a writing exercise for a second person monologue
 
You

by Jeff Goode

 
You could have been anything.
You were young. You were American.
You looked around you
and saw movie stars
and millionaires
and famous celebrities on televisions and billboards everywhere.
And everybody told you that
You could be one of them
if you want to.
There was nothing to stop you.
You started looking around
to see which billboard you wanted to be on.
Started to pick out what costume you would be wearing.
What kind of sunglasses?
How would your hair look?
And who would be running their fingers through it?
You saw flashbulbs popping
and pushed through the crowds
and got in your limousine
and told the driver to take you
to all the best parties
and champagne
and people buzzing all around you
trying to touch you
wishing they could be you.
But they can't,
because you're the one everybody came to see.
So you put on a show!
You get a little wild, maybe. But that's okay.
Nothing you can't handle.
So you drift away on waves of adulation
and a little too much of something they put in your drink
and when you wake up:
You realize that you planned this whole great party,
but you never put any thought into
how you were going to get there.
You ordered the cake and the ball gown.
But you never figured out how to get into it.
And now it's too late.
There's a lump on your arm
and you've got to spend all your time
worrying about that from now on.
And looking around you
and wondering which billboard
might have a cure for that...
© 2010 Jeff Goode - THIS SCRIPT IS COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESS PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR