House On Mango Street Monologue
It is the hour to be drunken! to escape being the martyred slaves of time, being ceaselessly drunk.on war, on poetry, on virtue as you wish.
reads Roy. Midnight approaches, and while the peak of activity has passed, the city whine’s; a soporific noise neither rises nor falls but is pregnant with trepidation. Inside a room, its dark and unnoticeable; but adequate light fills the room as we adjust to the darkness. White wall depict a picture frame like window, in that black and luminous square; life lives, life dreams, life suffers. Roy, 29, tall, slenderly figure, a broken black framed glasses, black moustache, wearing a white gown, he sits at a meticulously furnished white desk reading …show more content…
Baudelaire. a radio on the same desk plays 'on green dolphin street',he lowers the volume as it distracts his reading. a plate of untouched food is still kept on the table. Now and then he changes his positions rest his elbows on the desk and sometimes raises his face and looks at the window, dwindling from it his eyes are brought back. The room is neatly put, white framed pictures, white lamps hanging down from the ceiling, but everything is unrefined, uncouth, and unworthy of Roy's attention. the wall clock is white with has a thick black rim which detaches it from the wall and marks its existence. the clocks hand slowly drifts ahead. the morning wont come soon. Roy closes his book, and keeps it aside, tweaking the radio key tunes it off. he goes to the window and stares aimlessly, he feels the rug under his feet, the smoothness tickles his memory. Summer has begun,the air is perfectly dormant and all is stillness,as if nature, after her exertions during the day, is now at rest.Roy never acknowledged 4 years had gone by. waiting for the night to settle down,he sits on his bed; the moon has disappeared scattering its residue in the clouds. He is aimlessly watching at the window, an indian summer creeps stealthily over night. Roy puts the light off. a blue luminescent strip glows at the bottom of the walls. Roy had never blinked an eye during nights, he lies awake and watches the door and the window at times, because no one is out pulling guard for him, at war it was much more easy. The clock ticks; a dog barks once a while, few men rattle entering darkened huts with eyes exhausted to adjust, forefingers secured on triggers, a sudden movement in the back of the room, together they issued death into the dancing shadows, the smell of gunpowder floods his nostrils, children’s screeching, Before he could think about it,he drops a pin pulled grenade inside a ridge, As he begins to roll away, a small head of a girl pops out of the ridge, her eyes penetrate into his, she knows what the grenade is going to do, soliciting and pleading out of her mouth. he cant take back what he has done and continues to roll away and move. His head hurts and his soul screams. Not long after all that, He finds himself on an emergency room bed, his arms being stitched, his first attempt at suicide. His desire to not exist. And the beginning of denial in his mind that anything is wrong with him. He tries to thinks about his wife, lying next to him, she rubs his legs which acts as a kick pulling him out the Emergency room.
“How did she look like?” he tries to recollect. she gently touches him,An appalled feeling arouses by something strange and surprising.He tries to remember when he first saw her, he couldn’t say she looked like Madhabi Mukherjee, except that her eyes were that pretty. He finally ended up describing her as a film he had seen as child in Bombay,It was a film about a stereotypically ordinary man strolling by.Something about him - his freedom, his ordinariness, captivated his attention, she reminds him of the earlier lushly filigreed European parlours he had witnessed. He turns sideways to see her, rumpled white sheets switches position with her. Its 5 am,cold wind blows inside, but nothing inside the room moves, He still lies wide awake in the bed, the siren blows, lights appear outside of his room, he eyes gleam beneath the door, a knock follows.
“Mr Roy!!” a man gently calls.
“wake up Mr Roy, its time!!!” he says pleasingly.
Roy gets up and follows the luminescent light towards the door, twitches the knob twice, unsure of how to open it, he gets it right the third time, a short dark man,probably in his late thirties, neatly engineered hair, monotonously dressed in white shirt and pant, riveted smile,holding a pad with couple of papers attached,a small batch on his coat reads Devadoot.N, He steps inside the room. Roy follows him unhesitant , and goes and sits back on the bed.
“How are you today Mr Roy???” says Devadoot smilingly in a heavy malayali accent.
Roy’s lips don't detach.
neither the eyes try to answer. Deva walks towards the slightly open door and pulls it wide completely.
“Mr Roy, Dr Mishika is here to meet you” says Deva an welcomes the doctor as if welcoming guests at his daughter’s wedding.
She isn't pretty, but she’s beautiful, long curled hair, trimmed eyebrows, her eyes can stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the cats from milk bowl,tranquil the violins and with swaddling bands bring out all the coffins. She walks into to the room with a smile that circulate brightness over depressed territories of the planet. She looks at him and then looks at Deva, he understands the look and walks away smiling. She sits besides him. his eyes open, checking hers and then closes again. his hands touches her shoulder, she flinches, pulls away, their eyes search each other.
“You're Beautiful” addresses Mishika.
“Yeh unhone kaha hoga mujse kehne???” questions Roy. Mishika leans and kisses him. a CCTV camera buzzes and adjusts its zoom. Roy uninterested waits for kiss to cut down, but strangely doesn't want it to end at the same time, he finds no meaning in it , yet it makes him feel much more than sitting behind like a corpse in a dirt pool, behind the phantoms on highways, he wishes it to go on forever for the the first time. His hands moves swiftly across her breasts trying to feel
them. Dr Mishika gets up from the bed, and walks out of the room. Roy still unaware that she’s left is lost in thoughts. she looks from the small see-through glass at Roy from the lobby for a moment and then walks away. She goes and sits in her lab, she pulls out her laptop which has a document header that reads
INDIAN DEPARTMENT OF VETERAN AFFAIRS RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT CENTRE
UNIT 7- ROHAN ROY- TEST- 122-2045
She looks down and reads down the list of question :
1.HOW REALISTIC WAS ROY TO THE TOUCH?
2.HOW DID HE MAKE YOU FEEL? The pen lingers,memory touched, the pen shakes slightly and then uncontrollably.
Roy sits on his bed with milk and fruits on the table, for the first time we see a stout umbilical cord that hangs through the back of the bed he is sitting on. it snakes across the floor to a console. He stares aimlessly into the void.
Dr. Mishika's hands type ROHAN ROY- TEST-122-2045. LOGGED OUT.
Roy looks at the window whilst sitting on the bed that is now turned off.
Summer sun shines at his window. His eyes pooled, a tear forms in his eyes, which takes it course down its cheek.
reads Roy. Midnight approaches, and while the peak of activity has passed, the city whine’s; a soporific noise neither rises nor falls but is pregnant with trepidation. Inside a room, its dark and unnoticeable; but adequate light fills the room as we adjust to the darkness. White wall depict a picture frame like window, in that black and luminous square; life lives, life dreams, life suffers. Roy, 29, tall, slenderly figure, a broken black framed glasses, black moustache, wearing a white gown, he sits at a meticulously furnished white desk reading …show more content…
Baudelaire. a radio on the same desk plays 'on green dolphin street',he lowers the volume as it distracts his reading. a plate of untouched food is still kept on the table. Now and then he changes his positions rest his elbows on the desk and sometimes raises his face and looks at the window, dwindling from it his eyes are brought back. The room is neatly put, white framed pictures, white lamps hanging down from the ceiling, but everything is unrefined, uncouth, and unworthy of Roy's attention. the wall clock is white with has a thick black rim which detaches it from the wall and marks its existence. the clocks hand slowly drifts ahead. the morning wont come soon. Roy closes his book, and keeps it aside, tweaking the radio key tunes it off. he goes to the window and stares aimlessly, he feels the rug under his feet, the smoothness tickles his memory. Summer has begun,the air is perfectly dormant and all is stillness,as if nature, after her exertions during the day, is now at rest.Roy never acknowledged 4 years had gone by. waiting for the night to settle down,he sits on his bed; the moon has disappeared scattering its residue in the clouds. He is aimlessly watching at the window, an indian summer creeps stealthily over night. Roy puts the light off. a blue luminescent strip glows at the bottom of the walls. Roy had never blinked an eye during nights, he lies awake and watches the door and the window at times, because no one is out pulling guard for him, at war it was much more easy. The clock ticks; a dog barks once a while, few men rattle entering darkened huts with eyes exhausted to adjust, forefingers secured on triggers, a sudden movement in the back of the room, together they issued death into the dancing shadows, the smell of gunpowder floods his nostrils, children’s screeching, Before he could think about it,he drops a pin pulled grenade inside a ridge, As he begins to roll away, a small head of a girl pops out of the ridge, her eyes penetrate into his, she knows what the grenade is going to do, soliciting and pleading out of her mouth. he cant take back what he has done and continues to roll away and move. His head hurts and his soul screams. Not long after all that, He finds himself on an emergency room bed, his arms being stitched, his first attempt at suicide. His desire to not exist. And the beginning of denial in his mind that anything is wrong with him. He tries to thinks about his wife, lying next to him, she rubs his legs which acts as a kick pulling him out the Emergency room.
“How did she look like?” he tries to recollect. she gently touches him,An appalled feeling arouses by something strange and surprising.He tries to remember when he first saw her, he couldn’t say she looked like Madhabi Mukherjee, except that her eyes were that pretty. He finally ended up describing her as a film he had seen as child in Bombay,It was a film about a stereotypically ordinary man strolling by.Something about him - his freedom, his ordinariness, captivated his attention, she reminds him of the earlier lushly filigreed European parlours he had witnessed. He turns sideways to see her, rumpled white sheets switches position with her. Its 5 am,cold wind blows inside, but nothing inside the room moves, He still lies wide awake in the bed, the siren blows, lights appear outside of his room, he eyes gleam beneath the door, a knock follows.
“Mr Roy!!” a man gently calls.
“wake up Mr Roy, its time!!!” he says pleasingly.
Roy gets up and follows the luminescent light towards the door, twitches the knob twice, unsure of how to open it, he gets it right the third time, a short dark man,probably in his late thirties, neatly engineered hair, monotonously dressed in white shirt and pant, riveted smile,holding a pad with couple of papers attached,a small batch on his coat reads Devadoot.N, He steps inside the room. Roy follows him unhesitant , and goes and sits back on the bed.
“How are you today Mr Roy???” says Devadoot smilingly in a heavy malayali accent.
Roy’s lips don't detach.
neither the eyes try to answer. Deva walks towards the slightly open door and pulls it wide completely.
“Mr Roy, Dr Mishika is here to meet you” says Deva an welcomes the doctor as if welcoming guests at his daughter’s wedding.
She isn't pretty, but she’s beautiful, long curled hair, trimmed eyebrows, her eyes can stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the cats from milk bowl,tranquil the violins and with swaddling bands bring out all the coffins. She walks into to the room with a smile that circulate brightness over depressed territories of the planet. She looks at him and then looks at Deva, he understands the look and walks away smiling. She sits besides him. his eyes open, checking hers and then closes again. his hands touches her shoulder, she flinches, pulls away, their eyes search each other.
“You're Beautiful” addresses Mishika.
“Yeh unhone kaha hoga mujse kehne???” questions Roy. Mishika leans and kisses him. a CCTV camera buzzes and adjusts its zoom. Roy uninterested waits for kiss to cut down, but strangely doesn't want it to end at the same time, he finds no meaning in it , yet it makes him feel much more than sitting behind like a corpse in a dirt pool, behind the phantoms on highways, he wishes it to go on forever for the the first time. His hands moves swiftly across her breasts trying to feel
them. Dr Mishika gets up from the bed, and walks out of the room. Roy still unaware that she’s left is lost in thoughts. she looks from the small see-through glass at Roy from the lobby for a moment and then walks away. She goes and sits in her lab, she pulls out her laptop which has a document header that reads
INDIAN DEPARTMENT OF VETERAN AFFAIRS RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT CENTRE
UNIT 7- ROHAN ROY- TEST- 122-2045
She looks down and reads down the list of question :
1.HOW REALISTIC WAS ROY TO THE TOUCH?
2.HOW DID HE MAKE YOU FEEL? The pen lingers,memory touched, the pen shakes slightly and then uncontrollably.
Roy sits on his bed with milk and fruits on the table, for the first time we see a stout umbilical cord that hangs through the back of the bed he is sitting on. it snakes across the floor to a console. He stares aimlessly into the void.
Dr. Mishika's hands type ROHAN ROY- TEST-122-2045. LOGGED OUT.
Roy looks at the window whilst sitting on the bed that is now turned off.
Summer sun shines at his window. His eyes pooled, a tear forms in his eyes, which takes it course down its cheek.