Writing Forums

Writing Forums is a privately-owned, community managed writing environment. We provide an unlimited opportunity for writers and poets of all abilities, to share their work and communicate with other writers and creative artists. We offer an experience that is safe, welcoming and friendly, regardless of your level of participation, knowledge or skill. There are several opportunities for writers to exchange tips, engage in discussions about techniques, and grow in your craft. You can also participate in forum competitions that are exciting and helpful in building your skill level. There's so much more for you to explore!

Carnie Monologue (Short) (1 Viewer)



The sun went away a few hours ago, dissolved into the ground. People walk around with sweat-glazed foreheads and solemn eyes as I stand firmly in front of my sign. “Come see the 4 foot tall man,” it reads.
Red and orange lights line the boundaries of this place, which I will from now on call my prison. The lights give the illusion of frayed edges, which I like to think are slowly burning inward; the slowest of burning which will eventually reach and consume me.
My sign is tattered, its letters weathered and paint failing in its original design, to advertise my flaw. Its wretched condition forces me to think back, to remember. My mind collapses into another paradigm. I can see a dog walking with a limp on a hot summer day, the smoldering heat causing it to seek cover underneath an old broken down Dodge. I am facing a gas station somewhere in the middle of Arizona. To both sides of me, there is nothing but sand and haze and stillness. I approach the station, which looks formidable. Huge eye-like windows stare at me, covered in dust, while a mouth-like door stands open, telling me that fate awaits me. I walk in, and a strange man welcomes me. He wears a white tee shirt that is drenched with sweat and blue jeans that are torn all over. His face bears a full beard that looks like wildfire; a daunting fire that I at first glance know has forever engulfed my dreams. Devouring trees and my sanity, dancing with a melancholic beauty, the fire always feels real in my dreams. But I know that this is not a dream, this is a memory; a memory that feels more real than any dream has ever felt, no matter how fierce the flames. The man smiles as if he already knew that I was coming, and seems amused by me, or more my height. He makes me an offer that I can’t refuse. He says that he knows a job that would be perfect for me…
There are only a few people left now, and I slowly study them, the way that their bodies move so smoothly in the darkness. Sure there are those red and orange lights, but all I can see is darkness, although I can feel an intense heat from the lights as if they were the very flames of my dreams, moving ever so quietly through the night.