Dramatic Monologue

CRASH. SCREEECH-BANG! Many protesting and angry yells went up into the pale NYC morning sky, caused by what looked like a small, red, and motorized wagon. It looked like this because that was exactly what it was. This “Motor-wagon” was piloted by a young-ish, tall-ish, and mostly bald man named Evan Victor Ite-Laught. Anyway, the sources of the yells were victims of a small red blur of dents, scratches, and crashes careening around the corner somewhere around 20 miles/hour too fast. Evan was in a hurry because he was “late” for an “important appointment” in the South World Trade Center. However, he was not late for anything at all, nor did his appointment exist. It was all cover for Evan’s YEP, Yearly Evil Plan. Sometimes in private, he would
He would take the elevators up to the highest floor. Then he would find the nearest stairwell and walk all the way down, setting bombs in secretive areas as he went. By the time Evan had recited the whole thing plus little details like exactly where he would place the bombs, he was at the elevator. When he pushed the, the doors slid open almost too easily, he thought. Stop thinking like that! Evan solded himself. I can’t be any more pessimistic, I might implode! And being paranoid won’t help me get this done any faster. So he stepped inside, ignoring the part of himself that wanted to turn and sprint back to his Motor-wagon. The small electronic number showed 37 when he heard an extremely loud BOOM. Evan gave a little jump and pushed ⬅➡. He stepped out of the elevator and tried to find the source of the noise. Evan saw a nearby tour group and jogged over to see what they were gawking and pointing at. As he passed a corner, a window came into view, but Evan didn’t notice, at least for now. When he reached the tour guide he asked,”Wha...?” but his voice drained away as he saw what everyone else was looking at out the window. He was already very pale, but his pallor seemed at its maximum for a moment. Then his face flushed an odd shade of red. As this curious change of emotions occurred, Evan’s thought process also changed greatly: Oh, my… I hope- that thought was never completed, as another took over: Really?!
He needed to get out of that tower.He continued his escape, constantly losing his balance. More noises. Shouts, crashes. Everything was a blur to Evan. A crash louder than the rest sounded just above him, shaking him back into his senses for a moment, but that moment was enough to allow Evan to see a wall of debris seem to converge before him. (Also, by complete coincidence, 18 cats from all across the world meowed in harmony. Just a random fact!) When Evan found a “solution” to the debris problem, it was not a pretty sight. A seemingly random image of a bomb passed through Evan’s clouded mind, and he realized that all of his pockets were heavy. He took one out. He stared at it dumbly. He activated it, not sure what he was doing. After a split second’s hesitation, he threw them. As the bombs flew through the air, time seemed to slow down, for Evan at least. “My goodness,” he thought,” They must have a reason to call me a mental maniac.”... “Hmm… I bet my neighbors won’t even realize I’m gone. They’ll just wonder why their life is so much better now. Oh...what’s that feeling? Is that what they call regret? It’s like-” For a split second, the great sound of an explosion seemed to feed on his brain, and then Evan Victor Ite-Laught was no