Monologue Ap Lang Essay
Lang’s thoughts are killing me right now. I feel his wrath spewing around me like a tornado, becoming more powerful as new thoughts join old ones: ‘Monster’, ‘Soul-less’,
‘Criminal’. He condemns me without speaking. He passes by my stall with ruefulness, he spits in my food as he hands it to me without looking at me. But today, as he hands me my grub, he looks at me. He looks into me. But all I see in him is disgust.
His silence is my sentence. The sentence the judge did not give me. The sentence where I spend 6 months in jail, not an abridged three. His sentence declares me a rapist. And he says all of this without a single word.
Today is my last day in jail. Yelling guards startle me awake. “Out of bed!” “You’re cleaning the bathrooms today ladies and gentlemen!” …show more content…
Few of us are actually respectable people. Then again, few in this dump are wrongly convicted.
For the past 91 days, I have thought back to that night, but each time I go through the story I’ve repeated over and over again, I still believe she wanted it. And by it I mean me…
Three months prior:
Seven beers is my limit. I know that because of my party with the toilet two weeks ago.
But I’m holding my fifth beer in my hand, thinking “Hell, I don’t feel too bad.” And the ladies are looking fine tonight, so why not stay a little longer?
“Hey Finch!” Swinging my head to the right, I see Jason my big, meandering my way.
“Did you catch Sarah break dancing in the garage? She was like, like a frickin’ whirlwind.” He swings his arms in loops and spins in circles, trying to imitate her “whirlishness”. As if a real wind comes and laces its gusts around his ankles, Jason trips, falls, and passes out. A girl to my left laughs, so of course, I ignore Jason to see who she is. With all my gentlemanliness, I stand up straight, sloshing my beer (which occupies my right hand), stick out my left hand, and
‘Criminal’. He condemns me without speaking. He passes by my stall with ruefulness, he spits in my food as he hands it to me without looking at me. But today, as he hands me my grub, he looks at me. He looks into me. But all I see in him is disgust.
His silence is my sentence. The sentence the judge did not give me. The sentence where I spend 6 months in jail, not an abridged three. His sentence declares me a rapist. And he says all of this without a single word.
Today is my last day in jail. Yelling guards startle me awake. “Out of bed!” “You’re cleaning the bathrooms today ladies and gentlemen!” …show more content…
Few of us are actually respectable people. Then again, few in this dump are wrongly convicted.
For the past 91 days, I have thought back to that night, but each time I go through the story I’ve repeated over and over again, I still believe she wanted it. And by it I mean me…
Three months prior:
Seven beers is my limit. I know that because of my party with the toilet two weeks ago.
But I’m holding my fifth beer in my hand, thinking “Hell, I don’t feel too bad.” And the ladies are looking fine tonight, so why not stay a little longer?
“Hey Finch!” Swinging my head to the right, I see Jason my big, meandering my way.
“Did you catch Sarah break dancing in the garage? She was like, like a frickin’ whirlwind.” He swings his arms in loops and spins in circles, trying to imitate her “whirlishness”. As if a real wind comes and laces its gusts around his ankles, Jason trips, falls, and passes out. A girl to my left laughs, so of course, I ignore Jason to see who she is. With all my gentlemanliness, I stand up straight, sloshing my beer (which occupies my right hand), stick out my left hand, and