Yup, another "narrative" from Rhii... This is one I wrote for a song though (GO SUBSCRIBE TO ThisCreationBand ON YOUTUBE AND FOLLOW This_Creation ON TWITTER. I'm the lead vocalist (trollololol) and we'll be uploading photos and recordings soon!)
So here is the monologue which features in our song 'Parallel'
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I find myself staring out into the darkness,
a woman is raped in a dimly lit corner of a back alley,
her screams muffled by the grubby rag tied around her mouth.
Her captor stands tall, the reek of unwashed flesh leaking from him.
A young boy pulls his kite along the crumbling concrete,
the brightly coloured fabric is his hope for the future: barely lifting from the ground.
The tails ripple slightly in his imagination as he fantasises of a better life.
I see the last wilting rose of a boquette strewn carelessly across the ground,
cast aside as her boyfriend left her.
The petals withered, the leaves crackling like worthless paper.
This once beautiful flower reduced to nothing more than a weed upon a tile.
I pick it up and turn it over in my hands, ignoring the sharp scratch as the thorn penetrates my skin.
A single drop of rain falls upon a shard of glass, followed by more and more.
The smashed in window is soon streaming with Heaven’s tears.
A baby cries as it’s mother pulls down the polythene scene.
A flurry of movement as people take in their possessions to prevent them from becoming saturated with water,
then leaving the street abandoned.
I see the distinctive shadow of my once closest friend,
what looked like rain now cascading over her face, leaking from her eyes and into her hair.
I watch her as she skids to a hault underneath what she thought was a secluded tree,
her hand thrusts into a pocket pulling out a small, sharp item.
She fell to the ground, her blood pooling around her and mixing with the rain.
It flooded the area near to her and then dissipated to further and further away
until it reached the petals of the dead rose at me feet, tinting them an ominous red.
He stared into the mirror, the news of her death had reached him days previously.
It was his fault, he knew that, but how could she?
He looked down at his hands, almost expecting to see her blood there,
but cathing sight of nothing more than the pale insides of his fingers.
He crossed the room to glance out of the window,
the sky crying as it was when she left him.
The memories of her came flooding back to him, knocking him to his knees.
Clasping his head in his shaking hands he let out a loud, tortured cry.
His mother sprints into the room, not needing to ask to know.
He ceased to exist then. To truly exist he needed her.
But she left him. As he left her.
The irony: in an act meaning to kill herself, she killed those around her.
She died too of course, but they did too.
They died in parallel.
