Clueless Monologues Novels & Stories

Too small to carry something so monstrous. Lucien stood beside me, his arms folded tightly across his chest, every muscle drawn tight like a loaded weapon. Clara’s voice broke the silence: “We scanned every neural feed. No anomalies. No spikes. But it’s in there. I can feel it. A whisper in the code.” “How do we find out which one?” I asked. Clara hesitated. “We can’t. Not without risking full awakening.” “So we’re blind.” “Not blind,” she said. “Just... uncertain.”

“Are you ready to talk?” Claire didn’t meet his eyes right away. Instead, she stared down at the floor, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. She wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure how to voice the thoughts that had been consuming her. Finally, she spoke. “I don’t know what to say anymore, Adrian. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can keep living in this world.” Adrian’s expression remained unchanged, but there was a flicker of something—maybe annoyance, maybe frustration—in his eyes. “You knew what you were getting into, Claire. You knew what kind of man I am, what kind of life this is. Nothing has changed.”

"You have money in your personal account. Don't lie to me." Claus's jaw clenched. "My money isn't for reckless spending." Tyla's laughter was icy. "You're shallow-minded to think my spending your money is reckless." The phrase "shallow-minded" struck a chord. Cassandra had said the same thing. Claus's anger erupted. He stormed out of the penthouse, leaving Tyla behind. He drove aimlessly, trying to clear his head. The city blurred together until he found himself at a serene pond. Claus parked, hesitant to leave the comfort of his car. The pond's tranquility drew him in. Benches surrounded the pond, most occupied by couples or families but One bench stood empty.

Not a single word could escape from her mouth. Then it came on it, strained but the words were clear “It's too cliché to be genuine” There it was, sharp as a bullet. Donald heard it, Luca heard it too, and Claire — Claire was standing right there Her purse dropped on the floor and tears welled up in her eyes Sharon and Claire looked at each other for what seemed like ages without uttering a word. Donald was just standing by the door watching the drama unfold. Luca was fed up at that moment

The ones who need the language before they can say yes. Below: This is what *Depth Before Reach* is about, said from the other direction. Not the practice finding the audience. The audience finding itself in the language of the practice. Below: Clara. When she is thirty-one. When she has the notebook and the llicorella and the geology of everything else and she has to decide what she is choosing. The brief for her is being written now, in every day of how we live, long before she needs the words for it.

I leaned my head back against the couch, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “You ever feel like life just… skipped you?” I asked. Clara’s chair creaked softly as she shifted. “Skipped you how?” I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. “Like it moved on to the next chapter and forgot to take you with it.” She didn’t answer immediately. “I think,” she said slowly, “sometimes it drags you somewhere you didn’t plan on going and waits to see what you’ll do when you get there.” “Then I must be somewhere very far off the map,” I said, glancing toward the table cluttered with formula tins, folded cloths, and unopened envelopes. “Because I still don’t recognize anything.”

I spent some money on a metal cot and moved into my shop. Bianca came by several times to talk me into going home, but I threw her out every time. I reported the missing jewelry to the police, but without enough evidence, they couldn't open a case at all. I was so anxious that I could barely function, and sores formed in my mouth. While I was sending Mason another message, I saw his latest social media post. [Admitted through a direct admit slot. Stay mad!]

"Too generic. Give it weight. Give it a hint of humility that feels earned, not performed." Clara cleared her throat, shifting her expression to one of soft, quiet confidence. "Marcus, it's been too long. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the responsibility of my position." Julian paused, his gaze calculating. "Acceptable. But the phrase 'doing a lot of thinking' is a cliché. It sounds like a line from a rehab brochure. Replace it with something more active. Something that suggests a shift in priority."

Surely something so incredible has got to be wrong. He's pumping me with his finger slowly, mouth working at my clitoris with an evil sense of conviction, and my words have failed. Not a single encouragement comes to mind. All I can do is burry my face in the pillows and control the breathing that has run rampant. I don’t want to moan. Lord knows what that would sound like. The first attempt couldn’t be too pretty. I need to stop thinking about the lord. This is disgraceful. “Another one.” My temperature is rising. Stomach full of the climax whose arrival I’m not too sure of yet. It’s close. Soon.

A voice, ancient and wise, resonated in their minds. "You seek truth, yet you are entangled in the threads of doubt and fear. Open your hearts, for clarity lies within." Zane heard the voice and opened his eyes. He tried but he couldn't see or feel anything... But for Claire and Dakota, it felt like the first clue, the understanding that they needed to confront their doubts head-on. They closed their eyes, allowing the ethereal energy of the shrine to flow through them, washing away their uncertainties. Zane was watching all of it with shock.