Monologue as Pink eye-Animal farm
Dramatic monologue as Pink eye
Crashing down like a million tiny feet running past, rain falls heavily, wind whistling. Allegro.
There are no stars, no moon just an empty dark sky, not even the slightest detail. Only dots and dashes representing the warm late summer’s rain. Still crashing. Still hammering. A bolt of lightning illuminates the dull room through one small window, eight foot above wooden shelves lining the length of the far grey wall. Empty. Cobwebs attached to just about every corner. A small spider waits patiently as an oblivious small moth flies into his trap. Cornered. Trapped. I should help the poor creature. But then again no. Why should I get involved with the circle of life. Why should I be the one to play god to those below me, those whom lack intellect but yet know what is going on. It is right in front of your eyes. Can’t you see the ways of the spider, I plead into the emptiness, my voice roughly echoing off the walls of this secluded space. He’s cunning, crafty, intimidating, an opportunist… he is a backstabber, I whisper, aggravated knowing that I can’t change the future…the moment is coming close. I push myself up off a stack of old newspapers and run my trotters across the rugged walls. I may not talk much, and I may come across as a loner towards the other pigs, but I am smarter than I may seem. I know all the plans of Napoleon who will show his true colours tomorrow night. I know what he has in store for Snowball. I know what has happened to the nine new born puppies Napoleon snatched off Jessie and Bluebell, and I can tell… I can just tell that something bad is going to happen. I think hugging myself in fear. As I walk up to the web were the gleeful spider wraps up his dinner, I sit...watching…pondering…thinking... fearing for the safety of my comrades. What will happen next? How will it happen? Why will it happen? I just. Don’t. Know.
********THE NEXT DAY********
An array of colours are displayed at this questionable
Crashing down like a million tiny feet running past, rain falls heavily, wind whistling. Allegro.
There are no stars, no moon just an empty dark sky, not even the slightest detail. Only dots and dashes representing the warm late summer’s rain. Still crashing. Still hammering. A bolt of lightning illuminates the dull room through one small window, eight foot above wooden shelves lining the length of the far grey wall. Empty. Cobwebs attached to just about every corner. A small spider waits patiently as an oblivious small moth flies into his trap. Cornered. Trapped. I should help the poor creature. But then again no. Why should I get involved with the circle of life. Why should I be the one to play god to those below me, those whom lack intellect but yet know what is going on. It is right in front of your eyes. Can’t you see the ways of the spider, I plead into the emptiness, my voice roughly echoing off the walls of this secluded space. He’s cunning, crafty, intimidating, an opportunist… he is a backstabber, I whisper, aggravated knowing that I can’t change the future…the moment is coming close. I push myself up off a stack of old newspapers and run my trotters across the rugged walls. I may not talk much, and I may come across as a loner towards the other pigs, but I am smarter than I may seem. I know all the plans of Napoleon who will show his true colours tomorrow night. I know what he has in store for Snowball. I know what has happened to the nine new born puppies Napoleon snatched off Jessie and Bluebell, and I can tell… I can just tell that something bad is going to happen. I think hugging myself in fear. As I walk up to the web were the gleeful spider wraps up his dinner, I sit...watching…pondering…thinking... fearing for the safety of my comrades. What will happen next? How will it happen? Why will it happen? I just. Don’t. Know.
********THE NEXT DAY********
An array of colours are displayed at this questionable