The Mango Monologue

Pulling my thoughts onto the blank page to no avail, I felt as if my imagination had departed. I stopped and recollected my desires, which I've yearned for. Then it hit me. A flash of energy surged through my veins I had the power to finish what I had started. The characters, the environment, the taco stand with the creepy guy with a suntan, I could write it all down into one beautiful story and feel victorious. Nothing could stop me. Nothing but her. The bane of my existence, destroyer of sanity, she was the sole source that was holding me back, my anxiety filled head or as she liked to call herself, the Mango.
Her grizzly aura spewed through my ear. I shriek in agony. I could hear a band playing a treacherous melody in the background. Black smoke surrounded the area, breaking anything from sound equipment to glass figurines in its path. It stood in place and formed into a young elven woman with, from her head, magenta anime like hair that looked as if it

She raised her hand in a swaying motion with the desire to slap me. I caught her hand centimeters away from my face, “Mango, I am going to finish this story if you like it or not.” She looked at me with tears in her eyes. I had won. At least I thought. I gazed into the cerulean glow in her eyes; the momentum of the teardrops as they hit the hardwood floor. That was when I realized Mango was part of me. She held me back, but she also kept me stable. I drop my attention to her and glance at my notepad. I sigh. “Mango, I know that you think you know what’s best for me but...” I paused and put my hand on her shoulder, “I have to trust in myself, you have to trust in me and I have to...” I looked off to the distance realizing everything, “I have to...trust in you.” Mango was the self-embodiment of my anxiety; the gut that tells me right from wrong. I couldn’t get rid of her I had to become in sync with her. If I wasn’t in sync with myself, I couldn’t work with myself. Everything started to make