detail the loneliness and suffering of Penelope’s years away from Ulysses. The techniques used were really basic; I used lots of adjectives‚ and tried to use imagery words to give the reader the image of Penelope reaching out to her true love. Monologue: For so Long I have suffered inside these forlorn walls All happiness has been drained from the inside I am nothing… Too many days have gone by without a letter Travelling the seas to unknown lands Ulysses‚ my love‚ come back to me! Can’t
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Salve 7A! Today I will be doing a monologue for a gladiator! My heart pounds like a drum as thousands of romans scream in delight as I slay yet another gladiator in these accursed games. It is not my wish to participate in this horrid ring of blood‚ pain and death‚ but I must‚ for I am Priscus‚ a Celt‚ born and raised on the outskirts of Cisalpini‚ and captured by roman soldiers in 55 B.C whilst protecting my country. I worked in a pit‚ mining stone for Rome’s grand new city. One day a man came to
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that day‚ The moving truck slowly pulls up to 406 Clybourne Street in the ever so famous‚Clybourne Park. As the truck comes to a stop we see first‚ Travis jump out of the car and run around in the big yard. Then slowly Ruth steps out of car as does Beneatha. The two women stand utterly baffled at the beauty of the mansion sized house. They study the white-picket fence‚ the fresh paint on the wooden shingles and the dazzling scene of the multi-story bricked abode. Walter has started helping the moving
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Monologue of Tybalt the Capulet I am Tybalt‚ a Capulet and cousin of Juliet. I am known as short-tempered‚ impulsive‚ and a vengeful person‚ I draw my sword anytime I can. However I am loyal beyond words and honour the family rivalry between the Capulets and the Montagues with great heart. I will never betray the Capulets. On the day of Capulets’ party Romeo showed up. I recognised Romeo through his disguise at the Capulets’ ball. I can’t remember that we invited him to our party. Why is Romeo
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AN EVERYDAY MONOLOGUE This is an essay‚ and I don’t feel like spilling any of my secrets. Because that’s what I just did. Then you know I backspaced the entire thing. The End. But its too short‚ eh? Oh I can do so much better than this. I could tell you all the things‚ all the things in the world! But I’m a little neurotic you see. And paranoid. I can make weird twisted connections in which how anyone could figure out my true identity just by having that one bit of information I put out. For
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Crooks monologue: Jus because I’m a nigger [examines luger shell from Carlson’s gun] they’d probably shoot me like Candy’s dog if it was as much fun as the scourge they put me through‚ [walks to window and leans against the frame] just because I’m a busted up ol’ nigger‚ [scowls and bites his bottom lip] no-one wants to talk with me or anything. [Glares up into the stars and becomes furious] S’pose I weren’t‚ s’pose I was just like the rest of em‚ and that new fella‚ that big stupid bastard‚ s’pose
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MONOLOGUES Female 6-7 My Daddy says I’m his little Princess. A Princess? Really? I love being a Princess! (claps hands with little jumps) Princesses are always pretty‚ perky‚ and very‚ very brave. (Pause‚ tilt head and place hands on hips) I wonder why no one ever told me this before! Male 6-7 . . . . . A dollar? Seriously? Can’t you do better than that? (Look up thinking) Let’s see‚ what would I like? Hmm. It would be fun to have a super power. I could fly through the sky (raise arms as if
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Monologue- an Athenian Man Fed up of the dark‚ tossing sea I was keen to lay down our spoils at the foot of Apollo in dedication‚ already planning the arrangements of invitations‚ wine and Hetari for the feast I would give out in celebration of my homecoming. Wearied by the hills of Cerata‚ wetted with blood- a righteous token of the brute treachery of our Megarian allies‚ our trireme Aianteia‚ was pulled with steady shoulders‚ the eretai crying “rhup-pa-pai” as‚ skirting the moles‚ we made for
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Holocaust Monologue: Memoir of Eva Buchbinder (from Torn Threads by Anne Isaacs) My name is Eva Buchbinder. I have many family members that live with me in the fenced in ghetto of Bedzin‚ Poland; my father‚ Papa‚ my sister‚ Rachel‚ my aunt‚ Rivka‚ Uncle Nathaniel‚ and my cousin‚ David. Papa‚ Rachel‚ and I used to live in the proper part of town in Bedzin‚ but once Hitler came to power he made many laws that condemned us because we were Jewish. In the winter of 1942 we were forced to move
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saluting enthusiastically to their red-robed leaders under the yellow star; the boat crammed with coughing throats and calloused hands; blood washed away by the rains. She talked about things I had only ever heard about from the kind of tragic monologues that hot-shot actors won Oscars for and only shed real tears for at the podium. But unlike the performers’ melodramatic shouts of magniloquent misdirected emotion and the onion tears I associated with this kind of language‚ she seemed perfectly
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