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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2030187
Rated: 18+ · Monologue · Biographical · #2030187
a character coming onstage to a spotlight and a microphone to tell about themselves.
Hello everyone, I am Doctor Walter Elias Dent, I am a physicist correctly employed at M.I.T. I have a wife, Ann, Two beautiful children, one boy and one girl, Walter junior and Sarah. I am currently thirty-five years old. And I am happy with my life. I wouldn’t change a thing. I am thirty years old, yes I do know that you gasped at that, and I also know that you are thinking that I am really year for being a doctor who has been employed for ten years as a teacher at this prestigious school as this one here. But, what you don’t know is that I was a child prodigy, I received my first doctorate at the young age of sixteen, which by the way was in theoretical physics, and my second by the age of eighteen, and this one was astrophysics.
Unfortunately, I was told earlier tonight that I may be used in an alternate timeline story type called, most appropriately, ’Steam punk’. Where I will be considered either a tinkerer or a scientist, I prefer the later myself but I may not have any choice in the matter. At least that is what another character in the back told me before coming out here to face this crowd.
Well, back to me, I suppose. Well my parents didn’t have much money, after all my Mother was a telephone operator in the early nineties, while my father used to be a welder, then he was a mechanic, then an electrician. Basically what I am saying is that my father was a joker who couldn’t hold down a job to save his life, while it was obvious to me and everyone who knew the family, that mom was always the breadwinner.
“Don’t forget about your sister!” a female voiced called out from offstage.
She was always very proud of both her children; yes I do have a sister. I hadn’t gotten there yet, but was getting there. Since there was someone backstage, who felt the need to yell that out, why don’t I just go there now?
Her name was Deborah, well actually, it still is, whether she is alive or not. She is about a year younger than me, born in November of nineteen hundred and eighty-six. And she and I are not on speaking terms as of now, nor do I know we ever will be, mainly because she’s a whore and a loser. But maybe this is something for another time.
" No, It's not!" the same voice cries out, interrupting the good Doctor once again.
I refuse to go down that old road with her again, so I will continue.
My mother, the saint that she was, recognized the genius level intelligence in me early, mainly because my father had it too, only during his childhood, his family didn't have the means to give him what they should have, which was training. Nor did he learn control, yes, for those of you who don't understand, it does take control to have it, otherwise it will drive to drink, do drugs, or some other unmentionable atrocity, like he did. In the end it was what cost him his family, job, and in the end his life.
I am being told that when I am put into steampunk stories, I will be wearing a white turtleneck lab coat, with black gloves, and goggles strapped to my head. I'm not really sure how I feel about that, it kind of looks cheesy to me, but I'm not the writer. I'm just a character.
I always over think and over explain things. Although I know I have done some good things with my intelligence, there are somethings I created, I wish I hadn't. As with most science, it can be twisted the wrong way, like nuclear power, guns, cars, rockets, garden fertilizer. All these things were created by scientists, but could easily be twisted into vile evil things without much work. It is just the nature of who we really and truly are that makes us do these things.
I will tell you all, I probably shouldn't say this, but there are a lot of characters in the back, all waiting to come out front and say hello to you. Not sure they all will, or that the writer of this will ever allow some of them to come out here, as some of them don't even have clothes on, while others do, I think where they are wearing is clothes of some kind, it might be just the look of there skin.
Oh well, what ever he wants we characters will do it. right? that's enough from me for now... good luck with them. Oi Vey!
© Copyright 2015 David the Dark one! (debuono3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2030187