By Todd London
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Additional resources for Contemporary American Monologues for Men
The rock I’m standing on right now. Our Commander, the man in charge, likes a clean rock. See my broom? See my mop? It is my job to keep this rock clean! My rock is very clean. My rock is the cleanest of all the rocks on our island home. I make the Commander very happy because I do a good job. I help him and in turn he will help me. My Commander, when the time is right, will reward me for a good job well done. My Commander will award me soon and put me in charge of bigger and more important—more important aspects of our island home.
My lungs collapsed. ” You, Father, picked up Quasimoto, a lifeless pile of bloody feathers, holding his head oh so gently, you closed your eyes, and like a great wave receding, you drew a breath that came from deep within your ocean floor. I heard the stones rumble, the mountains shift, the topsoil move, and as your breath slammed on the beaches, Quasimoto sputtered back to life. Oh, Papi, breathe on me. THE LOMAN FAMILY PICNIC BY DONALD MARGULIES Life in eleven-year-old Mitchell’s Coney Island high-rise apartment reminds him a lot of Death of a Salesman, except that it’s 1965 and his beleaguered dad, instead of traveling, sells lighting fixtures out of a showroom in Brooklyn.
I was to blow out the brains from a little spot between the eyes and this death had none of the ritual of the knife. It was an assassination and I believe the natives knew this. Unbearable to have this cow led to me, docile and uncomplaining. She was tied to a post with a little strand of rope and I tried to do the thing very quickly. But you see, I did not do a proper job of it. And the bullet ricocheted off her skull and down into the jaw—this shattered pulp of bone and blood through which she screamed, you see, as I recall it.