This was something that I wrote in ninth grade for my Creative Writing elective, which was featured in my school's literary arts magazine along with a few of my haiku poems. I just felt bored and inclined enough to post it here after looking back on it. This is, in my own opinion, one of the best writings that I've done in my time, because of the touchy subject that I based it upon. There were originally three parts to it, but I'll only post the first one because it's my personal favorite and the most significant memory of my life.
__________________________
4 November, 2011
A lone fourteen year old Asian-American teenager strides around a cemetery within the ruins of New Orleans, Louisiana in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina until he begins to approach his father's tombstone. Standing before it, he lashes out in anger as the painful memories of an abusive past transcend in his mind.
Are you happy that you've thrown your life away?
Proud of your little "mistake" yet?
Look, don't assume that I'm here to reconcile - I'm only here because Mom, Andy, and Trang managed to pull me out of bed early in the morning just so we could see you. I don't know why Mom had married, let alone associated with a person like you in the first place. She damn well deserved better, especially after what she had to go through during the Vietnam War. While she'd be here, crying for you; call me heartless, but I'm not exactly surprised. Twenty-three years of constant drinking and smoking had to eventually lead to SOMETHING, right? I can recall when I was just four years old, how you used to to come home, drunk as usual, shouting how I was a rotton good-for-nothing swine, and how I was only vermin in your eyes and to the world. I would be blissfully playing with Ricky, who by chance, ran away and got hit by a bus, until you'd suddenly burst through the tattered screen door to our mobile home. Almost immediately, Ricky would frantically sprint and cower behind the sofa from you. Even he, a DOG for Christ's sakes, was afraid of you.
You would tower above me, brown leather belt in the left hand and a quarter-filled bottle of Corona Light in the other. You knew that we were dirt poor already, but you didn't care, did you? Remember how I used to cry and scream for Mom and Trang while you beat me relentless with the damn thing? I can't even bring myself to even look at a belt to this days, it just reminds me of the agony you unleashed upon me as a child. Fourteen damn years and still counting!
*in a sarcastic tone backed by a brutish rage*
Oh yeah, thanks for all of that, by the way. The bloody scars, I meant; my left shoulder blade was horribly disfigured from those years of abuse, and by the time we moved up to Pennsylvania, most of the skin on my back was already ravaged, if not, gone completely. I'm sure you've seen bare bone before, given your nature. I was forced to undergo surgery multiple times throughout the years just so they could mend the lost skin and realign my shoulder blade, but I can't even raise my left arm over my head.
I can remember when Uncle Nu broke the news to me six years ago, and how much I wept over your death... but really, who was I kidding?
I didn't even cry at your funeral.
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A Dramatic Monologue
Started by Solace, Dec 11 2012 02:02 AM
3 replies to this topic
#1
Posted 11 December 2012 - 02:02 AM
#3
Posted 11 December 2012 - 02:41 AM
QUOTE (ShadowCero @ Dec 10 2012, 09:34 PM) |
Wow, have to say that is really good writing And to everything else in this writing, all I have to say is "..." |
Haha, I honestly couldn't write any better than the time that I wrote this nowadays. I've been falling in and out of writing as well as suffering from the infamous bouts of depression, which have barred my interests by a lot.
#4
Posted 12 December 2012 - 02:51 AM
I read this last night but never got the chance to comment. This is some powerful writing. It's seriously better than what I could do....great job.
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