Dramatic Monologue Essay

My lung's supply of air quickly dissipated as I was roughly pushed against my bedroom door. "Ouch-" I shortly said. Amelia continued repeatedly kissing my lips. "Suck it up." She laughed before kissing me once more as expected. "I'll tell you something to suck." I said, right under much needed breath. "I heard that!" Amelia said, slapping me very hard on my right cheek. After the slap, she grinned all the while grinding her hips against mine. Her always gleaming eyes had a hint of lust adding to her attractiveness. Something had broken her innocent and pure exterior leaving behind an amorous yet lewd girl. She once more kissed me before leaving me unsatisfied against the door of my bedroom. "Get dressed." My older sister

Because of my spiteful relationship with coins, I gave her a twenty dollar bill instead. "Here and um, keep the change." I smiled. She smiled, looking down to hide her flushing cheeks. Her hand reached for the receipt ripping it off. Rather than giving it to me immediately, she wrote on it for about ten seconds before finally giving it to

Mary's handwriting had something to it, the letters were connected in such a harmonious fashion that it had this perfection to it. I returned outside to the sitting figure of Amelia, faced forward. Her auburn hair was straight as it usually was. I inhaled and took my first steps to the girl. After repeating the process of walking for a rather long five seconds, I sat down beside her on the right. Due to our close proximity in most things, she was sort of inclined to wrap her arm around my waist. It never truly aggravated me so the fact was dismissed. Amelia rested her head on my shoulder, giving a slight yawn. For once in her remarkable life, she kept a stoic face. Emotionless. Completely Un-Amelia-like. Normally, she was rather an extremist with her expressions. Either overly overcome by grief or glee, though never in-between. Her eyes stared forward into the great beyond, disregarding all earthly aspects of the parking lot. Her lack of speaking disturbed me in a bizarre way. Speaking, to her, was a billet-doux to the world to accentuate her whimsical nature. A facade that was never doubted. Amelia took a glance at my face that had a locked gaze with a sobbing girl in the parking lot making love to a brownbagged bottle of an unknown alcohol. She was drowning her sorrows away with that bottle and with each passing gulp of alcohol, the girl's face