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When broken morals are wet sounds from cracked lips and stars are the glowing eyes of the dead; that's when you know that the world isn't black and white. Flurries of bullets hurtle overhead; I jerk violently. Screams assault my ears; I cannot hold back the whimpers leaving my abused body. That was somebody's son. Somebody's husband. Somebody's brother. Looking into the enemy's eyes, I want my stomach to coil with fury, writhe with abhorrence. But it doesn't... because what I see in their eyes isn't hatred. It's fear. And I'm reminded that they're not monsters, after all. They're human.

by Evie Sutcliffe (13)
The Brooksbank School, West Yorkshire

Competition - Mini Monologues

Copyright remains with the author.