A/N: This was an assignment for English class. We just finished reading Of Mice and Men, which is an amazing book, by the way, and we were supposed to write an interior monologue from the point of view of a character of our choice. Now we have to act them out, and I can assure you I sound nothing like George. Or Slim. Mostly because I'm a girl. ; Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Of Mice and Men. I do, however, own this interior monologue.
Like Some High
"Yeah, I'll take one. Thanks, Slim." It's funny, that's the only thing I said to him all night. I don't plan on sayin' much else. I just wanna think.
It's like some sorta high, right? You got a gun in your hand, your finger on the trigger, and you got it pointed at that hollow space at the back of a man's neck, at the junction of his neck 'n head. 'Cept, you know, you come to realize after a minute or two of holdin' the gun that you're not really holdin' a gun, and you're not about to pull a trigger, and you're not about to shoot a bullet. You come to realize that you're holdin' a man's life in your hands. You're about to pull his little string 'til it snaps. You're about to shoot him.
'N then sometimes, that him's not just a regular him, you know? It's like shooting a damn brother, or summat just as good.
Tobacco smoke. Damn, I never smoked afore, but now I really need a light. Slim puts a cigarette in my hand and I stick it in my mouth right quick. It's lit.
"Never thought you'd be a smoker."
Yeah, well, neither did I, god dammit. Never, 'til all my plans fell to pieces. 'N where the hell am I now, Slim? At some bar drinkin' all my worth in whiskey by the bottle; can barely see through the damn cloud of smoke that's hangin' 'round the place; cats wantin' t' take my booze-money for a bit o' fun instead? Yeah, this ain't where I planed on being. Then again I really knew it was never gonna happen, right? It felt nice to believe, but I always knew.
Damn, that's spicy whiskey. Wonder what they put in it. Need somethin' stronger.
But I guess it's like Slim said. I hadda, din' I? Lennie was gonna make us somethin' awful, and he was never gonna get to tend those rabbits anyway.
Damn, we all got our hopes up and it turns to trash. All cuz o' that tramp wife o' Curley's. She should be the one hangin' on my arm askin' for some fun, that lowlife cat. Then it might be Curley's fault. Maybe even mine. I prolly shouldn't a brought Lennie to this place anyway. I knew righ' from the beginnin' that nothin' was gonna work out for us—dunno why I even tried. It woulda turned out the same anyplace we went that had a lady. Screw these damn work cards!
"Woah, George, careful you don't light that thing on fire."
Yeah, yeah. Need it for the next place, I know.
Ack, this cigarette is hot. I cough and snuff it out on the table, then take another spicy sip a whiskey.
"All right, George, I think you had enough."
Slim takes the bottle from me. Had enough? Damn, I haven't had nearly enough—I'm still thinkin', aren' I? Gimme that bottle back, Slim. I'll drown myself in whiskey. I'll drown myself to forget, and I'll spend all my money on some ugly cat and then I'll go back to the ranch for some more. And then I'll move on and I'll spend more money on whiskey and the like, and then I'll find another ranch to make another fifty damn bucks. And then I'll keep going and buy myself more whiskey and more cats and then I'll go back to another ranch until this thing is over. 'Til nobody's depressed no more. 'Til I'm dead.
Then maybe I'll help Lennie tend those damn rabbits o' his.