Hi there! I've been trying to find this play all over the internet, do you by any chance know the backstory of the character of Ava and like what the plat is about in General? Also, Well done!!!
You have done an absolutely stunning piece, I was wondering if I would be able to get the script you used so I can try and perform this for my Drama Monologue? Thanks!
It feels like there’s this pit inside my chest. It’s like this virus lies dormant and it keeps feeding on - I don’t know what it keeps feeding on because I feel like there’s nothing left. I’m constantly looking at the world through a pane of glass and I’m shouting and shouting and nobody can hear me. But at the same time… I don’t think I want them to. I’m not sad. I feel vacant. Like, there’s nothing left of me inside. I’m full of … dust and soot and fog and the burnt pages of books I bought but never read… I’m pacified, I’m controlled by tiny little seeds of doubt that infest my body with fantasies, and - I’m not sure which parts of me are fact and which parts of me are fiction. I’m like Alice, falling into some terrifying Wonderland and all I want to do is wake up. I’m so tired. There’s nothing about me that I remember being beautiful. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. I hate myself for tripping. And I hate myself for letting go. But most of all, I hate that I hate myself.
This is so good!
This is amazing!
WOW
Hi there! I've been trying to find this play all over the internet, do you by any chance know the backstory of the character of Ava and like what the plat is about in General? Also, Well done!!!
You have done an absolutely stunning piece, I was wondering if I would be able to get the script you used so I can try and perform this for my Drama Monologue? Thanks!
It feels like there’s this pit inside my chest. It’s like this virus lies dormant and it keeps feeding on - I don’t know what it keeps feeding on because I feel like there’s nothing left. I’m constantly looking at the world through a pane of glass and I’m shouting and shouting and nobody can hear me. But at the same time… I don’t think I want them to.
I’m not sad. I feel vacant. Like, there’s nothing left of me inside. I’m full of … dust and soot and fog and the burnt pages of books I bought but never read… I’m pacified, I’m controlled by tiny little seeds of doubt that infest my body with fantasies, and - I’m not sure which parts of me are fact and which parts of me are fiction. I’m like Alice, falling into some terrifying Wonderland and all I want to do is wake up.
I’m so tired. There’s nothing about me that I remember being beautiful. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. I hate myself for tripping. And I hate myself for letting go. But most of all, I hate that I hate myself.