Wilde Monologue

Hi guys! This weeks post is supposed to be an extract from a nineteenth century novel. I wrote it with the writing of Oscar Wilde in mind – which explains the title.

Glitter stars to whoever can guess the gender and relationship between the two.

The challenge was to write a monologue; meaning everything hereafter is only one person talking. Enjoy!

“I was happy for you – Really; I was!

No, please do not interrupt me. I know better than anyone how bad you struggled, how many obstacles you had to overcome. I know because through every single one of them I was there by your side encouraging you to go on. I laughed with you as you succeeded. And I laughed with you, when all your dreams came true.

But no more. I love you. I always have, and I always will, but I think… But I think I might love the memory of you rather than the actual person you have become. No, do not say you have not changed. Do not lie. Not to me. I have seen you change day for day; feeling powerless to stop it.

Oh, how the mighty may fall!

Are you not the proof of that? How kind you used to be when the world was tough; how generous you seemed when you had nothing. But now the world has blessed you; now you have a fortune at your disposal, and I don’t recognize you any longer; the kindness that you used to be.

Where are my friend? Did he die when your fortune was made? Did he sell his soul for your money? What an awful bargain if this is so.

I must tell you this, I must be honest, for I do not like you blessed.

I loved you, when you struggled, and I loved you when you laughed with your eyes as well as your mouth. I loved you, when you were happy in spite of everything. Now you are miserable in spite of everything, and furious with me for every breath that I take, and every beat of my heart. Do I remind you of worse times? Is that why you detest me so?

I love you, dear friend, but you have abandoned me and left a stranger in your wake, and this is why I now, in this moment, must bid you goodbye.”

Still Waiting…

The park bench was empty. Good. It was funny how he hadn‘t even considered what he’d do if someone else had sat there. With a nervous movement Robert glanced down on his watch. It was half past one. They were supposed to meet at two, but he’d gotten here early. He couldn’t help himself.

His body hurt so weirdly as he sat down. Apparently he’d trained harder yesterday than he’d realised. He wondered if she would be early as well.

Her name was Daisy, and she was without a doubt the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid his eyes on. Sure, Delia, whom all the boys chased after, was more classical beautiful with her full lips and the body of a temptress, but there was something about Daisy which made Delia pale in comparison. Robert had spent countless hours trying to figure out what exactly made Daisy different than all the other skirts he’d chased.

Continue reading “Still Waiting…”

An Artist

An Artist

He was an artist. He knew his teacher – former teacher that was – didn’t think so. In fact he had spent years telling him everything he did wrong. But he knew he was an artist despite what that old goat might say.

And this was his first piece. Finished and perfectly imperfect. His teacher would have hated it. He loved that.

His teacher would have said that it wasn’t art. That it was a toy. And he would be partly right. It was a toy. But why should that mean it couldn’t also be art?

It was a fort. A single piece of wood carved out so it appeared to be several boxes, sticking out from each other. It was splattered with paint – every happy colour he’d been able to think of and with childish paintings. It was in three levels and if you climbed to the top level you’d find the secret treasure: A cave, where you could hide with all your books and secrets, pretending it was a little world of it own.

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Twilight Love

A/N: The following piece is a sestina, and a parody of Twilight. If you’re a twilight fan, I suggest you skip it. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t know I was obsessed.

But he was worth my obsession, my statue of marble.

He was everything pure, and perfect, and golden.

And I could dream of was his smouldering eyes.

From the first time I saw him I knew this was no shallow love.

This was the love of Romeo and Juliet, a love, which would inevitable lead to blood.

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