felt like I was drowning in it. I held on to him even tighter. But that didn’t stop the drowning.

Story for The Voice

He could see shapes in the trees. Patterns in the wind-blown leaves. The moonlight flickering between the branches danced on the ground, shifting like a kaleidoscope as he walked. Shadows tugged at the edges of his vision, trying to steal his attention. Every bush, every tree looked like someone hiding, waiting, watching. But there wasn’t anybody else out here. There couldn’t be. David had been down this path twelve times before, and he’d never seen a soul. There was no reason for anyone to be out here tonight, especially this late.

David tugged on the straps of his backpack, feeling the reassuring weight pulling down on his narrow frame. He wasn’t nervous. At least, not anymore. And after tonight, he’d never have to be nervous again.

After passing the last rotted oak tree, he turned into the clearing. The wind had pushed a thin layer of leaves over the bare dirt. Setting down his backpack on a large rock, David started brushing away the laves until he could see the familiar lines carved into the ground.

He turned around and started to unzip his backpack. As he reached in to pull out a candle, a voice rang out across the clearing, chilling his blood.

“Wait!”

David stopped, and turned slowly around, his right hand reaching instinctively toward the small knife in his pocket. Emerging from the trees he could see a girl in a white coat, about his height, holding out her hand. Her long black hair drifted in the wind, partially obscuring her thin, pale face.

David looked uneasily at the girl. “What are you doing here?” He slowly slid the knife out of his pocket, just in case.

“I’ve seen you here before,” she replied, stepping cautiously across the figures carved in the dirt, “and I know what you’re doing. It isn’t right.”

“That’s none of your business. And… how many times have you been following me out here?”

“Enough times to be bothered enough to stop you.”

David was starting to lose patience. The moon would be hidden by the clouds in a few minutes, and he’d have to act fast. He couldn’t mess up a year’s worth of work because of this girl. “I really think you should leave now. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

The girl stepped closer. She was only about three feet away from him now. She stared intensely at him with dark brown eyes. “Put the knife down.”

David was startled by the aggressive tone of her voice. He hesitated, and took a step back, lowering the knife to his side. “What are you trying to do?” He struggled to hide the nervousness creeping into his voice.

“I’m trying to help you.”

The girl jumped forward, catching David by surprise. She slammed into him, pushing him backwards. He lost his balance and fell, hitting his head on the rock. As she knelt over him, the night slowly faded to black.

------

...ghost horses... we ride, tonight...

cliquey cliquey

hahahaha.

Prep

[] I shop at Abercrombie, Hollister, American Eagle, or Aerospatiale.

[] I am/was a cheerleader.

[] I'm pretty ditzy.

[] I wear pink 24/7.

[] My looks are very important to me.

[x] I can’t live without my cell phone. (mostly for email.)

[] My hair is always straight.

[] I say 'like' and 'omigod' a lot.

[] I laugh 24/7.

[] I have a million friends.

[] I always hang at the mall or movies.

[] I'll only date popular guys.

[] I listen to rap & pop music.

[] I have at least one designer bag.

[] My myspace pics are of me making a kissy face or are mirror pics.

[] It takes me at least an hour to get ready for school in the mornings.

[] Uggs + Miniskirts = Love

[x] I don't have a job

[] I wear lots of makeup.

[] I can be stuck up or snobby sometimes.

[] I flirt with any guy, as long as he's cute.

Emo

[x] I cry a lot.

[-] I go to local shows. (sometimes.)

[] I wear black everyday

[x] I write sad poetry.

[-] I play an acoustic guitar. (want to learn.)

[x] My favorite bands include: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, or Panic! At the Disco.

ehh. yeah.

[x] I think about suicide or death often. (used to more than now.)

[x] People have told me to cheer up.

[x] I cry when I see dead animals.

[x] My myspace pics are black are white or angled.

[x] I wear many band shirts.

[] No one understands me.

[xxx] I don't talk too often.

[x] I look down when I walk.

[x] I wear black eyeliner. (I have, at times, haha.)

[] My fingernails are black.

[] I have an ex I still cry over.

[] My hair is black.

[x] My hair covers one of my eyes. (It does, at times.)

[x] I love Hot Topic.

[ ] I always say 'life sucks'.

Nerd

[x] I have straight A's.

[x] I wear glasses.

[x] I always do my homework and study.

[x] Lord of the Rings was a massive achievement

[x] Computer games = Love.

[x] I'm 'teachers pet'.

[] I've never had a real boyfriend/girlfriend.

[] I have a bedtime.

[] I use an asthma inhaler.

[x] I carry a calculator with me.

[] I bring my lunch to school.

[x] I always follow the rules.

[] I'm shy around the opposite sex.

[x] I'm always on the computer.

[x] I've never had beer or cigarettes.

[x] I always answer every question in class right.

[x] I correct people's grammar.

[x] I read a lot.

[x] School is very important to me.

[] I always stump people.

Jock

[] I'm on one or more sport teams.

[] I always wear my varsity jacket.

[] I've won awards for my athletic ability.

[] I will only date popular guys.

[] School Spirit 100%.

[] I'm going to a college for sports.

[] I watch sports on TV all the time.

[] I'm muscular.

[] I play sports or exercise at least 3 hours a day.

[] Go Team!

[] I'm a dude magnet.

[x] I eat a lot.

[] I'm egotistical.

[] I'm too focused on sports to make really good grades.

[] I sit at the jock lunch table.

[] All I talk about with my friends is sports.

[] I go to lots of sports games.

[] I'm very athletic

[] I wear sport inspired clothing.

[] I play at least 3 different sports.

Comedian

[x] I'm funny. (Or so I've been told.)

[] I'm often making jokes.

[] I interrupt class by making people laugh.

[] I always entertain people by being funny.

[] I worship Kevin Smith.

[] I watch comedies more than anything.

[] I also watch SNL and Mad TV a lot.

[x] I'm sarcastic.

[x] I've been told I'm hilarious.

[] I always imitate people.

[] I pull lots of pranks.

[] I always make sarcastic remarks after everything.

[] I have to prove myself by being funny.

[] People expect me to make jokes, always.

[] I have a lot of pressure to make everyone laugh.

[] If I don't make jokes, people ask me what's wrong.

[] Jim Carrey is my idol.

[] I mostly get along with everybody.

[] At pep rallies, I'm the one acting crazy and silly.

[] My teachers or parents tell me I need to focus more on work and less on joking around.

Goth

[x] I wear black.

[x] I don't like to be seen.

[x] I'm very, very pale.

[-] I only listen to metal or emo-ish music. (some of the time)

[x] I love creepy, weird movies.

[x] I love gothic cartoons and drawings.

[x] I don't like people.

[] I only go out during the night.

[] I have black fingernails.

[] I wear a long black coat.

[] I also wear big black boots.

[] 'The Crow' is one of my favorite movies.

[] I only date other Goths.

[] I love pain.

[x] People think I'm crazy.

[] I don't talk to anyone who isn't as deep as me.

[] I love to scare people.

[x] I laugh at teenyboppers.

[] People are afraid of me.

Weirdo

[x] I talk to myself

[x] I say really random things all the time.

[] I fidget a lot.

[ ] I still use a wheeled backpack.

[x] People laugh at me.

[] I walk really funny.

[] I have a very different sense of style.

[ ] I talk in a robot voice often.

[] I'll stop whatever I'm doing, and break out in a crazy dance if the mood strikes.

[x] I debate stuff with myself.

[] I hear voices.

[] I'm obsessed with aliens and the other planets.

[] I have a fascination with robots and machinery.

[x] I use really big words no one understands, and they give me weird looks.

[] I say random lines of babbling that make sense to no one understands except me.

[] I dart my eyes from side to side.

[] I always pretend I'm a robot or other weird non human thing.

[x] People have no idea why I think the way I do.

[] I have some very unusual, extraordinary talents.

[] When people ask me if I like something that's trendy, I pretend to be scared or confused.

Christian Girl/Boy

[] I go to church at least once a week.

[ ] Most of my wardrobe consists of long skirts and button down shirts for church.

[] I always carry a bible with me.

[x] My whole family is very religious.

[] I've never been on a date.

[x] I've never smoked or had a beer.

[] My beliefs are very strong.

[] I'm waiting for marriage until sex

[] I wear a cross necklace.

[] I have a bracelet that says WWJD.

[] I'm always preaching to people about the importance of religion.

[] I believe in God

[] I'm not allowed to watch rated R movies, and sometimes, not even PG-13 movies.

[x] I never go out and party.

[] I read the bible everyday.

[] I've memorized excerpts from the bible.

[] I go to Sunday school.

[x] I've been to church camp.

[] I pray every night.

[] I sing Christian songs.

Cowgirl/Cowboy

[] I live on a farm.

[] I own at least 2 horses.

[] I own a pair of cowboy boots.

[] I own a cowboy hat.

[] I always wear my hair in two braids.

[] I ride a tractor.

[] I live in a small town.

[] I've lived in Texas before.

[] I wear flannel shirts.

[] I wear overalls.

[] I say y'all and howdy.

[] I have other animals on a farm.

[] I've been in a rodeo before.

[] I've ridden a mechanical bull before.

[] I love home cooking, country style.

[] I always wear my cowboy hat, even in restaurants.

[] I say yee-haw!

[] I've went to horse races before.

[] I love cowboy movies.

[] I square dance.

Social Butterfly

[] I have a lot of friends.

[] I get along with everybody.

[] I enjoy talking to different people.

[] I'm a people person.

[] I love having tons of fun.

[] People come to me for advice.

[] People take an instant liking to me.

[] It seems that people always want to talk to me or hang out with me.

[] I can relate to Ferris Buller.

[] Everybody thinks I'm awesome.

[] I'm not in any clique.

[] I can turn an antisocial person nice.

[] I talk to at least one different person a day.

[] I'm pretty cheerful.

[]I'm involved in something, like a club, that allows me to meet new people.

[x] I never want to argue with people.

[] I love talking.

[] I always have fun doing anything.

[] I'm optimistic.

[] I have over 150 friends on my IM or cell phone book.

where do you fit?

(the edible, not the conceptual) cheese.

surrounded by the lounging crowd,
in formal dress and fancy suits,
I sit awkwardly on a couch,
as unfamiliar faces loom.
"enough!" I cry inside my head,
as relatives unknown discuss
the newly married bride and groom.
"I'll have no more of this", I think,
and wander off to find a space
away from all this wretched noise.

I come upon the snack table -
a veritable feast of food.
more types of cheese did reside there
than I had ever seen before.
these cheeses are a varied lot,
some orange, some yellow, white, or beige.
some came from cows, some came from goats,
and some from dairy substitutes.
they called to me so teasingly,
"you cannot eat us all," they chide.
enraged, I challenge them and claim
that I could eat them any day.

with trusty crackers as my sword,
and napkin serving as my shield,
I plunge into this deadly test
of perserverence, strength, and wit.
the cheeses are quite sinister -
they will resort to any trick,
like hiding jalapeno bombs
(whose poignant flavors burned my tongue),
or crumbling quickly out of reach.
alas, I fight them, one by one,
a vicious clash of cheese and sword
(my vorpal blade goes snicker-snack!)
I send those snacks right to their grave.

I dive and slash and stab and slice
they counter quite evasively.
but bit by bit, and piece by piece,
I vanquish daring dairy foes.
my arms are spiderwebbed with scars,
the floor is strewn with their debris.
a murky dust covers the room,
the ghosts of cheeses slain in war.
I promptly walk up to the bar,
victoriously, I buy a sprite.

---
...when I'm tired of giving...

bagels with strawberry cream cheese.

You know what's really freaky?
Watching Jeopardy on mute. You get all of the questions, but none of the answers. You walk away, and a few minutes later are still trying to figure out what obscure 80's band it was talking about. Curse you, muted Jeopardy, for ruining my peace of mind!

~~~

Not that it was all that peaceful to begin with. AGH. This whole college thing is starting to drive me crazy.

First of all: the essays. I've never liked writing essays. But, until now, they have just been some grade that sorta kinda mattered, but not really because I could balance it out with good grades on the reading quizzes. But college application essays... if I mess these up, I'm in a lot more trouble. The next four years (and, to an extent, the rest of my life) depends on how well I write these essays. No pressure.

And then: I don't actually really want to go to college. I sound crazy, right? All of the other seniors are like "oh my god I can't wait to leave this place and break free and blah blah blah." But... I don't know. I'm happy now. And I don't want that to have to change. I don't want to have to leave behind everything I have now. I feel like I finally belong. The first two years of highschool... well, they were a bit rough. I had to figure out where I fit in and who my friends were. But most of last year, and then this year... it has been amazing. I look forward to coming to school each day. I have great friends, am finally participating in school-related activities (theater, diversity club, art club)... everything just works. And I don't want to have to change all of that. I don't want to leave.

Yeah, she definitely plays a big part in this. I love her, and I'm scared of even thinking about the fact that I won't be here next year. I don't know what to do. I honestly wish I wasn't a senior.

People keep saying that college will be the best part of my life or whatever and that I'll make a bunch of new friends and stuff like that. Well, too bad. I like the friends I have now, and I don't want to have to ditch them all and go make new ones.

~~~

I'm tired, and I haven't even started homework yet. sigh.

~~~~

...but please pick the five that are MOST IMPORTANT to you...

poem for the voice.

AN EXERCISE IN HEAVY-HANDED PARODY AND MISANTHROPY
(THE AMERICAN DREAM.)

(i) The Culture
(Sold my soul for a quarter.)

. “How can I help you?”
. Glazed eyes and a poorly-suppressed sigh conveyed
. That however much they were paying her for this,
. It clearly wasn’t enough.

Bang! Boom! Crash!
Violence! Action! Sex!
A vicarious summer, ten bucks a pop;
branded merchandise soon to follow.
All you’ll need,
all you’ll ever need.
Save for the hotly-anticipated sequel.
Metallic behemoths, hot chicks.
Cinematic excellence, ADD culture.
A match made in heaven.
Even better are the wide-screen,
crystal-clear HDTV monstrosities.
Infinite channels of nothing,
a wasteland of raw emotion.

. Her hair fell brown-black in carefully casual waves,
. Waves parted by stylishly retro rectangular glasses.
. Eyeliner, applied in a trendy scene style, rimmed
. Eyes I dare not meet in dreams.

Glorious lifelines, those earplugs,
pumping manufactured angst.
Provocative female vocals compliment
phat synths, catchy beats, and forgettable lyrics
about this breakup or that affair.
Dance/pop replaced hip-hop,
alt-rock after emo-whine.
Ironically angsty artistic faded,
succeeded by whatever’s danceable.
To hate myself or to hate the world?
Or just to screw it, drink, and party?
Music for all.
I go for the punk and the classic rock.
The Green Day and the ACDC.
Institutionalized disrespect, prefabricated chaos.
This is my culture.

. Drink after drink of caffeine buzz
. Shouted at me from the chalked blackboard.
. She sighed, fingers impatiently drumming
. On the faux-marble counter-top.
. She glances at me, at the register.
. Impatience, boredom.
. So deliciously ironic.

Books are a more sophisticated delight.
Still untainted by the ignorant masses,
they offer their subtle pleasures.
The classic psychological twists
are my favorite, of course.
1984, Animal Farm,
love me some George Orwell.
House of Leaves owns my soul.
My darling Lolita, princess of darkness.
Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies.
But most of all, Fight Club,
the idolized masterpiece.
Pain to feel alive,
paying for the right to live.



(ii) The People
(When in Rome.)

. I scanned the menu once more, testing her patience.
. Her glazed glance turned to a glare.
. Inhaling the sharp scent of coffee grounds,
. I picked my poison.

Jeers and taunts ring like merchants hawking wares.
Cliques fill the hallways like circles of demons.
The jocks and their cheerleaders,
the preps, the Goths, the artsy drama kids.
Nerds, gangsters, druggies.
Rich and poor, black and white,
separated by increasingly visible lines.
An ancient and unchanging power-structure,
otherworldly forces assigning each his place.
Don’t rock the boat,
or else we might drown.
A biblical flood, a cleansing disaster.


. I dug through my pockets, never breaking eye contact.
. Coins clanked onto the counter.
. The drinks here are ridiculously overpriced,
. And a Tall is the least tall thing I have ever seen.

These kids, they get high, they get drunk.
A cocktail of malice, complete with prescriptions.
The over-diagnosed, the over-exposed,
generation of lost hope.
Well-wishers in comfy offices speak
of paranoia, schizophrenia, ADHD.
Depressed, anorexic, bipolar.
Chemically unbalanced,
mentally unstable.
These are my people.
Everyone must be fixed.
If only they knew.
But if a pill cures all,
and a drug molds personality,
then who are we, really?

. I watched as she moved to the machine.
. Easy-listening music floated from the speakers.
. My shoulders ached from the weight of the backpack.
. She glanced back at me, and I was still staring at her.

I am better than them, and I know it.
They mock me, but their cries mean nothing.
Nothing.
People today are stupid, lifeless.
Just drones, cogs in an endless machine.
They wouldn’t know life unless you took it from them.
I was smarter than all of them, more logical,
more refined.
I saw through this mess,
this objectivist nightmare.
I would come as a savior,
a shepherd of the sheeple.
I would judge the quick and the dead.
A bit of social turbulence, that’s all.
A spark for the revolution.
Our own Project Mayhem.
Bring corporate America to its knees.




(iii) The Incident
(No cry for help.)

. She handed me my drink.
Intimidated by my stare, her eyes darted to and fro.
Finally, I released her.
I turned around, a table in the corner
my lonely destination.
My pace quickened as I neared my sanctuary,
my kingdom, my freedom.
The lone chair invited me, calling for me
to sit in it, to fulfill its destiny.
I passed yuppies sitting,
typing on their MacBooks.
Probably writing pretentious poetry.
God, I hate poetry.
I hate art. I hate culture. I hate the philistine barbarians who have destroyed cinema and symphony. I sat down in the chair and stared again at the barista – oh God, her eyes. She reminded me too much of that one girl, that oh so wonderful girl from my algebra class who was so terribly out of my range, and knew it, and flaunted it, making out with that ugly imbecile of a jock she called a boyfriend – yes, she would have to go, and what a shameful thing it would be, for she had such pretty eyes. I placed my backpack on the floor beside me, reached inside of it, felt around, searching for my creation, my treasure… I had made it at Sam’s house, with stuff that I had stolen from the chemistry lab – they had all kinds of explosive stuff in those cabinets, and I would just sneak some home with me each day until I finished it. And now I would finally get my opportunity to use it, to set things right, to improve the world… to reach my destiny as a savior, a hero, a saint, a martyr… I would be remembered for this – I would make it into the headlines, the evening news. I envisioned the scene in my mind, watching the reactions of the people around me; that old man, he won’t know what’s going on, but that lady over there has a chance, and she might be able to escape… I could almost feel the blast now, I could almost hear the explosion, this was turning me on. But I must calm myself. I mustn’t lose control. This all had a purpose. I knew what I was doing. Social upheaval. Yes. Fear, terror, chaos. Yes. Sticking it to the man. Yes. I can do this. I am your one true fear, your one true enemy. I am Legend, the Jesus of Surburbia, the savior of the damned, ironman, the waiting. I am the unwanted, the unwashed, the uncared for, the slumdog, the underdog. I am the chosen one, the Muad’dib, the beast behind the wall, the walrus. I am your father, the kids your parents warned you about, invincible, a freak, a weirdo, the final solution. I am the last fragments of soul burning through your dead eyes. I am that last gasp for breath before everything fades to blackness. I am the sickening feeling in your gut as you realize the breaks are failing. I am the alpha and the omega, the creator and the destroyer. I am the way the world ends.
Three.
Two.
One.




(iv) The Reaction
(Empathy is a lost cause.)

“Did you hear what happened?”
“That Kyle kid?”
“Yeah.”
“He was always such a freak.”
“I never liked him.”
“He looked sorta gay.”
“I always knew he would go crazy.”
“I mean, did you see the way he acted?”
“He was such a creeper.”
“Remember that time –”
“Yeah!” “Oh God.”
“He used to stare at me all the time.”
“Jerk.”
“He was always pretty weird.”
“I pushed him down the stairs once.”
“Ha… I stole his lunch a few times.”
“Loser.”
“The other day, he told me to watch the news.”
“Why?” “Really?”
“I dunno, I guess he was trying to make the headlines.”
“Wow…”
“Whatever.”