John Marfield Monologue

“This one was hardly bigger than a garage. The table was cluttered with limp- looking magazines and at one end of it there was a big green glass ashtray full of cigarette butts and cotton wads with little blood spots on them. If she had had anything to do with the running of the place, that would have been emptied every so often. There were no chairs against the wall at the head of the room. It had a rectangular-shaped panel in it that permitted a view of the office where the nurse came and went and the secretary listened to the radio. A plastic fern, in a gold pot sat in the opening and trailed its fronds down almost to the floor. The radio was softly playing gospel music” (O’Connor 3). As the Turpins waited Mrs. Turpin began to describe the other waiting room occupants to pass the time. Mrs. Turpin can be seen as a larger woman who is proud of her means and then there is her husband Claud who can be described as a “florid, bald, sturdy and shorter than Mrs. Turpin (O’Connor 1). Next was an unnamed blonde child whose attire consisted of a dirty blue romper, the boy’s mother was seen “wearing on a yellow sweatshirt and wine- colored slacks, both gritty-looking, and the rims of her lips were stained with snuff. Her dirty yellow hair was tied behind with a little piece of red paper ribbon” (O’Connor 5). The next woman is called the “stylish woman” by

“And when I recognized him, I started to shake.”

He looked at it for a good five seconds. His facial expression changed into dread. He slowly bent his fragile knees and leaned forward. I couldn’t feel the pain, but it was clearly visible in his eyes. He groaned. He reached for the keys with his right hand. It’s hard to describe through words, but the sight of his doing that gave me pain. Emotional pain.

After an awkward minute of silence he had finally turned around and disappointedly said, “Do you think that you maybe have forgotten something? Something you committed and promised to do but never did do? Hmm?”

“What did you just say?” It asked. I could see the red fumes coming out the elf-like ears of the monster.

After he patted out the fire on his hair, he said, he got down on the ground and groped in the dark. “I thought I found one of them once,” he said, “but it was a doll.” He couldn’t bear the heat any longer. “I felt myself passing out,” he said. Finally, he stumbled down the corridor and out the front door, trying to catch his breath. He saw Diane Barbee and yelled for her to call the Fire Department. After she left, he insisted, he tried without success to get back

“Don’t,” he answered with a quiet sigh. “Listen, I’m gonna go work on your apology letter for

Sky opened the 3rd bottle, gone in under 5 minutes, being immune to drunkenness isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. However, it can have certain advantages, people will blurt out their deepest desires and sometimes more. Depending on how many drinks they’ve had. Sky’s manager, George Longbottom stumbled in, beer in hand. Sky twisted in her chair, arms folded; Chelsea Summers walked in after him,

“Why?” His voice trembled slightly. But he didn't move from his spot. Ash paused briefly, considering.

He stretched and reached for the bottle of coke that sat next to the bourbon bottle, poured a glass and wondered what type this one would be. When the message arrived, from the length of the text, he immediately saw that it wasn't the former and scanned through the words with a faint smile on his face.

She smiled as the refreshing breeze blew into her face, filling her nose with the sweet smell of her flowers. Maria Brown always enjoyed the cool mornings. She adored the sound of the bird chirping and feeling of the warm sunlight shining down her body, making her feel drowsy. But today was one of those days with too many things to do. The old Mrs. Brown looked like she was being controlled by invisible strings from above, only her puppeteer was drunk. She had that brilliant smile on her face, and her cheeks were faintly pink from all her excitement. She was getting a visitor today, her dearest granddaughter was coming to visit from the big city.

Rick looked confused, his emotions raw like a slice of fresh meat. “Why didn’t ou tell me sooner?” he said with a confused look.

And there, in the most overstuffed armchair the world has ever known, sits Mr. Hayes, his wire rim glasses perched on his nose, waiting to slip onto the unforgiving floor. He wears his business attire: a button down shirt under a long brown cardigan, wrinkled suit pants, and leather loafers. His thinning white hair and wrinkled skin had no effect on his eyes, which shone like new pennies. He was a peculiar man, very systematic in his habits, and a great conversationalist when you could get him away from his great pot of melted wax. Arden often joined him there to test out his newest scent

The stereo clicked to a halt. A Norwegian man engulfed in a cigar suddenly let out a surprised puff, kicking his legs back down from his desk. “ What the—“ The office reeked with rum and cigar smoke, piles of ripped papers and pictures littered on the once clean, fresh red carpet. But now it was a dark, dirty, mess. Just like him.

The place I hid my cigarettes has changed many times throughout my existence. Since I was old enough to speak, I’ve said it with alarm because some part of me was lost in my father’s sleeve, a soft spot that would soon harden. Wherever I hid my cigarettes, they’d always be found. I’ll never forget the time I put them under a loose floorboard in my parent’s bedroom. Everyday I would take two cigarettes and smoke them before and after school and when I came home I would go and take another if they weren’t home. Dad must have had the smell of a canine because every time I would take two for the next day a third had gone missing, sometimes even four that previous day. Why he couldn’t have just bought his own astonished me, or why he’d never told