Monologue Clueless Novels & Stories

That usually made them open their mouths. But, this one was different. Clayton replied with a high-pitched laugh as he clapped. The chains rattled against one another, creating an irritating sound. “You don’t know anything, don’t you? Oh goody! Mr. Billionaire’s got no idea, I can’t believe it! I was waiting all these years if you ever did something, but you’re just so fucking clueless, aren’t you? ”

Because Professor Vega would know Lorena wasn't paying attention to her if she asked her to repeat the question. Lorena was silent and stupefied. She didn't know how to respond or what to say. Of course, Lorena couldn't answer the question. She didn't know the question. Professor Vega immediately hit Lorena's desk hard and got mad. "Hey! Answer my question! Don't daydream!" Lorena's brain immediately tried to find an excuse. A moment later, she chose to ask Professor Vega to repeat her question with the excuse of forgetting it. "I'm sorry, Professor! I forgot the question. Would you mind repeating your question, please?"

It just looks like someone pulled it out of a magazine or TV ad. "Please." He gestures to me to take one glass and I bend to hold the thin section, my grip shaky from the fear of dropping the glass. I slowly pull it towards me, the drink shaking with the motion of my hand. Don't break it. Don't break it. Don't break it! My brain starts working and I hold the head of the glass with my free hand. Now both my hands have held the glass captive. Now it can't break. I'm a genius! Where's the Nobel Prize? I look up to find Dhruv staring at me, his eyes filled with amusement. I am sure he is having a great time watching Meera the not-so-famous clown do her opening show. I should charge for the ticke

I said quickly. “So the rumors of his disability are true?” Before I could say more, Clive shoved them aside and hustled me onto the jet. “I told you to say nothing.” He snapped angrily. “What was I supposed to do when asked a question? Stare? That’s rude.” I said. “So what? How many times will I tell you, you are no longer the broke ass, people pleasing waitress. You are a millionaire, you are supposed to be rude. For the last time listen to instructions and don’t mess everything up.”

She leaned her waist against the counter, arms crossed as she waited for the dark liquid to drip, tapping her long nails against the counter in an impatient rhythm. A financial analyst, barely a year into working in the company, and one that seems to have a massive crush on her, that or maybe she intimidates him, hovered by the fridge with his half filled yogurt cup in his hands. His eyes flicked nervously toward her, then down to his food again. Clara smirked and seeing a willing and perfect audience to listen to her woes, she starts. “Director Monroe wants coffee again,” she announced with a dramatic sigh, pulling a paper cup from the stack like it weighed ten pounds. “Imagine that. The ‘D

“I… I can’t find it.” His laughter rang out, loud and full of condescension, reverberating in the silence of the room. “You can’t find it?” he repeated, shaking his head. “How convenient. It seems the current CEO is not only incompetent but also careless with crucial documents. Ladies and gentlemen, is this the kind of leadership Monroe Corporation deserves?” The murmurs of agreement from the board members stung like a physical blow. My cheeks burned with humiliation, and I clenched my fists at my sides to keep from shaking.

The door swung open just before I could touch it, Mr Cliff there, standing still, his face filled with a wicked grin like that of a shark who smelled blood. “Mr Morello,” his voice deceptively calm, “I really do hope this is some prank right now. ” I stood frozen, trying to catch my breath from the marathon race I had just embarked on here, still speechless, sweat trickled down even more on my neck, my mind was a perfect blank void. Nothing could get me out of this mess. “I'm waiting, Mr Morello, just what excuse do you have for me, huh?” Mr Cliff's voice was dangerously calm, he raised his brow, his grin widening in expectation.

I try to sit straight on the barstool but the stool keeps feeling like it wants to tilt to one side, or maybe that's just my head, I don’t know. Jack slumps forward again, mumbling something into the wooden counter. It sounds like, “don’t… don’t… tell him,” or maybe, “where are my noodles,” I really can’t tell. His hair sticks to the side of his face, and because he’s still wearing that ridiculous mustache disguise thing, it tilts a little crooked every time he talks. I stare at it for a few seconds, wondering if there's a person alive who drinks enough to forget that something like that is stuck to their face. I pull my phone out and glare at the screen because it's too bright, then I call

“Don’t stop...” “Ah, see? Maybe you’re not as clueless as I thought,” I replied, but the tone of my voice held no warmth. The satisfaction was merely a side effect of their desperation. My attention turned solely back towards the door, where Clara had vanished moments before. What was she thinking?

Levine said, making us laugh again. “Your second choice was never been medicine?’ Michane said as she teases Huxley knowing he’s never done that. “Hey! I have never done that! Why are you all being too mean to me?” Huxley exclaimed, making us laugh harder. “So, I’m next?”Clint asked. I smiled at him and nodded. “One, my alcohol tolerance is high. I’m bothered and can’t stop thinking about something lately. I write too.” After Clint stated 2 truths, 1 lie, all eyes were locked in my direction.