The following is a short monologue written for my annual theatre show. I hope to soon be able to post one excerpt from one of the novels I am currently working on. Until then, enjoy::
I am truely on the edge. Yes, I've pulled myself out of the black sea of depression. I've swam through the cold waters of heartless unfeeling and pulled myself onto the warm sands of happiness. But when the tide comes in the water numbs me again with its icey touch. It threatens to pull me back under. I haven't the strength to pull myself further up. The previous struggle has left me still breathless and still that black water pulls at me, trying to carry me back down. I've been searching myself for the strength to stand and walk from the shores onto the grasslands. Once I strove to climb mountains. Now I struggle to crawl over a mole hill. The sand dunes seem to tower impossibley high. On a good day, I find the strength to turn my face to the sun. I haven't the strength to risk a call for help. And whether what resulted would actually be help is too uncertain. I trust no one who hasnt given me a reason. I feel nothing toward anyone that isnt felt for me. Im passed over by all. I've never felt the firey heat of being loved. My will is nearly spent. I need a hand to help me go on. But none is offered. I need a spark to warm my soul. But none is made. And though I've reached out to you, you turned away. You didn't see me. But you've left your mark. A new bruise amoung the old.