(This monologue is effective at the point when Blanche gets raped. She gets to find pleasure in solitude and does so in the washroom (Tennessee, 2015).)
I do not like a failure though something is bittersweet about the same. Sometimes it feels more achievable the moment I throw my last card on the gaming table; I have the opportunity to be the winner of the game. But, no, nobody can stop a vigorous beast from attaining what he pursues. I believe the beast is in charge of the jungle. Isnt he? The jungle defines him; he is the King. He roars and charges with rigor. I have feeling that he has the power to speak with autonomy. My major goal has been to be at the top in my little world. But again, Stanley Kowalski is the king who runs the jungle. Oh, Kowalski
(She lifts her head, lowers it, closes her eyes. She feels shaky, her hands wet and she puts them on the forehead. With the intention to grab the perfume bottle, though dark, she stretches the left hand (Tennessee, 2015). One figure is hurt, from the fight with Stanley, blood oozes from the wound. It is the bottle that caused the deep cut.) Ouch! The bottle was my only solace with other men who were a source of trouble in my life. I never knew it could disappoint me with the one I believed might have been secure from. (She touches the blood with the unhurt figure and stares.)
Would you stare all thatit seems like a Polack would have all that he wants but not transform the lie my blood had? Stanley, you can be overcome by who? I know you can be beaten.
Something quite imperative, would defeat you? Who expected something like that? How now it is like similar color like for Allans quite a strange occurrence. Can my blood be exactly like that one which comes from Allans body? He seemed so unique and that he is not for this small world of mine. He was not meant for this kind of life. Did I establish a death sentence? I know it's me! (Laughs). His alleged sweetheart! His better half! However, I offered him my love so much, but he failed me quite often. (Sighs). No, no, but no! It is my entire fault. It was me running away from something dirty that lead to him shooting. When in reality, yes in actual sense, I was quite dirtier than he would have been by then or forever.
I have always been a traitor! Why must I lie and lie over again? I am confused! When everybody can stare through my paper lamp, and if I say the truth. When I speak all the truththere is not even soil to listen to my sentiments.
Why am I hiding? And, why am I hiding right now?
(Hands tremble, she feels bad looking at them, she wipes the blood on the white linen)
(Whispers) Dirty Blanche...always been dirty! What can be the reason for showing the illusion? My blood on the white linen, pretty dress indeed, will it depict the world who I am in actuality?
(Music becomes louder, Blanche covers her ears with her hands and drops on the ground with winking face) Wait, Wait, please! I can accept to the truth, I am guilty in front of a clueless judge, give me whatever sentence but take the suffering off right away, take excruciating music now am done!
(Music surges low. Blanche struggles up.)
There is no worse solitude, no worse prison, than one created in ones own small world and mind
Tennessee, W. (2015). A streetcar named desire (1st ed., pp. 1-10). New York, NY: New Directions.
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