Maria Monologue Analysis

How are you? It’s time for breakfast, love” she says. Patiently. Pure wickedness. Uncontrollable shudders rack my frail body, every tendon convulsing with rage. “Get out” I spit through clenched teeth. She leers at me through perfect mascara. “Iris. Please. You need to do this. Please, do try to cooperate with me” she whispers, reaching for the feeding bag connected to the tubes trailing from my nostrils. I thrash vigorously, a croaky whine escaping my mouth. “Stop! Stop! No, get out!” I cry. Wrath abrades every inch of my being, a searing heat hisses through my body like deadly poison. I frantically fumble with the tubes, panic jolting through my veins. I try to tear the roots, every clear cylindrical root digging into my flesh. Bitter tears roll down my cheeks, blurring my vision, dribbling their salty acid onto my lips. “Iris! Calm down! Help! I need assistance in here!” she shouts desperately. She attempts to grasp my shoulders to steady me. I grab a fistful of auburn hair and yank it strenuously. I release as she howls in pain, and with the scant energy I have, send her hurtling across the room. The gardener topples into her wheelbarrow, crashing to the ground, her bag of seeds and her

Feeble, isolation and dreaded anticipation. I will describe my sadness as death by a thousand paper cuts. For every time I remember that my little boy is leaving me, possibly forever, another cut is sliced across my already weakened heart. None are enough to kill me, but powerful enough to deeply scar. My stinging heart clenches at the thought of the risk that he is putting himself up to. Slowly, I lift my trembling hand with the sellotape bandage wrapped around it, and limply brush off as many white cat hairs as possible. Holding back the temptation to graze my nose across the tip of his and run a hand through the gelled blackthorns of his hair. I attempted to distract myself by smoothening out the creases in the uniform. Can’t the clocks

The world went to hell at eleven thirty, Wednesday on the eighth of June, 2003. Maggie wasn’t quite sure why she remembered the exact time and day, perhaps it was because her class always had English at eleven thirty on Wednesdays.

Twelve hours of pain, anger, and regret and still I don’t feel complete. I thought I would be released, but still it haunts me. No, it’s preoccupied my thoughts since those months ago, the anger, the pain, the regret. I should have carved it out, then I would have felt relief. No, I would’ve waited, waited until it took form and scrape it out from my insides and walked up to him and delivered it on a platter to him and her. It would have been a glorious moment. His pain, her disgust, my delight. Yet, he’s free with that woman, planning their lives; I’m here in these white walls, filled with bright lights, the smell of antiseptic, and nurses moving back and forth. Finally, there was silence, the nurse having left, probably for me to bond with it. Yet, there was no affection to cultivate, I promised, that the moment it was free I would slice its body open from head to navel, watching it bleed, a practice doll for what I would do to him. I slowly inched towards where it was held, a white crib being inhabited by a dark

The woman’s dirt stained sweatshirt is damp with my tears and snot. I sniff, hiccupping. My breathing comes and goes in ragged, panicked gasps. My lungs are tight and my eyes hot. I feel sick as images of Emerson’s bloody body and the spray of Leighton’s brains against the tree flash through my mind.

After having relieved my cough, I noticed that the cloth contained blood. My eyes shot open and my heart pounded. It bubbled, like it was a mixture of air and mucus. The red eerily contrasted against the white, the blood bringing evil to the purity of the white. There was a lump in my throat, and despite the fact that the pain was unbearable, I held the ear piercing scream in. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.

Asking why I was doing this, praying that he would be spared. It was adorable, his struggle, but I held no qualms, and lifted his shirt gently, claws just ghosting over the smooth expanse of skin. Te scars were not fully healed, and they were still a lovely pink. I took my hand and curved into a round claw, before jabbing them a tiny bit deeper than before into Madison's stomach. Oh how he screamed, but I only dragged them in a light circle, leaving trickles of blood in my wake.I did this twice more, one even surrounding his navel. When I was done, hiss was heaving for breath, and I pressed my hand to the scratched on his middle. He wouldn't loose any blood this way, and I took him back home this time. Putting him through this window and then, as most things of the night do, I vanished from his sight. But I could even tell as my being began to decompose, he would think of me tonight. The creature- the silent monster, the one who would relentlessly hurt but never give a reason for it. I would be his one sole obsession, as he was

I looked back again at Mel’s door. I thought about how I could open it at any given moment, and all of Mel’s debts she doesn’t know I’ve been counting would be exhumed. I thought about how I shouldn’t do things for rewards, how I shouldn’t keep track of who owed me what, because real true blue, honest-to-God Good People didn’t do that. I thought about how I should learn how to just let go. I thought about how I should say “I don’t mind, because we’re family and we have to stick together.” I thought about toxoplasma gondii, and how the back of my brain murmured about how my head was probably swarming with parasites now, while Mel got off scot-free. The muffled agitation reared its ugly head up. The more I thought about it, the more my skull

Jane?” Another one was coming. She yanked the knife from the one in front of her and whipped around to confront the other. She would never go down without a fight. “Alice! Jane – my god. Jane! Jane, are you alright? My god – there’s so much blood.” It kept its distance – likely waiting for more of its kind to come. She would strike it down before they had the chance to get there. “Alice,” it said, almost as if it was begging. She ignored it, just as they ignored her, and cornered it. “Alice, please,” it pretended to sob but she would never believe that they felt emotions. She cut through it just as she had the other. She would be free

Guilt, despair, and heartache laced the congested ICU room and I trembled, struggling to keep myself upright. My dry, cold hands gripped the countertop, sending pain up my arms from the sharp edges. Thoughts ran through my head, but I couldn’t understand any of them. I stood lost and confused with the rest of my family. My lip quivered as I glanced around at everyone’s sullen faces. All of us were here for one reason. She lay on the small hospital bed in the center of the room, silent and still.

“No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal --the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour“(1).

His hand pressed harder into his side. The slide of fabric against raw flesh made him suck in a breath through his teeth. He stumbled, had to grab the wall for support. For a moment, he just leaned his forehead against the cool brick. It gave him some relief, cold against the sweaty heat of his forehead; the dull throbbing of his head subsided slightly. The throbbing in his side, sadly, did not. He could still feel the heat of blood, sticky and coating his palms, stuck between the creases of his fingers. He felt as though he could never wash it off. His hands would permanently be stained with the red of his own blood.

“I said you’re so ding dong. Ding dong, ding dong.” Before Imara could respond, her eyes opened to the sight of her dimly lit bedroom. She glanced at the time on her phone to see ten minutes had gone by. “Ding dong,” the doorbell sang again. She got up and headed to the door. When she opened it, there was no one in sight. The only thing visible was the cloudless sky, unsaturated bluebells, and the vacant street. She closed the door. As she walked back into her room, she bumped her scarred arm into the door handle. “Ow,” she bawled. The intense pain was throbbing. She took a glance at her arm, and noticed a severely red shadow-- her blood was dried up in a dark shade of purple. ”Oh my god,” Imara said in disbelief. She ran to the bathroom. In a frantic hurry, she tried to find rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and gauze pads. Imara searched high and low, but couldn’t find

The group of men just stood there in a thorny manner, they looked at me as if I was asinine. The room presented me with shvers, nevertheless it wasn’t only the temperature swooning. Why weren’t they taking me away. Couldn't they see the cold and limp body parts. I felt that feeling again. The chills clipped inside of me like gunshots piercing by back and spine. I witnessed the eye gleam in a crimson red color. I briskly grabbed the odious eye. Held it in front of their very eyes and seized my valiant fist. It will no longer tantalize me any longer. I looked down the gush that permeated my palm which felt like an eternity at last I pulled a long awaited grin that pulled back and made a small furrow in my smile as it showed my yellowed putrid teeth.

The pain from my arm numbed me to the bone, tears streamed down my face finally turning into a waterfall of tears. “Hmm. Melody, I like the taste of that name,” a silky voiced resonated around me. Twisting my head in the direction of the voice I looked for the source but was unable to find one. “W-w-who are you?” I wailed. “Nobody of importance my dear.” Pain still coursing through me, I delicately rose from