Example Of Narrative Charlotte Monologue

“Charlotte?” My baby brother tugs on the end of my sleeve.
“Yes?” I respond.
“Why is the dust so mean to us?” He asks. The answer to that question was found in our field. In the dead crops, the yellow grass, the starving animals, the starving people. The dust’s the only one that had enough to thrive since it stole our happiness, our wealth, and our lives. I rummage through empty cabinets, hoping I might find something- anything to eat. My entire family was absolutely ravenous on behalf of us seeming to be on a strict “dust only” diet. I peered out the window to the, once thriving, field. All I saw was chewed down, withered wheat and yellow grass. Mamma told us, the crops would grow this year. None of us believed that, I suspect she didn’t

I didn’t understand how he could stay so positive, so blithe. I’m sure it’s just an act he puts on for people, an act so they cannot notice the dying man inside him. I always respond with an affirmative answer. Clyde, my baby brother, is a spitting image of my father. Blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. My 12 year-old sister, Marie Jeanne, appears surprisingly similar to my mother. Light brown hair and sea green eyes, but she is nothing like her. I’m the Goldilocks, a perfect balance of my parents. I don’t appear like one more than the other.
I tried to clear my mind of negative thoughts and replace them with positive ones as I begin my chores. Mamma gave me a pile of towels to line the windowsills. Along with the wind, I run to and from the water well with the towels, kicking up dirt behind

She was sick with dust pneumonia and he feared our family might not be able to go visit her again. In result, Father drove us 3 hours to meet up with her. Marie Jeanne, Mamma, and I helped push the car out of the driveway before hopping in. Our family did that every time we needed to go somewhere, it had become a normal routine.
The car ride was tedious. The first hour was easy progress until the dust rolled in. I was
The dust slithered up walls, spun around trees, and darkened the sky. The beautiful day had been shortened and the night seemed to become longer. I searched for Mamma, I didn’t find her.
“Mamma?” I called, shielding my eyes to the wind and pushing forward. It would be so pleasing to just hear her response, to be sure that she heard me, to have the comfort of knowing where she was. To have the comfort of knowing where was. Alas, not even my echo called back to me. The dust had picked up in the last few minutes and it filled my ears, my eyes, my nose, my throat. It was absolutely everywhere. I just wanted to hear my father’s orotund voice, or my mother’s soft, songly call. I shut my eyes tightly, the dust