Think of all the people and items that spend the day, even their whole lives, as one of many:
a grape on a vine, a tissue in a box, a dollar bill in a wallet, a spoon in a drawer, a student in the H-K cafeteria, a blade of grass in a field, a chocolate in a heart-shaped box, a goldfish in a pet store tank, a person waiting in a crowded ER…
You get the idea. Select one of the above or write your own “one of many” idea. Write a monologue of at least 300 words from the point of view of this person or item. Write in the first-person and descrbe how you feel about your circumstances.
Questions that may help you with your monologue:
*Did you choose your circumstances?
*What are the benefits of being one of many_____s?
*What do you dream about?
*What will happen if you leave? Will you be missed? Will you be okay?
I am a single star in a sky of many. I am surrounded by many of my friends, and many of my enemies. There is no escape from them, they are everywhere I look. To the human eye down on Earth, we all look the same. But, this is not the case. We stars are all different in unique ways. Some of us are different shapes and different sizes, we give off different amounts of light, we are different temperatures, we revolve around different planets, and many more. Though I make this point, I am still one of many. There are simply too many stars in this sky for me to be noticed. A star can always dream though, right? I wish I was as big and bright as the Sun. He is so important to the Earth, and is appreciated by all stars. I would do anything to receive his praise. But being as small and independent I am, I sometimes enjoy my insignificance. Because of this, if I make a mistake or do something wrong, I won’t be in as much trouble as I would be if I were like the Sun. I have the freedom to do things that I want without being judged. I guess that’s the only reason on how I can look at my situation optimistically. If I left, I don’t think anyone would miss me. But, I don’t think I would mind leaving for a while. I’ve got many more years to exist; I think I would enjoy the isolation and meeting new stars just like myself. Maybe I will leave, actually. I’m tired of this same old galaxy, with the same old stars. I want something new.
Ohh, Kali. I really like this, and I can even hear your voice in my mind as I read this. The single star works through some ambivalence, ultimately reaching decisiveness. But it’s unclear where the star is heading. Perhaps it will shoot across the universe? Travel to earth? Take on a new appearance? This may be the start of a longer piece of writing… Or it may be a piece that asks the audience to imagine the star’s next role. Good job!
I am different from all the others. I have my flaws, unlike everybody else. Nobody else has flaws, but I do. Nobody talks to me. Nobody notices me. I am invisible. The people that do know me bully me. I don’t mean anything to these people. I am just one person, but I know I can make a difference. They don’t know that yet, but I do. I can be anything I want and they don’t know how much their bullying hurts, but also helps. Their bullying helps me move and keeps me striving for excellence. I will make sure I don’t bully anybody and I will try to stop bullying. Bullying hurts and nobody does anything about it. Yes, people try but sometimes that isn’t enough. I am one person in this crowed cafeteria, with no friends. I sit here and wonder if this is what life is like. I hope it is because I will be able to be great because I face this every day. I get bossed around. I get tossed around. I get harassed and nobody knows how I feel. Maybe if people talked to me at least once they would know how I feel. They would know that I am no harm and all I want is to be noticed. Maybe I can make new friends. So, I am now walking toward a group of girls laughing and I sit down. I try to say something but no words come out. They all get up and walk away. I now feel hatred towards me. Now I feel something cold falling onto my head. I just got milk poured on my head. I start to cry, but nobody notices me crying because they are too busy laughing at me. To them I am a nobody, but to myself, I am everything.
What an emotional monologue, Erin. You convey such sincerity and struggle here. The one moment of hopefulness tucked within these lines offers the speaker some energy to carry on, and I hope it isn’t extinguished forever once the tears come. The last sentence, of course, makes me believe that hope prevails. You’ve captured the voice of someone facing deep turmoil with true sensitivity. Well done, Erin.
Erin, I really like this piece of writing. It is very deep and emotional. I think that this teaches us a lesson about life. We need to realize what affect we have on other people in the world besides ourselves. I think that anyone can be great and make a diiference if they want to and try hard enough. We shouldnt give up ever.
I fall gracefully from the sky.
At a distance I look the same,
But up close I am not nearly so lame.
I am a web of white,
I glisten in the night,
With branches sharp as a razor,
I land gently on your blazer.
Put together my brothers and sisters make a great danger
So much so you may need to call the fury ranger.
I fall gracefully from the sky.
At a distance I look the same,
But up close I am not nearly so lame.
I cancel school for a day,
One time I fell in may.
I want to see a flower.
But I always come at the end of the shower.
I spend a lot of time in Russia.
Once I visited Prussia.
I fall gracefully from the sky.
At a distance I look the same,
But up close I am not nearly so lame.
I am very cold,
However I’m not very old.
I really hate the heat,
I can make a soft seat.
You see me out the window.
As I land on the willow,
I start forming a soft pillow.
I fall gracefully from the sky.
At a distance I look the same,
But up close I am not nearly so lame.
My beauty is a maze,
And I put you in quite a haze.
I can create quite a blizzard
In which you will find no lizard.
I can feel as light as a feather,
I can be strong as a tether.
I fall gracefully from the sky.
At a distance I look the same,
But up close I am not nearly so lame.
I am really quite gentle,
Yet I can make you quite mental.
I bring great joy,
I am the greatest toy.
I am not worth a penny,
And I come in so many.
I am one of many objects that you used once and forgot
And now you’re always on my mind, but on yours I am not.
I was used once, left a mark on quick, now forgotten I will stay
Forever unimportant, and forever in decay.
And the deepened scar you left on me is permanent, and there
Is an imprint solely yours, and it I’ll always bear.
No one will come and use me again, because now I’m only your regard
And being anyone else’s is a place from which I’m barred.
I am penetrated to the heart, because of what you rid,
And that’s what makes them stay away, because it’s an action not undid.
I am virtually transparent, one sees easily what we’ve been through,
And why I’ll never correspond with anyone but you.
I have served my only purpose, and I’m insignificant once more
But I’ve spent my existence comforting you, so there’s nothing more I could ask for.
And the peak of my life, my reason for being, all happened on one day
The same one when seconds past, I was crumpled up and thrown away.
But to be with others just like me, who belonged to others just like you
Only now we stand as things of waste, and there’s nothing we can do.
But we can always hope that we won’t instantly be tossed aside,
That we’ll get the chance to help again, and prolong our useless lives.
Because even if you use us once, we surely won’t forget.
And now we’re always here for you, for the next time you’re upset.
I am one of many objects that you used once and forgot
And although I’ll think of only you, for me there is no second thought.
“The Issue of the Tissue”
I am a single puzzle piece. Alone I have no meaning since I am one of over 1,000. When you first see me you think nothing; but after time and time again you will understand me and know where I belong. As I sit here buried at the bottom amidst many others, watching everyone else get picked, I wonder if you’ll find me and give me the time of day. You can’t see my potential. I worry because alone, I am an ugly and misunderstood individual. But when you figure me out, I am a marvel and you can see my true inner beauty. However, I only fit in one place and at this moment I am lost. I feel deserted. I have nowhere to go. But when I find my friend I’ll be a part of something great, and only grow stronger and even more beautiful. It’s been thirty minutes and I remain untouched. I feel like a fossil left beneath the Earth’s core just waiting for someone, anyone, to find me and display me famously in front of all others. As for now, however, I feel alienated from all my friends. I do not know or match the people around me. I am a light sky blue color, with the top left corner of the Empire State Building in New York City. But everyone else is gray and yellow part of a road of some sort.
It has been an hour, and I can feel the weight of the pieces above me lighten with each passing minute. I can see shards of light peering around corners of other pieces. Now there are just a few of us left and as the last one on top of me is removed. I can feel the beaming glow of the light. Now as my colors are shown I am snatched immediately like a piece of gold newly discovered. As I am put in place I see only a few gaps left and the puzzle is almost complete. I can feel tension build as the end draws closer. We are down to the last gap but there are no people left. One is missing. We will never be complete and I will be left with an empty feeling forever. We will never be displayed or seen by anybody. Now I can see the true beauty and power one person has. One person can destroy everything, or bring everything together to truly capture the true beauty of many working as one. Without this one person, our creator no longer wants us. We are destroyed. As close as we were to completion it does not matter. I am now amidst the bottom of the pile cast away, returned into the darkness until another comes to try and finish our unfinishable puzzle and my unfinishable life.
I sit here surrounded by seeds that look just like me. A juicy red/raspberry color reflected into each and every one of us. Some of my family is larger than me; some are smaller. Although different in size, we still make up something: the fruit that is our home. I know that I am the perfect color and that I also have seeds inside of me, even though I could be described as a seed myself. At first I will taste sour but then sweet, the perfect combination. We have been waiting for the day until we are finally ripe and delicious enough to be picked for display. I know that our single fruit will be perfect and won’t disappoint anyone who wants us because we are a family and we are there for each other. I’m aware that in a couple of days, we will in fact be ripe and juicy for someone to pick us. They will cut open the hard shell and rip open our home; rip through the white veins and arteries that have surrounded and protected us since the beginning. It’s possible that without these cave-like structures that we would be unable to fit into our home and we would have no support. We will then be hand-picked and finally chosen at the end. Your fingers will be stained with our red/pink color once you pick us individually. This is my life and I am finally ready. I am one of many.
I symbolize death, along with every other stone here. I also symbolize the corpse buried six feet beneath me, as I am engraved with dates and small details of her life. People hate me and blame me for taking their loved one away- which is confusing to me because they are the ones who handed their dead over to me, and, they always come back to visit. If I had the choice, I wouldn’t be here. I make the children cry every time they come back to mourn their lost beloved mother. They decorate me with flowers and pictures, and, after a while, I start to memorize the familiar faces learn a little bit more about the body below me. Through the sobs I can hear their stories. “She was such a popular woman with so many friends,” and “she was such a happy person and she loved her kids more than anything,” are what I hear most commonly. I wish I could escape their tears. I was never good at comforting others. I am just waiting for the day when they come back with smiles on their faces and the sobs disappear. That’s when I’ll feel like I have a purpose. When they smile, I’ll know that they’ve learned. When they smile, it will be because they have learned to celebrate the life of the unfortunate one below me. Soon enough, that day comes and goes. As the years pass and the children grow, the visits become less frequent. I grow lonely, wishing for the happy faces to return once more. I hope they haven’t forgotten about me, or worse, their mother.
Rachel,
This was a truly amazing piece of writing! It is very dark, but written in such a way that seems to me that the stone feels like it is its fault, but at the same time, reflecting to this mother that is buried beneath it. I think you should read something like this at our “big day!”
Wow thank you so much, Marina! That means alot!
I am the one completely un-popped kernel of popcorn in the bag. We all started out the same way, hard little golden balls, packed into a small space. Then, we were put into the microwave, and it got extremely hot. Before I know it, everyone is exploding quickly. All around me, my fellow kernels become fluffy, white, uniquely shaped beauties. I always thought we were beautiful before, but now, seeing them come out of their shell, I am envious of their newly developed looks. I don’t like being different. The compact space has expanded, and not being pressed against anybody makes me feel exposed. I feel the bag, our home, shifting, as it gets lifted out of the microwave. It is opened, and our heat escapes as a gust of cold air enters. I am painfully dropped into a hard, brightly colored, plastic bowl. As I hit the bottom, it feels like I’m going to crack open, but maybe that would be beneficial and I could become beautiful like everybody else. Everybody else soon is piled on top of me and they aren’t heavy like when we started off; they’re more airy and light now. We are once again shifted as the bowl is lifted and rattled around. A hand reaches in and grazes me as it grasps a handful of my friends and shoves them into its mouth. Soon, the mouth is chewing, crushing my friends into small pieces. I realize that I will never see them again. It gets cold after awhile, and I realize that I am left all alone. Even my half-popped friends have been eaten. A female voice says, “Honey, what’s wrong with that piece?” The mouth who devoured all of my friends replies, “Ew! That’s hard and disgusting, I’m throwing it out.” I started off one of many, but now I’m the only one left.
I am one amongst millions in this field. Blended as one, we all stand giving the illusion of a green platform. Some taller than others, some dying, some just sprouting. I endure Mother Nature’s rough course. Rain, sleet, snow, and hail fall down on me, for I have no protection like you. I cannot move but when the gentle wind blows me, I become alive. You walk on me so effortlessly, not thinking about how your feet impale me into the ground. Without me you would not be cushioned while you gaze at the clouds. I am one amongst millions in this field. Ants, earthworms, and spiders seem small to you, but they are my monsters, they are ones I fear for they plow me over, not noticing how they bend me, contort me in all different ways. Heaven forbid the tractor comes around. He cuts us in half, not caring at all how it feels or how much energy it took to grow as tall as I once stood. Just think in my absence you would no longer be able to run freely over me and my brothers and sisters. Without me your feet would endure sores and cuts. But, don’t fret we are your cushion. I am one amongst millions in this field. You do not know what its like to have no identity. For you are seen as individual. Just think what it would be like to be a twin, if you aren’t already. Well, I have 10 million twins. Does your mother come and tuck you in every night; well I don’t have a mother, to tuck me in or tell me everything is going to be alright when night falls. Just think what it would be like to be me, or to be without me, for I am just one blade of grass amongst millions in this field.
I am one of millions residing on doorknobs, handles, hands, and almost everything else you will touch throughout a day. Think twice next time you shake a hand or give out a ‘high-five’ because my transmission is simple and quick. Opportunities are far and few between for at this moment I reside on the hand of a quite unsocial individual who rarely leaves the cave he calls home. I will jump at any chance to change surfaces in order to infect yet another helpless person. Our biggest fear would result in certain destruction. A routine checkup at the doctor’s office would surely leave us in the hands of a sanitary human being, our fate lying in the sink decommissioned at the hands of soap. However I doubt this will be my demise because my handler has yet to get a checkup in three years. He is unemployed, unable to afford medical insurance. He also doesn’t buy soap or wash his hands, so I have been strengthened for my deployment. We cannot infect our handler anymore because he has been sick so many times that his defense system has built up. I am dying for an opportunity; he will leave the house one more time, hopefully depositing me on the handle of the door to the shopping mall or public bathroom. Within seconds I would be lying on my next victim. Once he/she decides to chew a fingernail or make any contact from their hand to their mucus membranes then the real journey will begin. This quest cannot be completed alone. All of us, the lucky ones, who have entered the internals of the human body must prepare for war. Our battle pits the germs, bacteria, and viruses against the human immune system. We will work as a team to dissect the opposition. When weakness is spotted in our opponents we will seize the opportunity and infect the individual. Many of these wars go on inside the body each day. Not all of us will survive, in fact most of us wont. It is an honor to fight this war with my fellow germs. My death is inevitable, but I will live on in the coughs and sneezes of my target.
I’m just a grain of sand on the beach. No one really ever thinks about how many of us there are. A grain of sand is so tiny and useless; no one needs to think about it. The only thing anyone every does is complain about how hot we make their feet hot. They don’t realize that it’s not always fun getting stepped on every day during the summer. I constantly get pushed around and end up in different places every day. It’s fun sometimes, being in different places and not knowing everyone. I get to meet new people just like me everyday. Sometimes I wish I was little different from them though. Mostly all of us look alike, and we all serve the same purpose. I want to do my own thing. I want to be useful to someone, instead of just getting walked all over. I’m surrounded by all these beach-goers who all look different to me. I wish I was one of them, with my own purpose in the world. I watch everyone all day long and no one is ever the same. They all have different personalities. In the winter, people rarely visit. We all get covered by the cold white snow and just wait here until it melts. I always look forward to next summer when I can see more people and watch them. Summers are always the best if you’re a grain of sand.
I am one of many of my people on a voyage to a strange world. One orbit ago, I was living my life to the best of my ability, as we had since we were created by our gods. My people, the Sinob’yare, were enjoying an era of peace, as the wrathful eye of On-Gluskap hadn’t stared down on our world of Banniker for as long as I could remember. But then all of that changed. These beings, who we naively believed to be our gods, I have determined to be nothing but greedy organisms that have come to exploit us. Humans, as they call themselves, have abducted me and my kin. From the videos they have shown us, I have gathered that these humans want us to work on their planet, Earth, where our physical adaptations make us suburb laborers. They reeducate us, explaing that our world is just one of dozens of satellites orbiting the planet Jupiter, and that the wrathful eye of On-Gluskap is just a storm on the face of Jupiter. Worse than the humans assuming we will just eat this up is the fact that most of us do. That is all we are to the humans-a cheap, unintelligent taskforce to feel their hungry planet without the knowledge that aiding them is hurting us. I peer around the dim room at my kin and realize that the humans are correct-we are not as advanced as them, but just because we cannot zip around the solar system at lightspeed doesn’t mean we are inferior. However, this doesn’t stop them from looking down on my people. They lock us into the floor up to the neck so they can look down on us, literally, and strike at our hides, explaing how we are not welcome to their god’s kingdom because we do not possess hearts like them. Anger fills me. I know that once I arrive at Earth, I will be at the humans’ mercy. I will become addicted to the medicines they will provide for me to keep me a lively, reliable worker. I am sickened by the humans. In the name of combatting famine, they will enslave my entire species, and there won’t be a damn thing we can do about it. I may be one of many Sinob’yare about to become a lifelong slave, but someday I dream I will become one of many Sinob’yare fighting the humans off of Banniker, and then the humans wil know the raw power of our vengeful justice.
If you’ve ever wished upon a star
You know where my wishes are
I hope yours were granted
For mine were recanted
I’m just one dreamer in the world. My one little wish doesn’t mean much to anyone other than me. I trust the first star in the sky, 11:11, and eyelashes to make my dreams come true. Why? Because I can’t make them happen by myself; those dreams hang in the sky, burning as brightly as stars to me, while others can’t see them at all. They don’t need to see them, not really, my dreams are my own and not on display for all eyes to see
I’m just one dreamer. My dream on that star is only one of thousands. It doesn’t make it any less important, but that fact makes it feel smaller. Still, dreams are the essence of people; they’re thoughts that may never be said aloud. All those dreams, things thousands of people want, crowd together on that star, vying for the right to come true. A wish on a star isn’t going to help me, but that doesn’t matter, it’s what I believe that counts.
I’m one dreamer. One more, one less, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that we all dream about something, because when you dream enough, you start to believe. When you start to believe, those dreams don’t stay always stay dreams; they can become reality.
I am one ball in the bucket. What kind of ball am I, may you ask? Why, I am a mere lacrosse ball. I am yellow and rubber, just ordinary, but I pack a punch that hits hard if you don’t pay attention to me. I can fit into the hands of most people, and I’m relatively the same size as a baseball (but trust me we’re nothing alike!). I am just like every other ball in this bucket. We’re all the same except for our color and the amount of dirt we acquire throughout the season. Speaking of the season, we all share the same types of adventures. We make the transition from blistering cold to the blistering heat through only a few months. Of course, I don’t notice because I can’t feel weather. Each day something new happens. A different person uses me each day. They all have different styles; some are beginners, just starting out, while others are the stars of the team and they can do so many trick shots that I’m dizzy and rattled down to my rubber core. Each person has a different cradling style as well. Some girls cradle me down low or up high or even in a strange upper pocket that I have never been familiar with before. I enjoy going into the net too. Sometimes I miss the net and I veer into the woods. On occasions I get left there for a long period of time, and it gets lonely, but I’m always found and brought back to my bucket with all my other fellow balls. At the end of a game or practice we tell each other stories we hear during the girls’ practice; and let me tell you, they talk a lot, but we don’t mind. I would never want to be anything but a lacrosse ball. I am one of many of a very exciting type of many.
I am a solider in the United States Army. I am one of millions. One of hundred thousands fighting for my country in Iraq. I chose to get here. I felt it was my duty to defend my country in these tough times. I wanted to follow in their footsteps. I remember my father saying how being a solider makes a man out of you. I hope I am just like him. Being one of many has it benefits. If you run into the enemy, you have back up. I know my army brothers will be there for me, and I will be there for them. I have met so many new people while training. With more soldiers, means more chances to meet new friends. It also means there is more of a chance you may lose one. If I left it would go unnoticed by many of the other soldiers, except for my closest buddies and my commander. They would still move on with their mission, a man down but not shaken. I would have a cloud of regret hanging over me for years, if not for the rest of my life. I would feel as though I let my father down. I would much rather die for my country than return home haven given up. Memorial Day is one of my favorite days. I get to remember my grandfather, who was killed while storming the beaches of Normandy trying to find salvation for the Jewish. I dream that I will someday do something this heroic, and someone will remember me this way. I dream that my children and grandchildren will live in a safe and peaceful world, not having to worry about any terrorist attacks on their home. Even if this means giving my life, and being one of thousands to do so.
There are many like me but I am unique, I have a signifigant purpose.I sit here and watch as all the out crayons get used and put back, used and put back.They get to have all the fun and be in the spotlight. However they more they are used the less beautiful they become the more abuse they take. Quickly the become dull and without meaning. I on the other hand get to live a long life even if it is without excitment.To the other crayons I am inferior I dont have the natural beauty they have. But, I know there will be one person who realizes my beauty and useflness. They will be grateful for my prestine condition when they need to use me.My goal in life is the to be wanted and accepted even if it is only by one person. I have even gotten used to being looked over, the odd man out. But I, I am a diamond in the rough. I am the underappreciated white crayon.I deserev to be embraced as the others are.