Fight Club Monologue

“Oh, these old bones can’t take much more of this,” grumbled Millan Prink, as he rolled out of bed onto unsteady feet. “It’s bad enough that dear Laura left me eight years ago, bless her soul, but now I have to do all the work around here.” With a big sigh and a nod to the dreamcatcher above his bed, he went outside to his work.
All the way through the hayfields, over the pasture, and to the barn, Millan daydreamed. He dreamed of fairies and goblins, and worlds of sprites and specters. Millan was a fanatic. He was always hoping for something strange and wonderful to happen to him, but it never did.
As he reached the barn, his daydreams dissipated and a huff sounded from him. “It’s locked again! My goodness, why do I lock it every night? It’s

I hope they aren’t injured,” he said, and he walked inside. To his great surprise and horror, he found Hester Chelly, holding one squirming keyling in each hand. She looked desperate, angry, and confused. “Millan! I found these two insects stealing your things. The only problem is, they ain’t insects. They’re little people, and they must be the work of the Devil. Such things shouldn’t exist, in heaven or on earth, so I’ll have to send these unholy things back where they belong,” she said, preparing to drop them from a height that would surely harm, if not kill them. “No!” Millan shouted, heart pounding frantically. He thought hard for a second, and came up with a plan. “What are you talking about? I don’t see anything,” he said, appealing to Hester’s practical side. She liked things to make sense, to fit tight in a puzzle. “You know when you came over earlier, and ate some of that jam? Well, see, I hadn’t used it yet, and sitting in that dusty cellar so long, it must have gone bad, and is making you hallucinate. Those things you’re holding? Those are just some old figurines that dear old Laura gave to me.” He coaxed, wheedled and coerced her into setting them gently down, and then he began pushing her toward the