What I really think..........

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short monologue (in a scene) that I had to write for my Performing Arts course. x

Submitted: October 03, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 03, 2012




Teacher: So, Leanne, what do you think about it?

Leanne: Pardon?

Teacher: The Sexual abuse of children Leanne, what do you think?

Leanne: What do I think? Ummm, Well……

(all freeze apart from Leanne. aside to the audience)

It’s not what the media shows it to be. It’s worse, much worse. The pictures they show you, that’s not really now it looks. You don’t curl up into a corner and cry in a dark room. You don’t let them see how you’re feeling, how you’re hurting, how you’re slowly dying. You lock it all away inside where no-one can see. No-one see’s your anger, your pain, your tears. They don’t see anything, anything at all. No-one truly understands what it’s like; the feeling of fear and dread that comes with the ringing of the school bell, the desire for time to freeze so you never get home, the feeling of shame and self-loathing that comes when it ends. There is no way of them knowing because they don’t see the pain or the damage. It’s internal. A punch or slap leaves a mark, but this, this is all within. The damage done is done for good. It’ll slowly break you into a thousand tiny pieces yet you can’t let people see that. You can’t let them see that you’re petrified of going home because you know what is waiting for you there, who is waiting for you there. They can’t know. There is nothing worse than people knowing, people judging. It’s better to suffer in silence than to have them judge you. Imagine if they knew. Imagine if everyone knew. Imagine the questions, the endless questions and judgments. They could never understand why you don’t tell, why you never tell.

(clicks back into time and life, back into classroom)

Teacher: We’re waiting Leanne

Leanne: Urr, Well, It’s wrong and disgusting really. 

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