House On Mango Street Monologue

Charlie closes the door and flops on his bed.”God I hate this place.” He thinks. “The sink is leaky, the walls are too thin, and the heater is always being “fixed”. I get home from work late at night and the neighbor above me is always blaring music. I’ve only lived here a few weeks and im already at my wits end. I haven’t bothered to meet any of my neighbors save the one that i am constantly asking to turn down their music.” He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. Thats when he hears a strange noise

the situation. When he took the phone out of my hands, Mr. Pignati suggested that we go over to his house and collect the donation. And of course, John accepted. The loneliness in Mr. Pignati’s voice reminded me of that older woman that lived in the living room, of my teachers house. I should have never bothered that man. I should have never picked that name because now we to have to go to his house, and get money from him. The next day when I woke up, I couldn’t stop imagining what

When I was about 5 years younger, I was fascinated with survivalism. Me and a group of goddamn hippies and EDM dipshits went out to the desertous gorgeous hell known as Anza Borrego. I intended on surviving at least one day by using only the deserts resources to survive. So I only ate insects, aloe, and mushrooms... eh, psychedelics to specify. More like food poison induced disassociation to be partially medically accurate. I was dating the first Jasmine (I've had a history of dating girls

It’s been a month since I asked Maria to marry her. I want to marry her so bad, but I have to get everything in order here. The ex-eejits are confused and I don’t know what to do. The countries they came from are not letting them go back right now. I think about all of the things I have to do as I’m laying in bed. I haven’t been able to sleep for the past month. I hear my door creak and I look at the door. I see someone open the door very slowly before coming in. I look to see Maria tiptoeing into

Lisa’s new house- Friday afternoon As LISA finishes taking her boxes to her room she begins writing LISA When I first heard we were moving here, I thought to myself. Why did dad have to take this job? I mean I don’t hate it here. I just hate the fact that I didn’t get to tell most of my friends I was leaving. Although, something good came out of this. I get to see an old friend of mine, at least start something over. This house is nicer than the one before. I still remember

Stanford feels his phone vibrating. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees that it’s Jamie calling. He pushes answer and brings the phone to his ear, “Nice to hear from you again, Jamie” He says kindly. “James, something weird is going on. I’m afraid something is going to happen,” said Jamie with a worried tone. Stanford, who is confused about what is going on, asks “Hold on Jamie. What would make you think that something is going to happen?” Jamie takes a deep breath and answers, “There was this

mostly for her famous book, ‘The House on Mango Street’. The book was based off her neighborhood that she grew up In Chicago. In 1995,

In The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, she tells an earnest coming-of-age story about a young (likely pre-teen) girl named Esperanza living in her lively, impoverished neighborhood. Composed of present-tense, loosely-related vignettes in first person, The House on Mango Street is both viscerally perceptive and heartbreakingly innocent, brimming with melancholy, nostalgia, and hope. Through unique structures, embedded dialogue, and familiar imagery, Cisneros constructs a deceptively rustic

As might be expected from the rich input of her cultural background, Kiran Desai, daughter of the author Anita Desai is a born story-teller. Her first novel, Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard (1998), is a fresh look at life in the sleepy provincial town of Shahkot in India. At 35 years old, Desai is the youngest woman ever to win the prize and was already highly acclaimed in literary circles for her first novel ‘Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard’ which won a Betty Trask award [2] when it was published