Jade Runo Monologue

The decision became clear as the thought of my abolitionist wife spoke in my thoughts.

When I woke up in the morning, my mom had left for work. My dad was singing in the kitchen, banging pots around. I got up, tiptoed down the hall, washed my face. A neatly wrapped present lay on the bathroom counter. It was addressed to me. I stuffed it into my robe pocket, and rushed back down the hall. Under the covers, I opened the package. On the first page of a small, leather notebook, an inscription read: to a writer, love your mother. I never wrote anything in the notebook. I could never think of anything good

Shawn Torrent was sitting in his math class at Palm beach k-12 school, he looked up from his work to see that his teacher, Mrs. Clarke, was no longer writing a problem on the board, or even in the classroom. Shawn looked around the room, as a few other students started to realize that she wasn’t there. Some of the kids from Shawn’s class, including his best friend Cody Mitchell, stood up and walked to the hallway. Shawn followed everyone into the hallway, where he noticed kids from other classes had done the same. He had asked multiple people what was going on, but got no response from anyone. Then Shawn looked down the hallway and saw Alana Morrison come out of her advanced algebra class. He had always liked Alana, but they had never really

I came home one day to see both of my parents sad. As a third grader, I didn’t completely understand at the time, but my father had been laid off from the job he’d had since his teenage years. My father had started at the age of eighteen as a student worker at Southern Miss, and after years of hard work he had been promoted to the manager of shipping and receiving on campus. When the recession struck, the need to save money resulted in his position being terminated. My father was without a job. My father loved that job and when he lost it, he changed. He found a new love, alcohol. He let his love for alcohol become an addiction. He would do anything for alcohol; he even had secret stashes when my mom had removed all the prior alcohol from the house. Quickly my father became a violent drunk and began to routinely beat my mother and me. He became unstoppable; no person could get him back on track so my mother, in an attempt to keep me safe, removed him from the house. Even my mother’s best efforts weren’t always enough, as my father constantly broke into our house. One day my mother and I came home and my father was waiting in our den with a gun. We walked in, he pointed the gun at us, and then back at himself. He couldn’t decide to kill my mother, himself, or just all of us. He had more hatred in his eyes

VROOM! The bus goes when the engine starts and drives to school. Ugh! The thought of going to school again and beginning the 2nd grade in Maurice Hawk School. EH. I wasn’t so nervous because I had the same class as my friends. I know my teacher was so nice to me in 2nd grade, because basically all elementary school teachers are really nice to kids like me. Her name was Mrs. Ramirez. I had to run to different classes during that class like speech or just different subjects because I hate the thought of being late. When is was time for speech, my teacher picked my classmate and I up because we forgot to come to class. I know I just said that I hate the thought of being late, but hold your horses! It was only the first day! Give me a break! But anyways, while we were walking slowly and calmly in the hall, we started

Maria, a girl who was seventeen and struggling to get through everyday of her senior year at Riverview High School. She’s never had an easy life, but she knew value. Any money she would get, she would save for anytime it was needed. She didn’t take anything for granted. She was practically raising her little brother Matthew, a brown haired, green eyed, bright seven year old little boy. Her dad was about as useful as a broken nail, always running around chasing the memories he made up, but believes are true. Her mom had passed away when Matthew was two. She had gotten diagnosed with terminal cancer, there was no cure. But all the pain and struggling would change one sunny day at the place she hated the most, school.

I heard a feminine voice call out to me as I blazed out the front door. "Good morning Amber! Oh, where are you--" I cut her off with a sharp slam. I couldn't look back. With each step towards my car, I inhale painful sobs of air. I feel as if I don't know who I am, as if I was that 18 year old girl hearing the news of his death for the first time. I couldn't think of the name that belongs to me, or any one else but my father. Any face my subconscious offers had the resonance of a total stranger, then was replaced with the haunting image of

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

I told my mom to stay outside. I went to open the door but he locked the door. I knocked hard and when he turned and looked over his shoulder he was grinning as he taunted me and my mom. “LET US IN YOU OLD MAN” I screamed. “Mom give me the key” I sighed. I tried to put the key in the slot except the old man changed the lock. He shook the old key tauntingly right in front of us in the front door. He was so close in fact that his nose was almost touching the glass and I could see his breath on the door window. He was so busy taunting that by the time he realized what was happening, I lifted up from under a broken door, broke his arm, and then grabbed my knife out of my pocket. He tried to swing with his good arm but I grabbed it, slammed it on the table and stabbed my knife into his hand. He screamed like a zebra with broken and broke vocal cords. “Now what did I say about you leaving or else you’d be in that full body cast?” I asked in a hostel whisper. His hand was covered in dark red blood and he had tears in his eyes. “LET ME GO YOU CRAZY LITTLE-” He didn’t get to finish because my mom screamed, “ENOUGH MIRA JUST GET YOUR STUFF. AND YOU SIR NEED TO GET OUT OF OUR HOUSE IMMEDIATELY GO TO THE HOSPITAL, AND DON'T COME

There was exactly two weeks until state football. It was an exciting time for our school going undefeated through the whole season. The cheerleaders were ecstatic, we hadn’t been to state for a decade! The following Monday after another win for the football team the school hallways were buzzing. Hannah was a junior and the captain of the cheer squad. Hannah was 5’7 and 125 pounds, with a mix of blonde hair and brown hair. On top of that she had the most beautiful eyes anyone could imagine, ice blue streaks with bright green and just a hint of chocolate brown. Hannah was without a doubt one of the prettiest sixteen year old to ever exist. Hannah was almost perfect, she was smart, athletic, beautiful, popular, kind and was dating Drew, the captain

I hopped along the cracked path towards the house. When reaching the front lawn my feet struggled to wade through a jungle of plants. But soon enough they were free and the front door greeted me with peeling paint fingers, I twisted the handle but it wouldn’t budge. My knuckles pounded on the door “Gus!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. Tapping my foot while waiting for a response. Then heavy footsteps approached the door and the handle twisted, opening the door to reveal my dad towering above me. His eyes were distant and his face was pale and drooping. He wore the same tattered black shirt he always wore. “Hello Lars” he said in a deep raspy voice. “Hi dad” my voice squeaked in comparison. I quickly scurried past him towards the kitchen

The wind howled through the window, threatening to break it in with every gust. The girl sat all alone in a dark room, huddling her legs, gazing out the window, waiting for the storm to pass. If anyone had walked into the room at that moment they would have noticed the girl, who looked around 12 years old, her messy, brown hair clearly hadn’t been washed or brushed in several days. They would have noticed the tattered clothes she was wearing, the dirt covering her skin, her stick skinny limbs which showed how little she ate and the bruises that looked a few days old all over her tiny body including one near her left eye making it difficult for her to see. And, if someone had cared enough, they would have noticed the look of pure fear and exhaustion in her eyes and seen the tears streaming down her face.

It all started on August 23, 2005. It seemed like it was just going to be another average day. Nicole had stayed the night at Dawn’s and now they were both walking down to the bus stop for school. Nicole’s blonde hair blew in the wind while her pink earrings clanked like a wind chime. They stepped on to the bus and prepared for the long ride. Nicole and Dawn started noticing clouds moving in from the ocean. They were moving faster and faster. Every second they got darker. They both remembered watching the news report that morning. It said to expect heavy thunderstorms. They didn’t really think about it and were soon stepping off the bus. They walked into their school, Lincoln Bay High, and headed

Today, she decided to wear her favorite blue with a green tank top, pony-tail her mid back length brown hair, and put on a little make-up to enhance her brown eyes. She was feeling pretty good about it all when they got to class. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. Unable to stop giggling at a picture drawn of the teacher on the chalkboard was her downfall, subsequently, he made her sit out the class in the hallway.

One weekend I was at my dad’s house watching Power Rangers on the TV in the family room. He repeatedly called my name, but I did not hear him. My step-mother came in there to tell me that my dad had been calling me and he was in the kitchen. When I walked into the kitchen, his voice resonated, “Did you hear me calling you?” I replied, “No.” He balled up his fist and socked me in the middle of my chest. I grabbed my chest and dropped to the floor crying. I could not believe what happened because I did not hear him calling my name. I did not understand why did he punch me in my chest. He then said, “The next time I call you, you better answer me.” When my dad dropped me off at our designated spot, his way of saying goodbye traumatized me. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. With the palm of his hand touching the palm of my hand, he wrapped his four fingers around until the touched the top of my hand, then he placed his thumb in-between my thumb before he squeezed it as tight as he could and wiggled all the bones in my hand back and forth. One day he did it so squeezed so hard I cried. I cried so hard that my mom and nana both got so angry at my dad