Friday, 4 January 2013
03:29:40 PM (GMT)
An entry for my English Language coursework. The task was to create a monologue
with a hidden message, something the speaker didn't immediately give away. This works
best with an English, Northern accent.
(A middle-aged man sits in the edge of his armchair, hands tightly clasped in his
lap. His foot taps nervously).
I've, urm, I've lived here for...five, yes five years now. It's mine and Marie's, my
wife's, dream home. We moved here in 1953...I think, yes 1953 because it was the year
before our daughter Susan was born. She's our whole life, she is. The only thing me
and Marie would truly give our lives for, our Sue. She's the reason that this...house
guest is worrying. I don't know what to call it other than a 'house guest'. I mean I
can't call it a, a gho-, a whatever they like to call 'em these days. You can see it
in the garden, just staring. Staring and staring. Are we really that damn
interesting?! (He slams his fist down on the the arm of the chair)(Pause)
Sorry, I don't normally raise my voice. It's just- I can't...What man doesn't
want to protect his family? And what can you do against these- these things?
(Pause) Maybe it's just my nervous disposition: souvenir from the war.
I just...I just wish there was something I could do, y'know? We tried so hard to
raise our social standin' in his town: we moved to a nice part; bought a bigger
house. I garden every weekend to keep thee place lookin' spick-and-span. That was,
is...um I did. Until it took over the garden, so to speak. I saw Sue's swing moving
the other evening'. It were a completely windless night and yet it were moving. They
were using my little girl's swing! (Pause) Look...(Shows hand) I'm shaking, Jesus.
Sorry, I try not to blaspheme - I'm a very religious man - but this sort of thing, it
test your faith so it does. I know thhey talk in church about the 'Holy Ghost', but
there's nothing holy about this. What kind of God would subject a family - a good,
god-fearing family, no-less - to something like this? If I could be honest to anyone
about this, to anyone but myself, I'd speak to Reverend Oliver. He'd know what to do.
But to admit this, t-to admit to anyone else that you're essentially crazy! It's
ridiculous. I know it exists. I know it's here. But I can't. I can't...I can't...I
can't. (Pause) Don't ask me why I just can't (Long pause as he rubs his
It's made me drink more as well. Aye, it only used to be the odd tipple down the pub
on a Friday. Now it's all the time, everyday. My poor Marie; she can't cope with this
and me. I'll drive her to...If I dont...Oh God, why are you doing this to me?
(Drops head into hands, sobbing softly) Why me? Why?
Last edited: 4 January 2013