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Rated: 18+ · Monologue · Drama · #1175548
Entry for The Dialogue. 500 words or less. . . The Ex.
Oh, No! How could you show your face here? You know how hurt I still feel. I thought you may realize how this is going to affect me, you being here, with MY family. . . and you with HER! How could you do this to me, with her!

My family! My Thanksgiving! My broken heart and my refuge! How dare you spoil it all for me just by breathing? I told you, didn't I? I warned you to keep her away from me! I can feel my countenance falling, can feel the color rushing to my cheeks. My blood is boiling and I can't stop shaking. You . . . you stand there so calmly, shaking hands with my family. Why do you think you are wanted here? Oh look here comes mother to tell me to be nice. "Be nice!" You must know what this is doing to me, you must. Didn't I tell you I'd kill you both if I saw you together? I did, didn't I? I promised you that you would watch her last breath before you took your own. Are you just laughing at me?

Oh look! Here you come. Smiling! Smiling! How dare you? Oh love so long lost, how can you smile with THAT behind you? How can you look at me with that same smile that used to light up my room and banish all my ills to far away?

"I look well" . . You think so? You know I don't! You can see what you have done to me, you and HER. You need to go away, now. I feel so heated and strange! The room is closing in, like night rushing to chase away day. I can hear your voice, amiable and animated as always, talking, but I can't follow what you are saying. . . House . . . work . . . moving . . . marrie . . . WHAT? WHAT? What did you just say? You are getting married? To her? What! Oh God, it's so warm, I need to get away, but you are stood between me and the door. Mother is looking over. I must have said it too loud, but no, no you cannot walk in here and tell me you are getting married to that horror of a woman, that Femme Fatal! God, she was my assistant, she was supposed to be with me, on my side, not with you behind my back. Furtive meetings and sly, snatched nights together while I worked. Why is it still so hot?

I can see the room is going quiet, everyone is looking at me? Is it so obvious that I miss him? It's boiling, and moist in here. Why is everyone looking? Why is it all dark and wet? What's this? What's this! This blood? Oh my God he's on the floor. God I'm holding a knife, No! No! I have done it! Oh God it's gone so dark!!



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