Found this while going through my documents and thought I might as well post it. It's something I did for my GCSE English coursework, managed to get an A for this! Here we go, enjoy.
Original writing monologue
“A gamblin’ man”
(Man wrapped up in coat with rucksack near him perched on a pavement block)
Cold day today eh? I hate the cold at this time of the year. They say it’ll snow but where is the snow? Snow in Gloucester? Bah. That’s lies. But when we are lucky to get some, the smog kills it turning it into cold rain! I wish I was back at my flat. You see, I had double glazing windows, radiators on the go blasting heat across the flat. Waking up to that in a comfortable bed is heaven. When you leave it, the bed would whisper to you “Hey come on, another 5 minutes please?”. Now look at me. Shaking like a cradle in a storm. Hate it here. I blame the number 57. “Oh he’s on fine form he is! Wouldn’t lose your cash on him!” That blooming horse cost me of the last amount I had and now here I am. Muttering, cold and on the hunt for cash. I’m never listening to Londoners again.
Gambling. The religious fundamentalists hate it. “You’re gambling with the Devil!” they say. How many times have I heard that? The secret to gambling is luck. Forget about the toss of a coin, but it’s pure luck. Dave, he is the root of all this. I had known him for a fair bit as we worked together and regularly talked about the football and what’s on the telly, but he had to be there when I managed to lucky dip my way on the premier league games to £120. I was shocked where he was all “Get in there! Spend that well! You could take ol’ Kelly out for dinner, eh?”. Well, that was my first thought but then he invites me to go with him to the local casino. Oh, what a way to waste money.
I honestly had never been to a casino before so deciding what to wear was a pain in the backside. Should I go all “Hollywood cliché” and enter with a suit? Heck, if I had a martini and a comb over, I would make a great Bond look alike! I didn’t have a suit then; all I had was a jumper and some jeans. Besides, it wasn’t going to be a regular event, eh?. So I turn up with my plain black jumper with a white shirt underneath and jeans and there’s Dave in a blooming suit! He looked like a complete tosser in it. “It makes me look classy, smooth and of course attractive,” he said. That’s proper crap there.
We entered the casino. He enters all smug and looking like a complete idiot whereas I wondered around like a lost child. He walks off to a table says “Oh, this looks nice” and turns back to me and says “Got a tenner?” “I thought you had money? It’s a casino not a kids arcade!” I replied. He glared at me and I handed him the £10 note like a mother giving sweets to a child. So I wander off and after 2 minutes of wandering and watching others playing, I went to a empty blackjack table and the dealer greeted me with a nod. “How do you, sir?” he said. “Not bad” I replied. “Are you aware of the rules?” “Oh yeah. Played with my mate Dave at work,” I replied and placed £5 of chips on the table. So he starting shuffling his cards and deals them out and I get a 10 of diamonds and 2 of clubs and said “Hit me,”. 3 of hearts was drawn and I sticked with my total. The dealer revealed his hand and got bust. I won £10 and I started from there. Entered with £40 and left with £115. That was a nice sum to have. Could pay some rent there. Stupid Dave came out with £4 and a soggy shirt! That’s payback there.
That and having a steady job was alright. I rarely have the odd sickie, but with gambling it was going to be common. I would be setting up accounts on betting websites, doing lucky dips. I knew a friend who forged notes, letters and he managed to make a doctor’s form. And get this, it said I had to take a 2 week break from Laryngitis. And those 2 weeks were gold. I played Xbox games all day, got drunk and was able to do a load of things I couldn’t do because of work. I would stumble into my warm, comfortable, homey bed at 2am with no time to get up for a time in the morning for that blooming office drone job. Forged note put me out of work.
Blimey, half 4 already? Hm. It’s getting pretty dark. I think I’ll race to the shelter place before old Barney takes my place.
(Jon gets up and picks up his bag and starts to walk. Later, we see him camped on the street in a sleeping bag)
Cor, Barney must of been of done then? Nicking too much of the alcohol from the corner shop. He’s a good man he is. He used to creep in and get us food and drink from the shop and pass it out. “Damn those cameras, Barney’s going in!” He always said. URGH. I wish he was here now. He could of got some soup from the centre. Nice chicken and mushroom with a piece of buttered bread? Lovely jubbly. I’m not allowed up because of bloomin’ Gavin. “Out of my way, I need food as I am fat!” See, I was in the line of the soup queue and it was a good day and all as I got £50 quid from loose change and lost notes. So he jumps in front of me pushing me and 2 other guys out and 1 falling over. Then I try and get back in so he right hooks me and I stutter and threw a fury of hits to his head knocking him down for the count. Funny thing was that a bowl of hot soup fell on him potently burning him. Oh the line of fellow homeless men applauded me. “Finally, someone had to do it!” and “Good on you, I owe you one”. Rumour has it that he got a broken nose and is still mangled today. So I got banned. By hey it doesn’t stop me receiving soup every night.
(Jon looks around and spots two men in suits talking to various homeless people)
Oh look at that. The buggers are still at it. Hunting around these parts for drones in their drug dealin’? Bah. I sounded like a sheriff then. Three people left for those But I got offered and got this card. It’s destiny all this. God hates me. Breaking one of his prized commandments.
(Jon pulls out card and inspects it)
Silly piece of card.
(Jon puts it back in his pocket)
I think I’ll sleep for the night now. Peter is on the lookout.
(Goes to black. Lights up as Jon wakes up)
Oh Lord, it’s those dreams again...... I hate them. I keep dreaming of my flat being repossessed and sold off to bailiffs. All I had was some clothes, shoes, pillow, a sleeping bag and a pocket radio. Should of packed more batteries. I still grabbed a secret stash of £200 to survive on. Spent it too fast really. I had to go and blow it on 2 nights at a luxury hotel, eh? I spend £20 and only got £17 from it. No point betting on football;
always has teams on mixed form.
I haven’t had a chat with my parents since my mam’s birthday. 67 now. Live in a little cottage in Portsmouth with a pesky little dog with them, on retirement and are loving it. I need to tell them about this. They’ll help me. I mean, I’m their son, right? They should help me. I can’t go living like this. The dirt, the violence, the dangers.... I can’t bear it here. I don’t know how the poor sods here manage to live like this; it’s not healthy. I salute the buggers. Sprit? Can’t be. Anyone would be depressed living in a hole like this. I can’t get a job, I mean look at me! Unshaven, smell like a sewer and no clean clothes. Why oh why? I hate myself so much. Damn Dave. I hope he dies. He legged it to the Yank’s country and living there in Las Vegas and all I got was a “Bye”. Completely ignored me.
I need some cash. Fast. I’ll take the route to Portsmouth by train to see my parents. Yes. That will work. No problems there. I’ll have to take that job. £100 along with my change should get me back home. I’ll be back on my feet and return here with some money, new clean clothes and a smile. I’ll give them a ring in the morning.
(Jon falls asleep. It is now the next night at 8PM and Jon is wearing a coat, black gloves and some tracksuit bottoms)
Rather nervous. Made the deal with the devil. Here we go ol’ Jon, on a adventure now. I’m getting a load of cash for this. £300 for a nights work? Sweet. Lovely. Could get a double cheese burger and some Pepsi from the local McDonalds. Very paranoid men, the dealers are. Always feeling me for bugs and devices and I felt so violated. “Do I look like a cop?” I said to the two men searching my body. “Well, we can’t have a little rat arresting us all out and getting us life sentences, eh?” He replied with a cockney accent. I hate Londoners. It’s a hush hush deal here. You can’t say anything. Well, we all know why!
I wonder what class I should go. First class for luxury. Eh, I looked at one of those train guides. Packed with loads of deals and had a peak. First class, you get a meal, open space and even a newspaper. Probably be a Daily Mail. What a stupid upper class paper. Looking forward to this. 1 hour and that’s it. Payday, lovely.
(A van horn is heard in the background beeping three times)
That’s my ride. My deal with the devil. Good ol’ Jon, I’ll need it.
(Jon runs off)
Fin.
