So this is a monologue I wrote for my creative writing class, I thought I'd submit it here to get some feed back.


Getting on Braces

National Geographic, why are you such a hard magazine to read? My fingers leave prints all over your glossy pages, while I tediously look for your table of contents. It’s always crammed between a Kodak Camera ad and a two page spread on the health benefits of arthritis medication. I remember once that your yellow bordered smug was filled with glorious color pictures of Amazon tree frogs, glaciers, and footsteps in a sand dune. Now all I see are long articles with no pictures describing the wonders of the horse head nebula. I wonder, How can you describe a cosmic dust cloud without pictures, it must be difficult. ? Skimming your magazine takes 3 ½ minutes, that’s 3 ½ minutes I no longer have to listen to the suction sounds down the hallway.

The waiting room is a prison filled with magazines and I’m the inmate, thinking of every single plausible escape plan. The bathroom, I could hide in there, there’s a lock on the door, I could stay in there for hours, but I’m afraid they would be waiting on me on the other side? I could camouflage myself in the coat rack, behind a bulky winter coat and some muddy boots but no matter what plan I devise, I can’t escape. My mother is paying for this appointment, but she doesn’t now how much I will be paying too.

I will spend my night desperately trying to floss, desperately while the waxed string shreds in my mouth. Mexican food is a no, because I hate beans and the only other things are nachos and tacos. I will never enjoy Halloween again, the chewy candies, endless suckers, and chocolate bars filled to the max with nuts. I will never enjoy fountain pop again, the ice will water down the coke because I can no longer crunch it down with my molars. My teenage years are being stolen from me by mindless aesthetics

You need a perfect smile, your left canine is off kilter, you have an over bite, and your jaw is too low. What does it matter?! I’m not being a model, I’m not an actor, I don’t even smile in photos! Who cares if my teeth hit sometimes when I talk, or I have a millimetre gap in my smile. I don’t, so why should you?

The lady comes out, walking like the angel of death. Here to take me into a glass room, and steal my freedom. My freedom to choose what I want to eat. God, Buddha, Allah, Mahatma Ghandi, if you can hear me, please, please, let her not call my name. Give me five more minutes of me licking my tongue against my teeth without it being scraped by steel.
Her voice creaks, “Jann?�
I know she means me, but in this current situation I’m not answering to that.
“Jann Boomhouwer?�
Damn, I pick my self up.
“If you could just follow me�
I trudge along, not lifting my feet off the tile. I sit back in the chair
She says “The procedure will only take a moment�
I know what she’s saying and she saying ; “Five years of this isn’t too long�
And she’s lying through perfectly straight teeth.


Tell me what you think please.

As a 3 year + drama student, having performed dozens of monologues, and had lead roles in multiple plays, I must say this is a real charm.

It's something I would do,

and having had braces, it's quite comical.

Thank you very much.