Carmen Fuchsiello Monologue

I walked up onto the stage to dance “The Fire Bird” with my anxiousness to finally get my chance to take the stage. My knees were wobbly and I was nervous but once I got out on stage there was no turning back. I felt the cool breeze along with a fast pace rush as I dance along the smooth floor. It felt amazing Then I say to myself “dance from your heart and love your music,and the audience will love you in return”. I always felt the feeling of giving my all for the audience because dancing was something that I truly loved. They say I was born to dance. I am known as a Prima Ballerina. I’m 5 feet 9 inches tall. Some people say I was considered America's first Prima Ballerina. I have one sister named Marjorie, we were very close sisters. Marjorie

I kept writing. It was hard, but I could get everything off of my chest. I could explain to people what had happened to me. I could tell my English teacher. It was a little hard, but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Greasers didn’t cry.

Getting to know Sydney made me realize a lot more about life. Going into college I felt agitated because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, and maybe moving here was a mistake, but Sydney reassured me. Although tomorrow is a mystery, we need to have faith that it’ll bring us exactly what we need. Her story of having a youth full of uncertainty and now having a life of complete sense has given me hope that I will be okay, and to just enjoy today and it’s opportunities.

Hello my name is Madelyn Johnson, I attend Bartels Middle School and am a 11 years old. I have played ball ever since I was little and fell in love with it instantly. I would watch the Brewers all the time and they give me motivation. I really appreciate how many of the activities are involved around children. I wish I could go to more games in the summer.

Picture her playing on the jungle gym. Swinging and sliding and laughing. Big grin, Mary Janes, and a sequin dress on.

Jarvis was quickly interrupted by the commander asking, “Wait, what’s the Cuse area?” Jarvis paused to pick at his mashed potatoes with his fork before beginning again. “I’m from Syracuse. The Cuse is just what we locals call it. Well, at least that’s what we used to call it. Now, I’m not too sure what it might be. But I suppose the place really couldn’t have gotten much worse.”

Today, Herr Dippel complimented my English. He told me I am much improved from three years ago. This makes me happy. Herr Dippel has taught me many things but English he

I, Hilda Cardona, declare that I was a victim of domestic violence next to my ex-partner, Jose Sanchez. I will tell you a bit about my life next to him and how I met my ex-partner. I would say he was 10 years older than me. I will tell you how I met him when I was 15 years of age and I left my house, I used to leave with my parents.

“William! Get back here! You know that’s Melinda’s land!” Carefree young William raced through the field, closing in on Melinda´s apple orchard. Melinda was the evil fairy who owned 25 acres just outside the town. On her land was an orchard. In this orchard grew the finest apples in all of England. These large, sweet apples were desired by any who laid eyes on them. The only problem was Melinda… She cursed anyone who dared step foot on her land, especially her cherished apple orchard.

As I begin to ascend the mountain, Indians and Spaniards wait at the foot of the mountain, as if they are the Israelites and I are alone is off to speak with God. I know that from this peak I will be able to see the western water, what I have already decided to name the South Sea. I take a musket with me. The Spaniards have been warned, if they follow me, I will use it, because discovery is a tricky matter and I wants no competition. I begin my ascend slowly up the pristine slopes, over the mud and the leaves.

I can't believe that after nine months, after all those bad night I spent, they just took my child away. What do they know, there was nothing wrong with him, he looked fine. The worst part is, I can't do anything about it. I saw as that young Spartiate took him away, he carried him as if he was nothing. I understand, that our society does not allow it. That the reason why it is not allowed is because he is seen as a waste of food and resources, but that is my kid, I miss him. My child is a high price to pay but then again, this lifestyle that we live is given to us by the same people who took him. The gerousia gives us these slaves that do our work and feed us. They allow us to enjoy life with minimum. They must know what they are doing. No they don't, who are they to tell me that there is something wrong with my child.

My fingers find the edge of the shutters and crack them open to show the dark, grim night. At this time I should see happy families with dizzy tired kids leaving the show grounds, but I don’t, I see war zone.

remember being pregnant with my eldest daughter, perusing Facebook, when a mom friend posted a picture of her son’s poop on her wall. “He did it … he finally did it!” was captioned on the photo. As I stared at the newsfeed page, all I could think of was, ‘why?’ I mean really, who does this, who in their right mind does this? I don’t want to look at my own poo … why the heck would I want to look at his all grossed up in the toilet? My friend’s joyous celebration of her potty trained offspring was my first encounter with a mom who liked to talk about poop. Somehow, I naively thought that this annoying trait would never, ever hit me as a mother. Yet, a few days after the birth of my first daughter, I found myself doing something I never thought I would do: obsessing about stinky number twos.

So, my cheeks are flushing as everyone around me roars with laughter. As their stares pierce through me, I can feel an eruption of shame course through my veins. It must have been entertaining to watch, I’ll admit, but to actually experience it was mortifying.

At that moment, I wondered, what happened to me? In a classroom setting, there are various types of students. The ones who stay silent and doesn’t speak up, the ones who never pay attention, but is rarely caught, the ones who love to participate and make the class known that they are important. Hard to believe, but I was once one of those talkative children who obsessed about getting my thoughts across. However, why did that change? For the past years, I’ve wondered, how did I abruptly change without even noticing?