The Story of My Life :P

Saint Nick Monologue

Hello to all of you who bothered to click and wait for this page to load! Here's a dream a had. I find it absolutely rediculous. Slightly funny, very creepy. Definitely random. My dreams never make sense. So, here I go, I guess...

The dream started with a rock concert. My entire downstairs was quadrupled in size, and everything in it was pure white. A stage had been added in one of the corners. There were dozens of people in punk clothing, all my age (13 at the time), jumping up and down. They were fist-pumping and head-banging to the band that was playing on the stage. The song was hardcore. I found that I was part of the crowd, but wasn't really enjoying myself as much as the others.

I managed to slink away from the sea of people. I ran up the stairs, where the color had been restored to my house. At the top of the stairs I found a door. As far as I knew, that door had never been there before. It was small, though, like a hatch to get into an attic. That was what my brain decided to call it. The door was screwed into the wall. My mind thought, 'screwdriver' and it appeared in my hand. That was cool. I undid the screws and removed the door.

This is not supposed to be here, I thought. Nevertheless, I crawled through the hole and into the attic.

The room had a very strange lighting. I want to say that it was blue, but it could have been red, or green, or purple. All I really know was that it was eerie. It looked like a child's nursery mixed with a living room at Christmas time. Wooden shelves were stacked high with old toys. A brick fireplace was lit at the far end of the room. A large red and green rug lay in the middle of the floor. The room felt abandoned, like no one had been there in a hundred years, but the fireplace was roaring.

Six small beds were set up in the room. I imagined that they would have belonged to children no older than six or seven. They were the strangest part of the whole place. They were bunkbeds, but the top bunk barely reached my knee. There were sheets on them and pillows, stained and coated with dust. Then I noticed the most disturbing part of the room. On the beds, in every bunk, there was what was left of a child. They were skeletons, now, but they were definitely the skeletons of children. the sight sent chills up my spine.

A monologue began. It was the voice of a woman, soft, gentle and disembodied. You would expect to hear that kind of a voice in a museum tour:

 "This is the site of the incident of Saint Nick. This occured many years ago during the time that the government was auditioning Santa Clauses. Known as 'The Claws of Claus', this tradgedy took place during WWII. This particular Santa was nervous to audition. To calm his nerves, Saint Nick went to a pub only a few hours before his run around the world to deliver gifts to children. This was a fatal mistake.

Jolly Saint Nick consumed three bottles of alcohol, getting thoroughly drunk. Immediately following, Santa began his journey. The death toll was a devistating 392+. 340 of those dead were children. Kris Kringle killed his victims many different ways. Locking them into their rooms with no oxygen was his favorite. Other methods included trampling by his reindeer, explosive presents, and suffocation by sticking his boots onto the childrens' heads. This is an example of the first type of murder. It took the FBI an hour to get hold of Santa and arrest him. The sentencing against him--"

That was when I woke up. I knew my own brain well enough to tell that my dream was only scraping the surface of a nightmare, and soon I would probably end up plummeting through a candy-cane filled abyss (I can't stand mint, so that really WOULD be a nightmare for me). Fortunately, I have the ability to wake myself up whenever I want.

So I woke myself up before anything too horrible happened. That's not even close to as weird as most of my other dreams. I mean, this one sort of makes sense to me. Don't ask me how, because that would require me to explain the complexities of my life and my brain and I'm already getting a headache. I've got three auditions this week, a performance to prepare, a skit to write, homework to catch up on and chores to do. Not to mention that I got this jerk in my group for improv in theatre class. I told my teacher very specifically that I NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER wanted to work with him EVER again. So what does he do? He makes me work with him. The guy is really mean and lazy and annoying and the worst part is that he's an AMAZING actor. He just doesn't care. Do you know how FRUSTRATING THAT IS? Especially when he tells you that he would make a better director. He said that TO MY FACE. Just to be mean and rude and arrogant. Ugh....sorry. I'm just ranting now. Thank you for being mature and listening. I have to stop writing this now, or I'm just going to go insane (this doesn't even scrape the surface. You should have seen me this morning when my dad gave me coffee).

Thanks for reading!