Just a Monologue about my life through my own eyes, written a few years ago.
| I woke up. It was one of those days where you knew what was going to happen. It sent shivers down my spine before my body could recollect what the temperature was.|
As I stood up, my legs trembled; quivering to the chorus of a hummingbird’s heart. I kept standing, unsure of what to do. Should I glance in the mirror? No, I couldn’t even bear to look at myself. I knew that if I saw that distorted reflection, I wouldn’t look away. Despite my horrid appearance, I could study my face dawn to dusk, listing off the imperfections.
So I decided to head back to bed. The thought of facing the day seemed far too depressing to even think about.
Hi. I’m Taylor Bowler, and I suffer from life. My life began almost six years ago, and I’ve regretted the night nine months prior ever since. That was the night my parents shagged. Just thinking of how they destroyed my life by beginning it makes me gag. How someone could be so selfish as to conceive a child without its permission is beyond me.
From the outside in, you may see me as a regular teenager; average in school, unflattering body, acne, mood swings, fast-food job; the usual. But my life is a one way mirror. You peer inside, observing my characteristics, then declaring me innocent of having a mind of my own. Wrong verdict. You move on to the next subject. Wrong verdict. They seem normal, too. Wrong verdict! I am a complex adolescent that is truly aware of her surroundings despite her attempts to block it out. I’m guilty of having a brain. Send me to purgatory with the scarecrow.
Sure I have friends; but I have feelings, too. No, not feelings. Emotions. I am an emotional teenage girl. Emo, for short. No, I do not have metres of eyeliner below my nose, and no my hair doesn’t have nineteen shades of black, but I have emotions.
When things are really good, I cry. When things are really bad, I cry. When I don’t comprehend things, I cry. To say the least, my eyes always seem to have backup tears on hold.
I have a family, too. There’s the sister two years my senior, Toots. She’s skinny. I loathe it. Then there’s my father, Dad. No names for parents, it just isn’t done. He’s the principle of one of the high schools in town. And last and especially least, there’s the woman I was stuck inside for three months short a year. My mother. Put it this way: Those nine months we plenty of time together for me. Fetuses kick for a reason. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. From broken water to screams of joy, I was seventy-nine minutes. I thought that I had gotten rid of her, but apparently after birth you have a commitment to stay with them and look all cute.
But enough about them, more about me. I worked at a burger joint called B&X for almost eight months, then I quit. Enough grease for me. I’m ready to move up in the world. Spread my wings. Breathe fresh air. Wal-Mart. That’s right, Zellers’ arch enemy, the big 'W' itself. I want to scan those bargain products with all of my heart. My dream is to say, “Spill in Canned Fruit Aisle. Repeat, Canned Fruit are Spilt.” Ahh, I can smell those mouldy old men now, asking me if they can get the 2-for-1 as 4-for-2.