Reality
[A/N: This is a monologue from Marco's POV that is NOT in the Character Sketches series. Before you start yelling at me, though, I wrote this on a bad headache in ten minutes, so if it doesn't make sense, it's not you, it's me. I'm also thinkin' 'bout rewritin' it, but I need some serious constructive criticism. An' no, this isn't the Marco monologue from Character Sketches. It's from his POV, but I'm doin' a longer one to sum Marco up. It's just an excerpt from it. Enjoy :)]
You think you know what reality is, kid?
Yeah, you. The one there, with that arrogant punk look and the skateboard, with your idiot South Park cap twisted backwards on your head at that cocky angle. Yeah, you.
'Cause believe me, you don't know anything about reality. Not the way the world really is. Because once you've seen reality, the way it really is, the stupid bloody mess of it all, you get a . . . . a sort of look in your eyes.
A hard one. Arrogant and tired. Exhausted. Responsible. And icy, like you don't feel emotions a lot anymore. But cocky? Never. Because if you're cocky, life'll slam you. And always at the worst time possible.
And life isn't something to laugh at anymore.
You laugh at life, life'll laugh right back at you. You take unnecessary risks, life'll turn those risks into real risks.
Not skinning your knee. Like . . . . . like having to kill your own mother for the sake of the battle. Like betraying your best friend, because he can't judge accurately anymore.
Like lying to your father, over and over, until reality is no longer truth, and truth is no longer reality.
You think that attitude of your's is gonna get you anywhere in a real battle?
You guessed wrong.
Yeah, I'm talking to you, you little punk.
I hate you.
Not 'cause of your attitude.
But because you know what's really reality. What's not.
To you, life is so sure and certain.
You think of everything in black and white.
Right or wrong.
And me? I have to think of things in shades of gray.
'Cause to me, life's warped and misshapen.
I wish you'd just go, and take your little punk ass into some other place.
You annoy me. Disgust me, with your air of "I can handle it all." Your innocent bragging.
And you know what?
I'd kill to be like you.
[A/N: Well? Liked it, loved it, hated it? Send any and all replies to me at anifuture@hotmail.com. And take a look at my webpage, at http://anifuture.hypermart.net.]