Claude To The Interior Monologue

A Cream Cracker Under The Settee is a Monologue, this means it is just 1 person speaking instead of like a normal play, like a normal play it has different characters, like the policeman or the boy said to be ‘spending a penny’ but these do not have a role of great significance, so it just mainly focuses on the main character, Doris.

The Night Face Up by Jose Cortazar is a vivid short story because it transposes the main character's dream and reality. The initial reading for this passage was quite confusing because of the lucid intervals of reality and the dream that the main character was in. It can be seen through Cortzar's use of symbolism, foreshadowing, and style-of-writing that helps the reader better understand the story. Through this text, the reader can understand the fast emotions that the character feels and what to expect next in the short story.

Her lips formed strange and unusual sounds, her eyes closed softly and her cheeks paled. From her side belt she withdrew a small knife, a dagger. With a quick movement she cut her left hand with the dagger. As the drops of blood hit the cold marble floor the knife also clattered to the ground. The girl remained speaking her foreign tongue and let her life's blood run down her outstretched arm.

Elisa has hope of a more interesting life. She takes special care in dressing for dinner. She stares at herself naked in the mirror. She pokes her chest out and tightens her stomach. She puts on sexy lingerie and a dress that brings out her beauty. She puts make-up on. By Elisa looking more like a beautiful sexy woman, she is stepping into her femininity.

Outside, a deep silence fell over the neighborhood. This silence crept into every household. Members of the community had a guise of anger and pain expressed on their faces. Everyone locked themselves inside, to lament such a tragedy that has brought sorrow to a twelve years old’s family. Parents fell on their knees with tears in their eyes. This last murder represented the final straw. So many of their own had been murdered by the malicious, metallic, monsters that were supposed to be the defenders of their community. They felt insecure, threatened by the

The moon, the sky's etermal night light. It's light is as beautiful as the sun itself. But the moon brings something the sun vanquishes, darkness, and the fiercest of predators use its shade to their advantage. But the strongest predator needs no advantage of darkness, no teeth of fangs, for the strongest predator is man. Deep in the forest is a boy on the edge of man hood. He climbs, he hunts, he builds because that is the only life he knows. His body is decorated in different pelts to keep him warm in the cold months and during the windiest of nights. The beginnings of a beard growing on his face due to his increasing maturity. But this child is oblivious to many things, including his own name, Richard. But unlike most people his

Smooth, thin, and cold, the sharp object lying in her hands trembled due to her petite quivering fingers. The unforgiving sharp blade effortlessly sliced through her skin, pain and then numbness overshadowed her thoughts. With the world weighing down on her shoulders and with the sense of oppression, the girl carved into her arm without a feeling of regret. Daring, she placed the knife parallel to her veins located under her thin pasty skin. Finally, with resolution, digging the knife into her small arm, the young tortured girl could feel the deadly weapon tearing and mutilating her long tender veins. Gasping for breath, the pain surged throughout her body. However, with agony coursing through her body, the victim would not stop her leisurely stroll to the grave.

Her mind awakened before her eyes could opened and a thirst plagued her. Soft lips were licked and slender fingers laced through locks that rivaled the darkness of a black sky, as though her mind ached. Finally, a fan of thick lashes lifted and one thing remained: the fire in those eyes. Though Bella could not recall the last few details of her turning, she knew that she had been turned. Fingers and she felt a slight weakness and a burning hunger in the pit of her being, but the girl trudged on with her new found self. Isabella sat up. The girl propped up with her hands behind her, fine digits sunk into the luxurious surface of a very ornate bed as she scanned the room. Alistair, was indeed there, but she stared at a nearby lit candle. The fire was so mesmerizing. The light dancing in her eyes as hunger plagued her, but she paid it no mind, despite how indescribably weak she was feeling. With a sift sigh her support gave out once more and she laid upon her side and watched the dancing flame of the candle. "Alistair." The name a soft whisper upon her barely hued lips. Surprisingly enough a soft little laugh escaped her lips as

I stood at the very rock where she had last lied. Her putrid string of words interfering with my line of sight. I had only met her days back, however, I had felt I had known her for eternity. A constant pressure of darkness looming over my back.

She reaches for the lock and he bites off her arm, and then the people start spewing out of the windows and each is a rat dragging a building and screaming for her to unloose them. She wakes up and, afraid that she might get used to all that he hat and fears about the street, resolves to keep fighting and get away. She thinks of an afternoon the spring before when she had seen a crowd around a man who had been stabbed by a butcher on Lenox Avenue and

The heavy mint cream white fog pours into the room from all sides near and far. In the foreground I can see brilliant cherry red and lime green laser lights flood the room. The four strobe lights positioned behind me are all scintillating a pearl white, in a synchronized pattern. Hundreds of people all sitting out in front of us fill the whole room. The giant vermillion and charcoal colored stage curtains hang from the ceiling all the way down to the floor on the stage right in front of us. Then the giant curtain splits in half both ends quickly accelerating left and right.

Weeping like a baby, I walk away from the frustrating, sweet music that hides such devastating and infuriating emotions. Like a bright red rose that smells of redolent, aromatic fragrance satisfying the nose, yet with thorns that impair when tempted.

Feeling no regret at all, she then began flirting with the man back who was giving her the attention she always dreamed of. Being interested in the stranger, “Her breast swelled passionately “[…]” Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth” (Steinbeck 18). The man then realized what she was doing, but did not react; instead he acted as professional as well as he could. After his departure, she then felt a depression knowing that she might have lost her one chance of happiness. As her husband is taking her out to dinner later on in the night, she asks Henry questions about his hobbies of watching fights and realized that she never had anyone as interested of her gardening skills as much as the departed man did. She felt that at this moment, her dream was then put on hold once more, so her shadow of loneliness and emptiness took over. Her shadow was revealed towards the man who gave the attention she wanted from her husband. She no longer hid or neglect her shadows because she realize what made her happy and went for it in order to fill her

I killed Innocence, her neck so small and fragile, so easy to snap. Her face only showed a moment of fright as I grabbed it in my rough hands and jerked it harshly to the side. Her chocolate brown eyes turned dull as I stared into them angrily, without shame or sympathy. I could see the life leaving her, could almost feel her soul escape with her last exhale. I dropped her body to the ground, only to be met with the cutting knife of Logic.

He glanced in my direction, saw nothing of interest there, and padded to my mother’s sleeping form, leaning towards her face. Staring at her, he took a deep breath and shook her. She awoke with a gasp, the of kind one that emits when a child is about to pull a pot of boiling water onto its head, and whispered fiercely, “What is it?” She had gone, in that instant, from being concerned about the pot of water, to becoming the pot of water: Her usually loving voice turned fixedly dangerous, and I am sure my brother, being astute, saw the imminent explosion in her eyes. Her tone reminded him that his reason for startling her better be good, or he was about to taste some serious pain. She was angry, and why not? My brother had been fired from his job that day for theft of services: giving away toys at his game stand at the local amusement park to those who had not necessarily earned them, and my mother had been furiously livid towards his attitude. My brother and her have had many grievances before, over school, issues at home, in life, but always he managed to bring a smile to her scowling lips and the two reconciled for a time. But now, she spoke again, and the sultry room seemed cool, stiff with her words, and I could almost see the “What?” hovering between them. His reply, which was simple and calm, made me feel my soul scratching at my ribcage and pounding the walls of my body, rushing to leave me at it 's