Tuesday, January 5, 2016

My monologue

It's funny... I thought if you could hear me, I could hang on somehow. Silly me. Silly old Doctor. When you wake up, you'll have a mum and dad, and you won't even remember me. Well, you'll remember me a little. I'll be a story in your head. But that's okay: we're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh? Because it was, you know, it was the best: a daft old man who stole a magic box and ran away. Did I ever tell you I stole it? Well, I borrowed it; I was always going to take it back. Oh, that box, Amy, you'll dream about that box. It'll never leave you. Big and little at the same time, brand-new and ancient, and the bluest blue ever. And the times we had, eh? Would've had. Never had. In your dreams, they'll still be there. The Doctor and Amy Pond... and the days that never came. The cracks are closing. But they can't close properly 'til I'm on the other side. I don't belong here anymore. I think I'll skip the rest of the rewind. I hate repeats. Live well. Love Rory. Bye-bye, Pond.


Pink: Naming
Red: Repetition
Orange: questioning
Green: Metaphor
Blue: Sophisticated syntax
Blue underlined: Simple diction
Light blue: uses repetition and contrast 
light red: powerful words 


No comments:

Post a Comment