Cal Hampton Monologue

his comeback, I was dispatched to George Cherry’s boxing club to watch him work out.

It was a while before the last stroke ceased vibrating. It stayed in the air, more felt than heard, for a long time. Like all the bells that ever rang still ringing in the long dying light-rays and Jesus and Saint Francis talking about his sister. Because if it were just to hell; if that were all of it. Finished. If things just finished themselves. Nobody else there but her and me. If we could just have done something so dreadful that they would have fled hell except us. I have committed incest I said Father it was I it was not Dalton Ames And when he put Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. When he put the pistol in my hand I didn’t. That’s why I didn’t. He would be there and she would and I would. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames. Dalton Ames.

The year is 1861. You are a young boy only 10 years of age,named Tommy, your parents both died from smallpox. Every day it goes threw your head why did I not get the virus and die with them?

Beverly Jimenez, also known as, ‘Dr.Sissy’, stretches out of her petite, cozy office and steps into the ample operatory with dark orange walls and sticky purple chairs. Sounds of suction and the metal clanking of tools can be heard. She is asked to take a look at her patient's teeth whenever she is ready. She takes a seat on the low stool and opens her metal tools from their blue transparent package. She begins to examine the teeth of a young girl. Jimenez’ smooth chocolaty brown hair glistens under the bright white light. It is hard to hear her talk because of the baby blue surgical mask that is strapped from ear to ear covering her mouth. Once she finishes the examination, she calmly strolls back to her desk to continue her paperwork. The chatter of the young women at the desk can be heard from the waiting room. They are trying to decide which scrubs to buy as they wait for new patients to check in. The young girl who recently received a cleaning walks out of the operatory with a blue toothbrush in her hand. She stops by the brown treasure chest to pick out a small trinket and skips back to her mother.

The room is spinning. It’s hard to get a good look and what or even where the scene is taking place. Finally, the revolution ends on a face. Not a remarkable face. Just an average looking guy in his early twenties with a short brown fair and sad eyes. When the average guy speaks, a moderate Southern drawl tinges his voice.

It 's 4:00 am, my bed feels something like a cloud but less wet, laying facing the ceiling wondering if I will ever serve as a greater purpose other than grow up, get a job, get married, have a nice family, then die, you know the usual, none the less it still scares me knowing that one day I will die and no one will remember me or that I ever existed. Feelings of sadness soon swarm my mind until the alarm clock suddenly went off at 4:30 am which could only mean one thing;

“I know that in writing the following pages I am divulging the great secret of my life, the secret which for some years I have guarded far more carefully than any of my earthly possessions; and it is a curious study to me to analyze the motives which prompt me to do it. I feel that I am led by the same impulse which forces the un-found-out criminal to take somebody into his confidence, although he knows that the act is likely, even almost certain, to lead to his undoing. I know that I am playing with fire, and I feel the thrill which accompanies that most fascinating pastime; and, back of it all, I think I find a sort of savage and diabolical desire to gather up all the little tragedies of my life, and turn them into a practical joke on society”

Right now I am on a plane headed to Europe. With me are Jack Hileman,John Shleinz,Grant Williams,Nathan Jolly,and David Beilin. We are almost over the Amazon,when the plane begins to shake then fall. Grant screamed, “What are we going to do?” Nathan shouted in response, “I don’t know you tell me wise guy.” I was thinking to myself that we were going to die. John comes over to me with a floatation device. John was resourceful like that. To save ourselves we all decided to jump out of the plane. When we were out of the plane we decided to swim to the Amazon for safety.

My clothes are folded neatly on the bed, they smell fresh as if they are this way all the time. I heard them over talking (foster parents) the social worker will be here today. I 'm being placed in another home, another dump I 'm sure. I start packing without being told, I know this routine all too well.

In the stories, it’s all fire, hopeless souls hopelessly screaming, endless pain. I mean, yeah, there’s fire. Lots of it. And there’s tons of screaming too, probably because of the fire. And where there’s fire and screaming, there’s endless pain.

After a bit more stretching in bed, Clay lazily slipped out of bed, his paws hitting the floor with a muffled "thump", due to the carpeted flooring. He walked over to his dresser, opening the top-left drawer. The teenager carelessly stuck his paw into the piles of unfolded clothes that were crammed into the tiny drawer, pulling out a randomly selected T-shirt that happened to be purple. He slipped it on with ease, knowing how small he was and that most of his clothing were formally his older sibling 's, who was masive.

I have gone for approximately two years crushing over the same boy from my English class that goes by the name of Dale Christopher and I think its about time I do something about it.

I met Eddie Lacy on August 8. It was family fun night, and I was with my friends. I asked for his autograph and he said yea but I didn’t have a sharpe and neither did he so I asked him he said yea. I got it on a Packer football. I was so happy that he said yes.

Imagine a playground. Imagine children, laughter. Imagine a young mother resting on a park bench, breathing in the sun-warmed air. Her son, Charlie, is giddily running up the plastic steps to the slide, his purple cap a flicker among dozens of sparkling faces. “Mommy! Look at me!” he cries as he

As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. He was seated at the piano, with his back to them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann's "Forest Scenes." "You must lend me these, Basil," he cried. "I want to learn them. They are perfectly charming." "That entirely depends on how