ACT 1

A Literature Club

It was a place for enthusiasts and amateurs alike, to discuss the works of famous authors; or those that have fallen into obscurity. It was a place where one may express themselves and improve personally and creatively. Indeed, it was a place for fun, sophistication and exploration.
For Monika, it was supposed to be a place for sharing in something that she'd always found herself deeply fascinated by. At least that was the dream. However, that was not always the case for her.

Before the Literature club existed, it would've been easy to dismiss someone like her as the type of popular schoolgirl that seemed to have virtually everything going perfectly for them. After all, she was smart and beautiful, athletic and studious. She had top grades in almost every subject at high-school, third-year. She went out with her friends, played badminton at the Sports club, and somehow even had the time to participate at the highly-regarded Debate club, which demanded a very particular level of devotion from its members. To the public's eyes, it was as if sunshine followed wherever Monika danced her dance. It was upon those blossoming fields where the flowers would vigorously sing their songs of celebration; very figuratively of course. And yet...

And yet…

In her heart of hearts, in the part of her mind that she kept tightly sealed from others, and behind a mask of apparent perfection, there loomed an invisible shadow unbeknownst to all but her.

For a few years now Monika had been keenly aware of her little problem, and the all-encompassing truth of it. Everywhere she looked, everything she saw and heard, all the people she met, and even some of the things she ostensibly enjoyed for herself in her privacy; it was all so shallow and fake.
Nothing was real, and it wasn't even the type of problem that stemmed from the idea of an artificial reality; the type that Joe-reader would encounter in a science magazine, or some vague and condensed article on the internet for example. It was more about how Monika herself began to perceive the words and actions of the people around her.

More often than not, she had to dismiss leeches and admirers off her immediate company. Some were more interested in following her because she was popular, and others because they wanted her for her body to satisfy their own selfish desires. Being an open-minded person, she could not write their feelings off as disingenuous; she understood them too, to a certain degree. She herself had experienced similar feelings for her own. Fleeting obsessions for personal idols (at a surface level) at brief periods throughout the years.

The thing she did find disingenuous, was the blatant deception of their approach to courting her favor. The boys with their money and cars; their swollen muscles and hungry eyes; their silver tongues. Equally pathetic were those packs of ravenous wolves and horny scavengers that always seemed to follow close behind.

And the girls, tittering and chirping; always yammering on and on about something or the other.
Is your hair alright? Is your boyfriend texting you? Which guy would you rather fuck? Is he gay? Am I gay? I'm gonna tweet that! Lemme take a selfie with you! Why would I read a book when I can just watch the movie? I got so fucking drunk the other day you wouldn't even, like, believe it! I have black friends so I'm not racist right? I think I have Scandinavian blood, do you think I look Scandinavian? Which country is Europe? I hate my dad so fucking much and my mom too because they didn't buy me a car for my sixteenth birthday, like, who abuses their child like that?
Those basic bitches are all equally as hungry for flesh as those sons of bitches. The girls following Monika were prey for those who followed the top dog, hanging somewhere in the lower rungs of a ladder; a ladder that represented the established male hierarchy. They were all just waiting for an opportunity to score one of those second-rate whores and sink their teeth in their petty necks.
Liars and Cheats. Fakers and Deceivers. Two-faced Extortionists. Self-serving Manipulators. They're not even human, they're not real, not real, Not Real, NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL, not realnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnot realnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnot realnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnotrealnutreelnotreelnutreelnutreel nut reel…. nut, reel. Nut reel, knot reel, knot reel, nawt ree'ole, note reole… ahaha~
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These thoughts were intrusive. They were harsh and bordering on pure evil. Monika had found that playing with the words in her head, was an effective way to suppress these strong feelings of nihilism. In her mind, it was a pretty good method, as far as techniques for introducing an element of happy chaos into her head space goes. She found herself often focusing on the corruption of order, and in so doing, she let herself sink into that dark pit of despair. She didn't think of herself as the type to dismiss all of existence as inherently meaningless. It was not as if absolutely everybody in the world were sycophants either; she realized that it was just a survival technique, nothing more. In fact, she knew what it was like on a personal level just as well; there was no judging them, without suffering the guilt of hypocrisy.

It was hard, because Monika was only human, and could not read their thoughts (and thank God for that) any more than they could hers; a fact that admittedly made it difficult to differentiate the wheat from the chaff. She disliked that part of herself, the part that impulsively categorized and screamed bloody murder whenever it picked up key-words and mannerisms; common traits and little things; the part that over-analyzed and blared with warnings.

Indeed, it was akin to an invisible shadow. She knew it was there, but there was no convincing others of its presence and perpetuity. There was too much at stake for her to admit any sign of weakness. She had briefly considered going to the school therapist to talk about it, but decided not to do it in order to preserve her facade in the brutal society of high-school.

It was her love of the English language and the written word that provided her with the tools to survive. It was a conflicted love though; conflicted because those same tools could be used to put into words the language of her shadow, and the shadow whispered of things that were dark and ambiguous.
It was ironic then that in her world of subjectivity, words were what kept her grounded; they were what gave her comfort and security. Language was her secret boyfriend and tormentor. It was as evident to her as the fact that the sun would rise each morning, and that there was always something to live for. If there was any benefit to gain from the heightened awareness of her twin-self, it was to solidify an idea she had entertained for a long time.

On a fateful day in the Debate club, Monika was offered an opportunity to take on more responsibility in the form of a managerial position. There was the promise of great renown, something better to write on her C.V about instead of meager part-time jobs and such things. "It would only suit an honor student like you", they said. At first, she agreed to do it. She sat down to hear the club President list off all the things she would be doing, and how great of an honor it was and blah blah budget blah blah exclusivity blah blah opportunity etc etc… She kept her attentive smile on her face, but beneath the veil, she became more and more convinced of her own conviction.

She was positively ecstatic after leaving the club room. Who could've guessed that the Debate club President was so soft as to fall utterly speechless when Monika interrupted them with a swift resignation and marched out of there like it was no chip off her block. She went straight to the Principal's office and told them she wanted to start her own club instead. A literature club, a place for sharing in something that she'd always found herself deeply fascinated by. At least that was the dream.
After a lengthy conversation (and repeated accounts of the Principal stating how this was highly irregular), they caved in and approved of her little venture - but only if she could get the required amount of members by the end of next week from today. That day was Wednesday, October 3rd, 2018.

Monika didn't neglect to inform the Principal of her signing off from the Sports club as well. All this gave the old man a couple extra gray hairs, but he conceded without a fuss. How could he stop their most acclaimed student from doing this anyway? She knew him to be a reasonable man and relied on it without remorse.

Now it was Friday, October 5th. This morning Monika came to school with an armful of posters she had spent the last day printing out to advertise her Literature club with. During recess, she would stamp them around the school wherever it was allowed to do so. The sensation was different from her usual forced energy and pep, she truly felt this wonderful excitement and determination. It was the first time for her to embark upon such a selfish mission, and if Monika was being honest with herself (she always was), it felt Really, Really Good. It was so good actually, that it made her wonder if she could privately get off on this sort of thing. Better not put it to the test though. She quickly reminded herself that she needed to stay focused, not to find an excuse to get weird with herself.

After finishing all her classes at 2pm, she pranced along to the second floor of the school building and entered the classroom that was designated for her Literature club. Monika pulled out the key to the door and jammed it in. She promptly opened it and entered the room. The emptiness of it hardly struck her at all since she had often stayed behind after club activities to clean up and set everything in order. She walked over to the teacher's desk at the end of the room, to the left of the entrance. She sat down to nest herself on that comfortable chair, relishing in it.

This was perfect. Everything about it was perfect, except for the empty desks standing in four rows in front of her. "Now it's just a matter of time, I'm sure someone must have noticed the fliers by now. At the very least, several of my fans will be here any moment now to lick the dirt off my shoes, ahaha~".
Her inner voice mockingly whispered of conceit. "A little arrogance never hurt anyone, I say", is what she replied to it in kind. She sat there with her head perched atop her slender fingers, crossed as they were, and envisioned herself as some mad dictator with a lust for power. It was all in good fun until the wait grew lengthier and lengthier.

Fifteen minutes now and nobody had shown up to so much as give their regards, but Monika was patient. Any second now someone would knock on that door and join her club, and it would be for their own benefit too. Yes, surely it was so.

Twenty minutes and she began to hear whispers of doubt.

Twenty-one and she began to listen.

Twenty-two and she began to repeat them to herself.

Twenty-three and she began to believe it.

Twenty-four and she thought it'd be better to go home and curse her generation for relying on instant gratification so much.

Twenty-five

and there was a knock on the door.

End of Part 1