Elie Monologue

The three girls lock up their houses, kiss their parent’s goodbye and drive. To where you ask? To freedom. The pretty kind. As far as the eye can see is a sea of green canopies. Here and there silver gulley’s thread themselves into the deep gorges of the forests. The sun winks down from the heavens reflecting, off the water so it shines like jewels. A whole day of complete beauty.

Arie sits hunched against the earthen wall, face smothered by her folded knees. She is breathing. Just barely. Her clothes hang in dirty strips over her starved frame, greasy hair shielding her abdomen in small rivulets. I stare at her. It’s an endless cycle, me looking at her, her looking at me, just never at the same time. We try to shield each other from the
Arie and I are the weak, emaciated street urchins and we beg for food for days and days. Finally, when we have no hope left a kind rich family adopt us, and I die happily from gluttony. It’s a pathetic vision and I know it but it's the best my debilitated mind can do. The food taunts me, impossibly flamboyant puddings and roasts dancing in front of me. I reach out, groaning. Why are they so far away? When I’m about to touch them I look down at my hand. It is attenuated, mottled twigs attached to my palm. And in that moment, my reality reaches me and I crash to the floor, alone in my
ARIE STOP!” the screams leech the last of my strength.
“Please Arie, it's me. It’s Em. Please”. A final strangled whisper as I stop fighting.
“Em?” Arie mumbles.
Her body goes completely rigid, eyes clearing as they finally see me.
Her body slumps onto the dirt once more, dropping the stone with a keen ‘ting’. Sobs rack her body until nothing but whimpers can be heard. I edge forward to her, feebly shuffling. It takes an age even with her right in front of me. I reach for her hand again, hesitating before putting it down. When she doesn’t respond I pull them away from her face, now streaked with dried blood. Neither of us say anything. We just look into the darkness, the stench of carrion floating just out of our senses.

Mya, is lying spread-eagle on the ground, alarm pasted crudely on her features. A small line of blood trickles from her mouth as ebony hair fans out into a flower. Her final shot at beauty. At first the other girls scream, jostling her petite form. When the tall one Arie, pushes her up they watch as her neck falls back onto her shoulder, an indeterminate protrusion jutting out of the side. They fall still at this. Eventually they shake out the small picnic rug in her bag and wrap her up. They lay her as far away from them as they can. But they can still see a hint of baby pink, shining from the