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INTERNAL MONOLOGUE EXAMPLES

First Person POV:  Internal Monologue

Now don't misunderstand me, I mean, I want you to know from the beginning that I'm not really stupid. I know what's right and wrong for a girl to do. I get around, I read, I listen to my friends, and I have two older brothers to tell me what to do. I know it's becoming to wear slimming skirts and smart blouses, and stockings, and French-heeled shoes. And I know your hair should be kept neatly, with maybe a little bow at the top. Now me, I don't wear my hair too high like some; it makes me too young, and it just doesn't suit me. Well, anyway, I'm not in the least bit small-town. I read "Dear Abby." I read Woman’s Day.  I get to know how men think, how to make my cheeks look like they have natural blush, and what is currently the prettiest. This isn't really what I wanted to tell you. I just wanted you to get the general idea of how I'm not stupid. It's vital that you understand that.

You see, it was funny how I met him.

 

Who is this character?

 

How is this character portrayed?  (What’s this character’s personality?)

 

Where/when is the character?

 

What’s the situation?

 

 

Third Person POV:  Internal Monologue

The woman turned to look down the street, her eyes following the streaky tail lights of the car as it disappeared into the rain.  For the first time, she felt alone.  The rain poured down, trickling through her hair, insisting its way through her clothes.  Would they be alright?  Would they be able to sleep tonight without her near?  Far down the street, the car turned a corner and was gone.

The woman walked back to the house, puddles flooding her bare feet.  That house.  It’s empty now.  How would it sound?  She pulled open the rusted screen door, stepped inside, and left a river of water on the floor as she wandered through the house, listening.  All there was…  was silence.  It must be silence.  What else could it be?  The sound, the lack of sound was so new to her, it hurt.  She rubbed her ears, disbelieving the void.  Where were their voices?  The pounding of the feet?  Could they be upstairs or in the little room beyond the kitchen?  They’re hiding, they must be hiding, maybe playing hide-and-seek, waiting for someone to find them.  The woman climbed the stairs, the rain splattering on the window sills, the creaking of the steps not reaching her ears.  Under the bed, they love hiding under the bed.  I’ll hold my breath so they won’t hear me, and I’ll go on my tiptoes.  It’ll be a surprise.  They think they’re tricking me, but I’ll trick them… and they’ll laugh and scream gleefully and run… and the rain won’t matter.  We’ll bake cookies like we always did.  They’ll tell me they love me, and I’ll tickle them and hug them and know they’ll always be mine, mine, mine, no matter what that ugly woman says who comes and tells me I’m not good enough.  No, she won’t come today.  We’ll just play.  We’ll make a fort out of the sofa.  We’ll make paper airplanes as torpedoes.  We’ll eat cookies and popcorn until it’s dark, and they’ll make me a paper crown.  And I’ll tuck them in bed and sing them a lullaby, the only lullaby I’ve ever sung to my babies, my babies, my babies…

The woman crouched, a smile ready on her lips, and pulled the bedcovers up only to be confronted by the emptiness that once was her heart.

 

Using a PENCIL (or erasable pen), underline the places in the mini-story above where the author slips into “internal monologue.” 

 

Who is this character?

 

How is this character portrayed?  (What’s this character’s personality?)

 

Where/when is the character?

 

What’s the situation?