Pebble Story/Monologue Collection

DeletedUser8396

Guest
It's Ok

It’s ok. It’s fine if that’s what you think of me. Go ahead, believe what you want. I don’t care what you think of me. I hardly value your opinion. You can’t possibly think I’d respect your opinion enough to influence how I perceive myself, would you? I am stronger than anything you can possibly say to me. It’s ok. It isn’t like it may be true, what you said. So what if I am broken? Depressed? Shattered beyond repair? Hurting? Cutting myself in the middle of the night in some faltering attempt to release the pain? Looking in the mirror day after day thinking I’m not good enough? Thinking upon the hour that I am never good enough? Not acceptable but rejectable? Contemplating daily the benefits of the rope or continuing with life? So what? Go ahead. Call me what you wish. It’s ok. It’s always ok.

If it can grant you some sense of security in yourself, at the risk of my own, go on! Take advantage! Call me anything! I can take it. It isn’t like I am fragile by the consistent battery of verbal assaults you feel the necessity to launch each and every day. It isn’t like I am falling apart simply to keep you held together. No. That is hardly the case at all, isn’t it? I am just some verbal punching bag designed solely for you to have a release in the midst of your oh so grueling day, aren’t I? You refuse to acknowledge me as more. I have longed for a purpose, so this may as well be it, I suppose. Yes. This is who I am. The one strong enough to hide the fragility and withstand the pain you daily deal in order to keep you standing. It’s ok. I promise. It’s perfectly ok. All ok.

I dreamed of being more, though. Before I determined to submit to your will and whim. I dreamed of being so much greater than your humanized anti-depressant. So, you know what? It isn’t ok. It is not ok for you to consistently belittle and berate me as some childish plaything you can toss about a room whenever you feel like having a fit or tantrum. I am not some doll you may manipulate and toy with. I am a human being, deserving of a respect higher than you could ever give. The words you choose to force upon me only reflect back to yourself displaying how pathetically needing you are of love. It is almost saddening to observe. No. It’s not ok. It was never ok.
 

DeletedUser18132

Guest
Really powerful, perhaps even your best piece you've ever written here.
 

DeletedUser8396

Guest
The Blind and the Broken

You don’t understand. You don’t know my pain, the things I feel and the things I see. You can’t possibly understand the agony I undergo every day. To see the world through a veil, closing and shutting out any hope, any light to account for some darkness. No, the darkness is all I see. I see the death, the hate, the pain experienced by others. I see it all. I see the one that just turned seven forced to watch as his parents tear apart the love they once swore to uphold. I see the little girl cowering in the corner afraid she will be hit yet another time. I see the wife with bruises on her face and arms from a husband’s drunken rage the night before. I see the destruction of alcohol poison the life of the family, causing it to die from the inside out. I see the kid with the thick jacket in the midst of summer trying to cover the cuts the razor blade gave himself the night before. I see the stains of tears across the reddened eyes of the one girl that has never felt loved. I feel the agony of the man tying a rope in a knot preparing himself for death. I feel the drops of blood streaming down side of the girl we all know too well but never bothered to know. I hear the cries of the men and women, boys and girls with guns aimed back at themselves as they stand before the mirror accusing themselves of an imperfection harsher than what we refused to tell them otherwise. I see the man forced to see the pain and be powerless to stop it. I see it all.

You see this just as I, but what is done? Do you aim to aid those in misery, those weakened by life’s pointed loathing? Or are you idle? Do you stand idly by watching the aforementioned world and simply remain in your own? The endorsers of the world above are those that can change it, but refuse to move their hand against it. They accept the comfort of their padded cells with a discomforting view than changing the world into something more beautiful. How joyful their selective morality must be. To see pain and willingly do nothing. How well they must sleep at night whilst the rest despair over themselves. Oh the world in which we live – The Blind and the Broken.
 

DeletedUser8396

Guest
I have started on the sequel. Felt like you all may like to know.
 

DeletedUser33530

Guest
Rock5 said:
Who was that woman at the end of the story?
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don't know but she reminds me of a friend of mine.
Using that line for the rest of my life.

Great story, almost brought me to tears but I have one slight issue. I don't think Tim should have been converted. Think it takes away from the true point of the story but not a huge deal.
On a side note,
“Man, I’m a lawyer for cryin’ out loud. I can do this all day.
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is the best argument that I have ever heard.
 

DeletedUser8396

Guest
East to West

If I am redeemed and forgiven, why do I feel this burden? Why do I feel as if I am consistently impure- consistently unsanctified and polluted? If Your love and blood has cleansed me of my sin, how is it I still feel it pressuring at my heart? I feel a pain that I cannot explain – a desolation that I cannot compromise with – an inconsistency I cannot reason with myself. My sins stand before You, open, FREE! Look upon them all. See how impure and wretched I really am! Go on! See how far your adopted child has fallen and continues to fall. I feel like I am in a pit – one impossible to climb out of. Why would you ever want to save me? A love for me? How could you possibly love someone that abuses you, mistreats you, rebels against you, all the while proclaiming a love that is empty by the very actions that are both present and lacking? Everything I am screams an overwhelming hate for You. I speak with my mouth a love for You like no other, yet with my actions I spit upon the empty tomb you stepped out of on the third day. But you still love me.

My sins are cast as far as the East is from the West, but how does that infinite distance even come close to hiding all that I’ve done – cover how far I’ve fallen? You say you forget confessed sins. You cannot remember them. Then how is it that I can! How can I know something the omniscient does not? Or is it You refuse to acknowledge my confessed sins? A selective blindness I am too blind to use? And in your refusing to remember, I am seen as blameless? By your refusal to remember, I am brought out of the pit and into the light? This is the only explanation I can understand. But even with a logical understanding, I do not see a reason as to why. You say you did this all to display Your great love, but why prove something to such a pitiful creature such as myself? Why bear the burden of proof when You are entirely justified to deny us such a privilege and remain perfectly loving and holy?

Such a love. Such a now shallow word illustrated in such a beautiful, magnificent manner. You love those that despise you for hatred’s sake. Those that refuse you, when all you wanted was their love in return – but you still loved them. Those that proclaim your name among the world, profess it as their faith, and yet consistently betray you with a death-filled life you died to redeem them of –such a love that I cannot deny. A love that echoes throughout the ages of time without ever losing magnitude or force – such a love is Yours, and such a love is shown to me.
 

DeletedUser29066

Guest
Why do I feel as if I am consistently impure- consistently unsanctified and polluted?
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Check the elastic in your underwear. Once the waistband starts to wear out it can lead to such feelings. Well fitting undies may improve your overall disposition and brighten your outlook on life.
 

DeletedUser8396

Guest
A Moment To Be Me

I want a moment to be myself. Just a minute to be who I really am – not the mask I put on, not the reserved man I falsely dream to be, not what society tells me I am. I want to shake off the dark shawl that I’m forced to put on in order to be accepted by the society that only loves me when my true self is hidden. To know who I am better than who I pretend to be. I want a moment, just a small moment, to be me. For I am stronger than the world wishes me to realize. That if my potential were realized, to be used to its truest intent, the world wouldn’t be able to contain the magnitude of such a force. And so it must silence it, hide the beauty that would destroy its grand illusion.

You can’t take me and throw me away. I exist. I belong something more than this world, something deeper. This world may try to hide it as much as it does to hide me, but it exists as assuredly as I am writing. I’m so tired of conforming to a set of rules I disagree with. A mindset that isn’t my own. An ideology that defies my very existence and attempts to instill a fear of rejection in a heart already eternally accepted with a love beyond comprehension. I refuse to let this world defy or silence me. All I ask for is a moment – a moment to be me.

A moment to be me,
Is that too much to ask?
A split second to shine,
Beyond this shaded mask.

A moment to belong,
Without fear of rejection.
A brand new beginning,
With an absolute absolution

A moment to be greater
A moment to more than exist,
To change all I’m perceived to be,
To change the ideals society insists.

A moment to be me,
Only a second to be real.
A moment to remind the world,
That it is free to freely feel.
 

DeletedUser33530

Guest
Ok pebble this coupled with me laying on my bed thinking for about an hour (I was beyond boredom) has successful brought me to tears. So good piece.
 

DeletedUser23986

Guest
have you written anymore stories?

i am bored of the poems...
 

DeletedUser8396

Guest
Hasan Naqvi said:
have you written anymore stories?

i am bored of the poems...
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Im currently in a state of writer's block (hence the recent "mean" poem...). I'll work on a short story as I can understand your boredom of the poems (lets be honest, theres been A LOT of them since my last story).
 
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