Creative Writing Monologue – How did I end up like this?
How did I end up like this? Slashed up and left to die in a part of Bristol that Tourist Information is in denial as to its existence. Why would I even consider agreeing to such ludicrous terms? How many times has my mother said one of those embarrassing Irish sayings that no-one says or told you: “Don’t talk to stranger,” or “Don’t let your father be or you’ll end up dead just like him.” Well I bet my Mum never envisaged me sharing my father’s grave before her. It’s looking more bloody likely with every minute that goes by.
“Pause”
I’m eighteen! I should be with friends on the town, drinking and trying cigarettes, not slowly bleeding to death. In its time this is the kind of road that would be full of tourists who can’t afford to go abroad and want a cheap seaside holiday; well Bristol seems to have fallen to bits, now it’s nothing more than a grimy alleyway. I’m not even sure if I brought this situation upon myself; just another one of those innocent victims of inner city youth gangs. I can already picture my mother on GMTV, asking pointless question which were unlikely to be answered, but when they are they draw an inevitable dead-end.
“Pause, Splutters”
When you’re approached by twelve or so older boys you keep your head down, make no eye contact and walk on by. Except on this occasion they closed in on me. I felt trapped like a helpless animal, my legs disacknowledged my brain which was urging them to run. They said they wanted me to perform some sort of task. As the group distributed my duty I remained silent and still, although my brain had commenced a battle I didn’t argue. But somehow, without being told, I knew there was extensive danger with the task in hand. They spat threats at me though I had not even considered disobeying my assignment for one moment.
“Pause, Chokes”
I gathered I was to be a courier and deliver goods and not under any circumstances was I to be prevented from completing my task, regardless of what crossed my path: be it another gang or the police. I asked no questions as I expected to hear no answers (or if there were any – only deceitful ones). They all implied that the consequence for getting caught would most likely be death. At that I began to panic, taking deeper and deeper breathes, having this premonition of being brutally killed. I should have known at that very moment that this situation that I’m in now was unavoidable.
“Pause, Chokes again”
I just wish life was like one of those lame TV shows where the hero is on the brink of death but summons up the strength to save him as well as the good looking girl that invariably accompanies them. I want just a few more minutes with my mother to make up for all that I have done. When I was young, my father gave me an option; he said “Wayne, are you going to be a Mummy’s boy or a Dad’s boy?” From that very moment I made a decision that would be my burden for the rest of my life. I was always a Dad’s boy and followed a similar youth to that of my older brother Ashley; I would look up to Ashley – he was who I wanted to be. Dad was always showing off his first born, until he walked out at the age of 15 that is.
“Pause, Single Tear”
Shortly after his departure my dad committed suicide. My life went downhill and every day seem to be a new low. I blamed my mum for my father’s death and taunted and accused her of pushing before he jumped. Although it was not true it gave me great satisfaction hearing my mother’s muffled tear and sobs from her room. My mother always loved and cared for me and was very compassionate towards me, both before and after my father’s death which is more than I can say for my father. My dad would often abuse me and as I cried he would tell me to man up and do him proud and it was my mother only who questioned the large bruises scattered all over my body. Yet my mum was always there to feed me and put a roof over my head. But my eyes were only for my father so my world seemed to crumble as he made his long ominous decent to the pits of hell.
“Unsteady Raspy Breathing “
So as these boys told me my task in hand, ringing in my ears was the sound of my Dad saying, “so Wayne are you going to be a Mummy’s boy or a Daddy’s boy. “So not only did I accept that I had no choice, I agreed, I saw it as a gifted opportunity to do my beloved Dad proud and make up for the fact I could never live up to Ashley. I had my goal in mind and it never occurred to me the magnitude of the danger and I never assumed I would get caught. So I was dismayed to walk into a group of men the gleam in their eyes told me they knew everything.
“Pause”
They were smug, the kind of people when dad was alive he was obsessed with surrounding himself with. Those crocked smiles and worn bashed up faces told me they had fought many wars before. But what shocked me the most was the lack of fear and concern in their eyes. They did what they this not because they were forced to like myself, but because they found it them adrenaline and they enjoyed it! As they redrew there knives from their pockets and slashed me I didn’t resist or cry; I couldn’t stand hearing my dad’s voice again, “Man up Wayne, man up.” I had had enough.
“Pause, Voice fades as he is dying”
But as this happened I couldn’t help but smile to myself. I had seen who was stabbing me, I smiled at him and he smirked back, mocking me. Ashley, who I had looked up to as a child, had come back; maybe not the way I had hoped, but none the less for the past eight years since he left all I have ever wanted was for him to return. I don’t hate him for doing it; he was living my father’s dream and had done him proud more than I had ever done.
“Pause”
If I shift my weight I could probably see the name of this god forsaken alley. “Terminal Lane,” it probably refers to the nearly airport but I think it fits. The end of my journey, a short journey, but never the less an eventful one. “Terminal Lane”. Chuckles
“Closes Eyes, Dies”.
