Ian Monologue

Ian was about to die. He didn't want to die. He thought he had wanted to for quite a bit just a short while before, but after a bit of consideration and perspective change he realised his blinding mistake, that it wasn't that he had wanted his life to end at all. Ian wanted a change, simply put - a good one; one that when he woke up in the morning he could think back happily and say to himself ‘boy, I’m glad I’m still not dead. Thank goodness for that good thing that happened’. He had in fact found his good thing not long ago, and it was lucky he had otherwise who knows how quickly he would have purposefully ‘fallen’ of the wagon of life. However in this short while that had taken place, between him believing he wanted to die and then realising

Ian was here because he hadn’t had a good day, in fact if you had asked him at that moment he would have said it was the worst day of his life so far, or at least that he could recall but he was pretty sure about it anyway. The things he was wearing where in about the same dreadful shape that his mentality was. His clothes were pretty much worn out in every way possible, and most of the damage looked very recent too. He wore an obviously cheap greyish cardigan over a similarly inexpensive checked blue shirt. Adorned below these were a pair of mud brown smart trousers, latched around which was a beaten black leather belt that was rather unsuitably unclipped and swayed lightly in time with his breathing. To be honest this attire would have been deemed not unusual in most circumstances (leaving out the unclipped belt – which could easily be re-clipped), sure people may have thought he looked a bit ‘down on his luck’ but not enough that he needed serious help. The problem with his dress that would have made any reasonable person cross quickly over to the left side of the street if he had been approaching on the right lay with two distinctive features: 1. His clothing halted suddenly after the end of his trousers, leaving him bare-footed; which in this day and age would be considered most inapt sloppiness, and 2. He was covered from cardigan clad top to naked toe in a mixture of dirt, water and congealed blood, of which in the bloods case there was way too much of it for him to still be standing if it was indeed his own. His face was sadly indescribable, since it was inked in darkness due to the abysmal lighting of the