Highway

Another monologue of my screen play “June”. This time performed by me. Feedback is appreciated. 🙂

I am so tired.
I am so tired of running around in this faceless world.
Like life has this ongoing noise. Do you know it?
It’s like a highway stuck in my head.
Cars are constantly driving by.
Can you hear that noise?
You know what else is really crazy? How do I put this?
Like – sometimes I go n the subway – I go on and look around and I get scared -because everyone I am looking at, has his or her own story.
Like there are so many stories out there.
That makes about 40 stories in one wagon right? Or 50 or 100 – I don’t know.
So many stories about dramatizing events, about abusive family members, about tears you cry over a stupid boy or a stupid girl. There is so much pain – on one tiny subway.
This is so mind blowing.
And you know what? There are so many humans I will never meet.
So many humans I’ll never get to know – and I don’t even know who I am.
Who am I?
And why do I ask myself these questions?
There is so much pain in the world. And I can feel it all – so much pain.
It’s so exhausting. So exhausting.
So how about your pack your own lunch today? Just once?

When I’m with you I turn all shades of pink.

Another part of my screen play.

I’m okay. „I’m okay“ – she said, whispering in her bright yellow wool scarf.

Her skin tone is in the middle of peach and sun kissed brown and her eyes are green. But not a really nice green, more like a greyish kind of tone, that would perfectly blends in with too long cooked broccoli. You know, she hast that thing about herself. She shines, but you can’t see it until you let yourself fall into her crazy beautiful aura.

I was in love once, but it didn’t go so well. You know. Someone cheated, the other one cried, threw a fork, broke some furniture. The usual.

Love is a weird thing to think about. But I’m not a poet; I am not a philosopher or a doctor. I am just me. And I know that I really like this girl, who smiles at me, who eats avocado in the school bus every morning and who smells like…a mixture of gasoline and roses.

Don’t worry, I am not a weird stalker.

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I am not crazy, I am just a little unwell

This is a part of s screen play I am writing at the moment. Not sure if the final version will be in english or german though. Let me know what you think. 

„I am not crazy, I am just a little unwell.

Do you remember Grace from 9th grade? She did great things?

And she looked great and she smelled great and when you look at her you’ve got faith in humanity. But all that was stupidity. Because with my awkward identity – I was never able to become friends with her.

Do you remember her wavy hair? Oh my god – all the boys. They still stare. I bet.
And than one day I met,
her mom and she. OMG. She is so gorgeous.
They both have the same brown eyes.

And they both are telling these unforgiving, painful lies.
With their perfect red lips and their perfect cat hips
And they said all these beautiful things to me. Right?

Like they said I could do it. They said I could be however I want to be.
But that was far from being true.
Because they were never in trouble with the judgement of this unforgiving society.
They grew up being awesome in everything they’ve done, touched or build.

And I don’t know.

All I can do is to lay awake, to stare at my sealing. Not able to move a single bone. Just wishing, painfully wishing, I could be them. Just for a minute.“

Inken_AlexKleis (42 von 75)