Dramatic Monologue (BNW)

A man can die but once, unfortunately.
Growing up on the reservation taught me that
I was not the same as everyone else.
I proved my dedication time and time again
yet they would not let me perform the ritual.
I was more worthy than anyone else.
As I beat myself, purged myself, I hoped they would see.
They never did.
My mother was shameful and everyone looked down on us.

My mother was little more than kin, and less than kind.
She kept talking about Other Place, how it was different,
that it was normal to have more than one partner.
Where they had clean things, never needed washing or mending,
medicine for everything.
She taught me how to read and write and gave me Shakespeare.
Then she found mescal and was soon reduced to nothing.
Even less than nothing.
Embarrassing.

Now is the winter of our discontent.
The strangers came and I got my opportunity to leave the reservation.
Apparently Other Place is real.
When I got there I realized the differences.
Linda was out into an institution where she was given soma.
She stayed in a stupor until she died.

That beautiful girl Lenina made me feel
more than I've felt for anyone before.
Yet she is a strumpet. How dare she?
She pressed herself upon me and i struck her.
I only wanted love. Love never did run smooth.

I found my own land and started my purge.
The flow of blood down my back was ecstacy.
Whipping and beating was proof of my feelings.
Getting rid of the filth and contamination of society.
Finally left to peace, but not for long.
They found me and flocked in great numbers.
They shouted at me. I whipped until the blood ran free.
In the morning i woke up and realized what had happened.
I hung myself. Dead, forever and a day.