Monologue; Soldier K | 10.04.2017
Monologue
10.04.2017
"This is a tale of a soldier. A brave man he was, always stood up for his friends, his colleagues, his boss, even the odd man on the street, he would find respect for. Soldier K we shall call him."
I want to dedicate Mondays to creative writing. In a script, short story, monologue type of way. So to start that off, I'd like to share a monologue I wrote, about a soldier. It's best to read this in a voice of 'that one mysterious old cowboy sitting in a misty bar'.
This is a tale of a soldier. A brave man he was, always stood up for his friends, his colleagues, his boss, even the odd man on the street, he would find respect for. Soldier K we shall call him. He’s a soldier of the people, a man, a woman, a human fucking being. He’s a soldier that wouldn’t stop at the hand of the government, but wouldn’t go at the hand of himself. He was troubled you could say. K had been a great inspiration to me, the importance he lead in my life, the importance he lead in anybodies life he touched, he was a special man, woman or human.
He was a troubled person, battled many battles with himself with others and with the world. Forced to perceive the world in a censored way, only others would want him to see it. Never truly free, yet let to believe he was a bird, free as the wind blows. He was a smart camper though, he knew he wasn’t truly free, but he didn’t care, he just kept on chugging along as life flew him by.
One day, K ran into a boy, girl or young human being. This child looked at him with eyes so wide they could absorb the world. He stood there mesmerised, looking into these curious eyes, seeing what these eyes have seen, in the way they had seen them. No censors, no judgement, no barriers what so ever, just pure and raw curiosity. K could not help but stare, stare at the world through those eyes see new things, be more curious than he had ever been. It was a burning that no suppression, censoring or judgement could kill. A fire lit in K’s soul.
Trees were no longer just trees, they were roots leaves, growth, veins a symbol of the sheer ability of life in this universe. A plastic bottle was no longer just a plastic bottle it was an opportunity to obscure the world around, bend, frame and look at life in a purely unapologetically different way.
Fear of questioning was burnt up by the flame of curiosity. Everything needed questioning, everything demanded an answer. Why? What? Who? Where? Everything K had done in life turned around and stared blankly into his eyes. Why did he do the things that he had done? The questions weren’t asked with judgement, the questions weren’t asked to darken K, they were asked to enlighten him. He didn’t just question himself. He questioned others. What’s the purpose of that human holding a pen? Why is that person looking up? Where is that human being going?
Every answer answered was wood to the fire, continuing the burning sensation to know more. Slowly but surely K realised he was not a bird, he was not free like the wind. He was a human Being. Free as the questions he had.
The realisation that he was being censored was his biggest weapon towards the box built around him in his life. Knowledge really is power. I’m not talking about book knowledge, I’m talking about world knowledge, and appreciation. The ability to not judge, the ability to not look at the world in a one dimensional way.
K was not brave. K was a human being. K questioned the world, K questioned life, questioned other humans, other animals, even nature and even the god damn universe. This does not make K profound, this does not make K an intellectual, this does not make K special. This makes K a human fucking being.
