Mystery Monologue

The book “Our Guys” is more of a cultural and sociological study than just a mere crime book. Bernard provides detailed information about the story of a young girl known as Leslie who was raped by the Jocks in a town known as Glen ridge in New Jersey. The story reports that the Jocks had been in trouble since their middle years in school. However they were considered the star athletes, golden boys in a town that valued competition and athleticism. The behavior of one of the young men was so inexplicable and revolting; however, he was never charged or punished for his actions. As Bernard puts it, you would walk in a high school with a cabinet full of trophies, game balls and other accoutrements, but surprisingly, you would not be able to find the honor roll list (Lefkowitz, 1997).

The rain had just stopped pouring, and we had all gathered in a park nearby, as a makeshift memorial for Johnny. It wasn’t really a funeral, we didn’t have the budget for that, and it wasn’t like his parents cared enough to give him a proper goodbye.

The parents played a major role in the deliquency of these young men, however they were not alone. The other students acceptance and adoration of the “jocks” behavior is as much to blame as anything else that led up to this behavior exhibited by the “jocks”. The “little mothers”( as they were referred as) were treated with disrespect and as sexual objects. They would repeatedly engage in acts of voyeurism. They would also willingly fellate any member of this group, and some would even go so far as “making a train” or other acts of group sex with “our guys”. Many of these girls were referred to as “trained seals” and were proud of their titles.(p. 147) There was never any complaints made and as the boys got older the more deviant they became.

As a young boy I watched as my organ flowers disappear and I asked myself “will I see them again?” The space was trembling under its weight and I didn’t think anyone would understand how I was feeling. Organ flowers all decayed, and I will see them again.

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.

I had never smelled a corpse before today, but now it fills the air like poison, as cruel to the mind as it is to the nose. It’s pungent, rotten, and sickly sweet, the smile on an assassin’s face before he kills your soul. I don’t want to open my eyes to see the source, but it must be nearby, as I feel his cold skin, roughened by the last few months that probably made him grateful of his death, against my own. My eyelids are heavy, begging me not to lift them, not to move at all, to lie there until God takes pity on me too, and lets me go.

Michael and his friends accompanied Rameck onto the college campus. Rameck hoped that they'd be inspired to attend, since Michael used to be smart. Michael endured years of bullying and teasing because of his intelligence, and as a result of this, hid his brain behind a facade of new muscles and toughness. His friends, though, were all completely nuisances. All day, Michael and his friends ran across the campus wild, screaming and causing disturbances.

The five-minute warning bell goes off. I rush to my first class of my junior year, eager to see my classmates, who I was going to spend the rest of the 9 months with. I find myself stumbling into a classroom plastered with decorations of Denzel Washington with a Dr. Seuss book in his hand, a t and college flags galore. My AP English 11 class suddenly seemed so appealing to me. As a beautiful, curly haired short lady stood in front of me and said “Welcome to AP English 11,” I knew that I had found a treasure so much greater than just a pretty classroom. Little did I know, that short lady was going to inspire me throughout my challenge filled second-to-last year of high school.

The fact that the ‘guys’ were brought up to be domineering and sports oriented made them a perfect match for Glen Ridge and a terror for society. They lived for sports and for the power it brought them, for as Lefkowitz points out, "Glen Ridge was football" (72). If one didn’t like or didn’t play the game, he or she was a nobody (72). For the parents of Glen Ridge teenagers, it was a fate worse than death to have a son uninterested in football or sports in general (73). It was this obsession over football and the boys’ ability to play it that granted them so many liberties. "Jocks get drunk at parties. Jocks acted boorishly on occasion. Sometimes jocks were a little more aggressive with girls than good manners permitted" (73). All of these actions were overlooked however because they were "being boys" and it was thought that they would grow out of it. This is the underlying base of Lefkowitz’s book, that the behavior of "the guys" was assumed to be stereotypical, and therefore all right. What kind of justice is that for the girl who were the victims of such aggression? Assuming that they would grow out of such behavior is ludicrous, yet it remained the solution to the problem of jock behavior; let them grow up, no harm done (73). But irreversible damage had already been done to the teens involved in the case, not to mention their peers. The boys had lived rooted in aggression. A characteristic that strong and

Intro this monologue takes place in a small town in Texas its about a family of three the father mother and daughter. The father lost his job and became an abusive alcoholic and the daughter had enough listen to it, then the next morin she is in the sheriff’s office and her mother in the hospital with the father in the morgue. (The daughter has heavy accent and I tried to put that into my words, so some words will not be spelled correctly.)

Abigail Jay stood in front of the school on the rain drenched steps, rocking on her heels. She was waiting for Jimmy, her uncle to close the shop for ten minutes to come and get. Most of the other students had already left from the campus once the last bell rang, they booked it. Abigail was use to waiting for Jimmy, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be late and if anything she’d be worried if he was on time. Abigail tangled with the pull strings of her hoodie, an excited smile on her face.

My life was flashing before my eyes, I was realizing what was happening death was coming. Cold and stillness filled the room while the feeling of death started to overtake my body it was a different feeling but it had to come. My limbs felt heavy and I thought real slow everything was slowing down. Just then something odd happened like nothing I ever thought some sound came into the room an annoying buzzing creature.

I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know it could kill me. One time when I was 8, I was playing with some chapstick. I was putting It on everything when I decided to take a bite out of it. I ended up getting really sick and almost dying.

I’ve always had issues with feeling. I either don't feel anything or feel too much. It’s tiring, entertaining all these people, making them feel important when in reality I’ve probably considered killing them all. I think about death a lot, and I shouldn’t. I don’t love

I stood between the two bodies, looking into their lifeless, glassy eyes. Crimson blood pooled around their stiff bodies. More blood ran down the blade of the knife I clutched in my hand, gathering at the point and slowly dripping on my leg. What had he done?