Monologue

My Weird Family

I am your worse nightmare, the entity that you fear the most. I am evil, conniving, relentless. Chuck Norris checks for me under his bed every night, but i’m not there.   What can he or you do about me? Nothing. But I can do everything to you. You cannot escape me, because I live in your very essence. I am here to drag you down, to leave you sad, hopeless and dry on the streets. I will claim you and use you for my own greed, for my own jealousy.

I lead you, tempt you. 

I am the reason you sit there and doubt your self. Try as you might to make it into my brothers arms, but I will not let you. His warm embrace is something you will not and should not feel so long as I exist. The feeling that he brings, and the comfort of living, is not something you can have. 

Success. 

My most hated enemy, and yet so close to me. 

See that kid walking out of school without a care in the world? He is my target now. (Points towards something) He will feel my wrath. He will not go towards the path of my brother, that dark sinister path of happiness. (Shivers)  As he walks home, I claim him. (Hugging Motion) I whisper in his ear (lower tone) “What’s the point of going on? You have no friends, so why?” I listen as his will cracks. (Snapping motion) He listens, but he fights. He fights to do the right thing, but I don’t let him. 

I won’t let him. 

As he approaches home, I lead him into the alley way and he lights one. (Pretends to light a cigarette) Right into my arms, and as far away as possible from Success. (Extensive hug) Over the years, he becomes the shadow of his former self. Homeless on the bench with nothing but rags and a dirty hat. My influence among those that call for me, and that I choose, is simply enormous. I refuse to let go until I know that deep down in the dark abyss of my soul, he can no longer go on. This is only one example of my power. Even MC Hammer got touched. A power and feat that Success will never have.

(2 second pause)

Success.

That name, oh how I despise it. How can we be twins, but be so different? Father equality, and mother Balance, (Puts one hands out for equality and one for balance, Kind of like a scale.)  how could they give birth to such a hideous excuse of a brother? 

(4 second pause)

It hurts. 

It hurts, that they love him more. 

Him. (Points off stage)

But I will never get the same love. I have to force my own. Anything to prevent that fool from getting what I rightfully deserve. 

(2 second pause)

Success.

It is such a heart-wrenching name. Something I will forever hate.

See that little boy there sitting in the hospital bed? That was me, I did that to him. That’s right, his heart, (Grabs heart) I will claim it and he will recede into the darkness.  

They try so hard, so hard to fight me. But I can’t let them win. I won’t. They will love me, embrace me in their mind, and accept the fact that they are lost in the limbos of life and despair. 

All because of me. (Really long and drawn out)

In my mind, after completing all these tasks that I set out to do, I feel him. 

Success.

 I feel his presence in my soul. As if I he touched my very being. I hate that feeling. It’s the feeling that I long to rip from everyone who I call a victim. 

No.

I can’t win, he won’t leave me alone. There is nothing I can do to escape him, but I don’t want to. He calls to me and whispers “No matter how much you hate me, I will love you unconditionally, and be there for you always.”

 This strange foreign feeling, I..I..I.. think it’s called love. (Emotional) 

No. I have to fight it, and never submit to his will. (Snaps head)

It felt so good, but I have a mission, a goal. That goal is to break the morale of my prisoners, and veer them in the wrong direction. 

My name is.. Failure. My intentions are clear. I am the young twin sister of success. Daughter of Equality and Balance, and tormentor of people all over the world. 

Better hope your not next.

Gold 

            It was awfully nice for you to take me out to lunch. I do enjoy the sandwiches here they’re very delightful. The taste of this sandwich reminds me of the times when my dad was actually happy, he’s changed ever since my mom died in the car accident. He’s never been the same, he’s more serious and I never see him ever since I was 10. I’ve never expressed these emotions before ad you’ve been my motherly figure for all these years, you’re the only person I can come to. I’m starting to regret coming to work here. We do so much harm to people and there is so much lying and secrecy. I don’t think I can take it anymore, so much pressure. Everything was fine when I decided to work for my dad, until the occupy protests began. I started to second-guess myself and I’m actually thinking of helping those people. My peers say that I’m actually helping them, but I don’t think that’s true. I make $9,000,000 a year, me just me that’s only helpful for me. I think I’ve been tricked by my dad into coming to work for him, it all makes since now. He’s using me so someone can take control of the company. Was this his plan from the beginning? It can’t be, he loves me. Or he did love me; this is what it seems like now. No, I’m contradicting myself, why would he hate something he created. I’ve supported him through all my years and what do I get in return, nothing. I get ignorance, hate, and now I feel fear. He started the fear but the people on the occupy protest’s escalated it to a point were I’m having doubts. Do you see how messed up I’ve become? Can’t he see he’s made me into something that I’m not? I wanted to be an astronaut or a nurse, something that is useful. I hate myself, I hate my life, I hate what I’ve become, I hate this man. Tell me what I’m going to do to fix this problem. Maria? Where’d you go?

Sweat glistened off of my forehead and dripped onto my t-shirt as I ran home. Half of my shirt was now partially damp from this sweat, considering I had just run home from my job. Ugh, I just got laid off. I knew my mom wouldn’t be happy with me. (From here on the character is going on a mental rampage) Then again what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her right? Or should I remember that honesty is the best policy? It was neither. Either way I was trapped.

  Not telling her about work wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve hidden something from her. Last week I hid the fact that I had the money she wanted me to get, but I didn’t get it the way she expected me to. Standing on the corner was not apart of my ideal expectations for myself. I mean I had a job at McDonalds getting paid 5 dollars an hour. I had given her my 4 years earning for college, but that wasn’t enough. Working over time for her wasn’t getting the money in. It was giving my body up, sneaking over time without my mom knowing or selling drugs.

Money is the only thing that satisfied my mother. She expected me to sell drugs because she claims it brought the most money to the table. Out of everyone that I seen do it I just couldn’t sell drugs, although I knew someone who could, It was my uncle Tito. My mom still doesn’t know that my uncle has been back to his old ways, cigarettes, weed, guns, and cocaine. That was my uncle’s way of life, and he wasn’t planning to change it for anything.

I felt like I knew my uncle’s darkest secrets and one was what he did to me. The image of what he has done to me has been running through my head for a long time now. Ever since I felt his skin touch mine I was never the same. I remembered it like it was yesterday. 

 I felt his bare skin touch mine. I screamed out howls of despair as his cold flesh made my burning flesh become room temperature. I remember that moment like it was yesterday, I’m just aware that my mom wont believe it. She wouldn’t believe that her own brother decided to put his manhood into my delicate flower and take away my innocence. I was scared and I still am.

 My innocent anatomy wasn’t pure any longer and won’t ever be again. I know I need to stop doing all of these things and stop letting these things be done to my precious body. So, how could I please everyone and myself at the same time? It was a simple answer, I couldn’t. I wanted to come out clear but the dark shadows lurked behind me.

 I could imagine my uncle’s voice as he would slam my body down onto the bed and say to me “ Don’t complain, ain’t nobody gonna give you sex besides me anyway. No nigga wants ya, they never gonna.” This image burns in the back of my head, as my mind wanders in to the starry night.

 There was one thing that stopped me from living my daily life like a “normal” person. It took all my life to figure out what it is.  It is Fear (Character makes fear seem like a person*). Fear stopped me from telling my mom the truth and fighting off my uncle. Fear was beside me as I ran home to tell my mom I got laid off. That was until it caught up in front of me and blocked me from telling the truth. Fear keeps me awake every night and lurks behind my shadows. I am that little piece in my own mind, watching the world from a distance.  

She sits on me and speaks of these actions that have occurred to her and even speaks of actions she wants to occur. Suicide? Why would such person want to end their life, especially at such a young age of 12? This is the first I have heard of someone wanting to end something for eternity over something that’s only going to last a while

According to her, it was a way for her to get it over with, to get life over with. A way to get rid of the late night thoughts, that got her more and more terrified of death. Thinking “Why should I wait for my death & be scared my entire life when I can end it now, either way it’s going to happen. So what’s the purpose of waiting for it”.

            I believed humans to be fun loving people who lived life to the fullest. They seem so happy and enthusiastic. I always noticed they find ways to get through their days in strange forms, but it works. I have seen them move their bodies in such motions to a combination of vocal and instrumental sounds to show happiness, and later on share a couple of laughs with a pat on the back. They write multiple letters in books to make it symbolize things that express how they feel, and it works. With all these options why can’t this one girl find a way to make it work and continue living the life she was brought into? 

This sunset is gorgeous, who would want to give up this view?, I know I wouldn’t. I have been sitting here for about 40 years and not a single day do I wish to be removed from this spot. The beauty of nature, the river, trees and peaceful people enjoying it all give life a bigger reason to live. She’s speaking of depression and the only way to end is to end her life. Humans shouldn’t jump to such conclusions. This girl is quickly making a decision with out really thinking of the consequences. I don’t know what its like to have problems, or be happy, or to simply have emotions. I’m just but a bench watching life take on its course.

“I walked down the hall towards the board room contemplating this latest situation with the bank and the attempted robbery today.  As I though to myself, that was the second one this week, what are we going to do about this?  The bank is hemorrhaging money and I am at a loss as to why. (Look around the hall) I wonder where everyone is now, no one has been on time to a board meeting in forever and, needless to say, that doesn’t make me feel very good as a boss or an authority figure.  What’s the word…(Stops and ponders for second)  It makes me feel disrespected.  (turns toward the wall and rests his head on it)  When I think about what we could do to save this bank I draw a blank, I feel spent, I just don’t know what to do anymore.  I have asked people what they think we should do about this money situation and they just stare at me and ignore me.  (Stops and listens) What’s that noise?  (Walks down the hall)  Oh yea that’s right it’s Franks’ birthday and they’re having that party.  I wonder if i should tell him that he’s getting fired at the end of the week…(debates and struggles with himself)  No I don’t want to ruin his birthday.  The sad thing is that most of us will be fired before the month is out that was the only way to keep people from suing."

"I knocked on the door and walked in, the shareholders and investors alike were furious with my leadership, if I had know this I might have made some excuse, anything that I could have…Just to get me some more time.  To do what?  I’m not sure.  At that meeting they voted to push me out, they literally pushed me out of the bank at the end of the day.  Needless to say that was my last day working there."

"My name is Tim and that is how I lost my job, my friends, the respect of everyone I knew, and everything that I ever cared about.  That is why I sleep on the streets every night.  It has been ten years since that day.  (Man that Tim was talking to throws a couple coins into a jar beside Tim and walks away shaking his head)"

Back in the closet it’s dirty, dark, and cold. I’m all alone in this box of nothing. My time has passed and I am aging everyday. I remember when I had that new fresh clean smell, not dirty like I am now. When the white part on me wasn’t an ashy brown and black. Back then I was cool.  My family came out with something newer; I am so “yesterday” as I hear the others say. What is wrong with me? Yeah I guess I am a little beat up. What is SO wrong about that? Although I don’t like being dirty, smelly, bent all over and damaged up. I hate just sitting here! I am not cleaned anymore. Is it possible I just smell so bad that no one wants me? So maybe it’s not the way I look. Or maybe it is you, not me? There are so many possibilities. Jessica my owner, is short, red haired, and loves to play in the dirt. Why can’t she pick something cleaner? Maybe I would still be picked to wear. My name is hi- top, and I have a white base, with purple in front and red flaps in the back. I have a blue check on my sides. Oh . . . and I can’t forget about my laces! Name a color and it is on there. Maybe, just maybe I will be wanted after all. (pause) Is . . . Is she really coming my way. Jessica, is that you? I don’t have to look through that little whole anymore in this cardboard box. I think the top is finally opening. I’m soaring through the air in Jessica’s hands. OUCH! She just threw me down to the ground. Next thing I know I have the feeling of my laces being untied. Stretching my body for the first time in a while. As I “oohh”, and “ahh” I feel warm socks start to slowly slip into my open mouth. As she yanks on my tongue to try to get her foot in, it hurts a little, but I am just too happy to care. Tying the laces back up into a bow. Doubled knotted too! But then . . . I feel a pull. I feel my stitching becoming looser and looser. As her toes, slowly but shortly curl up I realize that her feet are too big for me. That happy smile I had was no longer there. A frown is starting to appear. Maybe it just seemed that way. As she gets up and starts to walk around it hurts even more. I am being pulled in every direction. I can only stretch out so much. She finally notices that I am way to small and sits down. Once she unties my laces and yanks on my tongue once again she struggles to get her foot out. She’s pulling on me in every angle and it’s hurting me, and probably her too. After pulling and stretching me in every way possible Jessica’s foot finally comes out. I get put into that hard annoying cardboard box, again. Then getting picked up and not sure where I am going? Why not into the closet? Isn’t that where I live? KABOOM. I get thrown into this white thing. It smells a little funky. Definitely not my closet, or any closet! I see a big clear carton, which has 4 spaced out shapes across the top. But what I really want to know is, where am I? What am I doing here? And most importantly why? 

Its not skill, I'm not a professional writer. I haven't written a novel nor  have I wrote New York's best selling book. I write to express my self, and to let my days emotions fly through the tip of my fingers. Where when i start writing I can't stop, where i know that it possibly isn't making sense but the words are coming out in their own order. A way to speak out loud with out really having anyone hear you. Where you can whisper your thoughts to your pencil. When I'm writing on paper, the pencil is my guidance and the paper is my path. The pencil guides my words and the paper puts it into place. Sometimes I over think it but once I notice I'm over thinking something I stop. I have to be able to know what I'm going to say next and not have to put a single thought into it. Where i can look back and say "Yeah, i wrote that" instead of knowing I could better. When I over think its when i have to write a paper but during my journals I write just to feel clean inside. Like if the world paused and its just me and the things i have to say. Where i can admit to every little thing and i won't be scared about being judged. Where i can speak my heart and won't bore someone, where I can ask a question and get an answer. An answer no one else can give me, my own answer.