Talking Iris (monologue)
By Luke Labern
I wrote this in 20 minutes during an English Language lesson in 2009.
* * *
A modern train runs through Sussex on a bright, crisp morning -- clouds overhead threaten to rain down but have so far kept silent.
In the train on an otherwise empty four-seater table sits a teenager boy, musing, in a relaxed posture observing all around him.
I'm not joking. The second I stepped on this train I grab attention from everyone on it. They look at me -- no, they stare -- saying, without words, "I hope he doesn't sit next to me".
The joys of being a teenager. I walk on board, with my season ticket and I.D., yet it's as if they guess my criminal record "Tracksuit bottoms?" one middleaged woman says with a squint of her dark brown eyes, "all the comfort with which to stand on a street corner".
I don't stand on street corners.
I walk swiftly onwards.
You see, my problem is not with these people here, commuting, visiting loved ones, or whatever -- it's with the people who've tarnished my reputation before I even leave my house in the mornings.
It's not just "thugs" or ASBO-lovers; it's the ASBO pushers, the poor parenting, the flaws of the men in power. Sounds rather grand, doesn't it?
But I'm quite considered. I think a lot.
A business man walks past, with a long-tailed coat, blackberry in hand, briefcase too -- scowling at the boy as his foot sits slightly in the space between seats.
Sorry! I bet if she was here the guy would sit next to us.
He walks past without a word. The teen sighs.
Why is everyone in such a poor mood? It makes it hard to be patriotic. How can I be proud of my fellow Englishmen if they can muster nothing but a frown and a pair of daggers?
The train pulls to a stop; the teen gets up.
Ah, people impatiently waiting to get on the train. I always wait. Why can't they? Perhaps it's asking too much.
The teen steps off the train.
Saying that, there are some people who agree with me. None better than her, that's for sure. And there she is!
He moves through the crowd on the platform, trying to catch a glimpse.
There she is... kissing her boyfriend.
Do you see where my problem lies?
* * *
A modern train runs through Sussex on a bright, crisp morning -- clouds overhead threaten to rain down but have so far kept silent.
In the train on an otherwise empty four-seater table sits a teenager boy, musing, in a relaxed posture observing all around him.
I'm not joking. The second I stepped on this train I grab attention from everyone on it. They look at me -- no, they stare -- saying, without words, "I hope he doesn't sit next to me".
The joys of being a teenager. I walk on board, with my season ticket and I.D., yet it's as if they guess my criminal record "Tracksuit bottoms?" one middleaged woman says with a squint of her dark brown eyes, "all the comfort with which to stand on a street corner".
I don't stand on street corners.
I walk swiftly onwards.
You see, my problem is not with these people here, commuting, visiting loved ones, or whatever -- it's with the people who've tarnished my reputation before I even leave my house in the mornings.
It's not just "thugs" or ASBO-lovers; it's the ASBO pushers, the poor parenting, the flaws of the men in power. Sounds rather grand, doesn't it?
But I'm quite considered. I think a lot.
A business man walks past, with a long-tailed coat, blackberry in hand, briefcase too -- scowling at the boy as his foot sits slightly in the space between seats.
Sorry! I bet if she was here the guy would sit next to us.
He walks past without a word. The teen sighs.
Why is everyone in such a poor mood? It makes it hard to be patriotic. How can I be proud of my fellow Englishmen if they can muster nothing but a frown and a pair of daggers?
The train pulls to a stop; the teen gets up.
Ah, people impatiently waiting to get on the train. I always wait. Why can't they? Perhaps it's asking too much.
The teen steps off the train.
Saying that, there are some people who agree with me. None better than her, that's for sure. And there she is!
He moves through the crowd on the platform, trying to catch a glimpse.
There she is... kissing her boyfriend.
Do you see where my problem lies?
A Short Story,
Published 26 February 2012
Published 26 February 2012