Prompt: Write a Dramatic Monologue
Ouch
"Every second Tuesday, under the shade of the mango trees in my lane
I walk to #32, climb the steps, prepare for the mundane drama of your life waiting to unfold
You come, start talking, jibber jabber, jibber jabber,
Just another Tuesday with your dear ol' me, who comes to your rescue,
Because I carefully hijacked your power.
It was a slow process, an experiment to break you over 36 months,
Meticulously carried out by a thought stealer,
Who feeds you little somethings that you knew all along -
Revelation after revelation that never quite registers in that thick head of yours.
From a distance, something gnaws at me -
It is something about the way you hold the cup of tea with both hands
Or the way you itch your scalp mid-sentence, pretending like the dandruff did not fall onto my couch.
But you are paying me to be here, to listen to your never-ending sob stories, the occasional victories,
How the great loss of 2004 left you scarred.
It was the same year as the The Great Wave hit our shores,
The year the world learnt in horror what a "tsunami" was.
Nature unleashing her anger for mistreating her so long.
So long.
So very long.
It's funny how every single one of us remember that day, that year so differently,
For me, the whole year played out amazingly, if I recall,
It was the summer of '04, my father had completed his book on sleep psychosis,
I was four sizes smaller than I am now, skin glowing in my pink chiffon dress,
Drinking wine after not having any for nine months.
And for you, oh yes, it was a year of mourning, wasn't it?
How very peculiar how time flies, no?
How some memories refuse to be re-written, while others get in line for minor adjustments.
AHEM.
"And how do you feel about that?""
Ouch
"Every second Tuesday, under the shade of the mango trees in my lane
I walk to #32, climb the steps, prepare for the mundane drama of your life waiting to unfold
You come, start talking, jibber jabber, jibber jabber,
Just another Tuesday with your dear ol' me, who comes to your rescue,
Because I carefully hijacked your power.
It was a slow process, an experiment to break you over 36 months,
Meticulously carried out by a thought stealer,
Who feeds you little somethings that you knew all along -
Revelation after revelation that never quite registers in that thick head of yours.
From a distance, something gnaws at me -
It is something about the way you hold the cup of tea with both hands
Or the way you itch your scalp mid-sentence, pretending like the dandruff did not fall onto my couch.
But you are paying me to be here, to listen to your never-ending sob stories, the occasional victories,
How the great loss of 2004 left you scarred.
It was the same year as the The Great Wave hit our shores,
The year the world learnt in horror what a "tsunami" was.
Nature unleashing her anger for mistreating her so long.
So long.
So very long.
It's funny how every single one of us remember that day, that year so differently,
For me, the whole year played out amazingly, if I recall,
It was the summer of '04, my father had completed his book on sleep psychosis,
I was four sizes smaller than I am now, skin glowing in my pink chiffon dress,
Drinking wine after not having any for nine months.
And for you, oh yes, it was a year of mourning, wasn't it?
How very peculiar how time flies, no?
How some memories refuse to be re-written, while others get in line for minor adjustments.
AHEM.
"And how do you feel about that?""
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