In this monologue, Boxer has collapsed from overworking and has become severely sick. The feelings of Benjamin on Boxer’s misery and the situation in the Animal Farm are envisioned through his monologue;
The silence is traumatic.
I can see the despair, hopelessness and anguish among this crowd. Yet I know it will grow larger, only to witness the desolation befalling our generation. I can’t stand to see Boxer in this state. Through my bitterness I can see what used to be in his gleaming eyes; diligence, now completely replaced with despair. In…Out. In…Out. With every struggling breath he takes, the more animosity I develop towards those who have done this to him. The truth is, I should have known what was coming, I should have done something about it, I shouldn’t have accepted this painful misery, I...I...
How did we end up here?
I remember the very day when Jones was our leader, then came the rebellion and now Boxer is at the mercies of these heartless pigs. I remember how cynical I was when these fellows told me to join in the revolution. Look how right I have been all this while. My exceptional righteousness and belief that nothing can ever change has warranted my friend’s turmoil. I have been wrong, I know I am very wicked standing here aimlessly staring at Boxer who needs more, more than my pity.
Like a ticking bomb
I’m slowly engulfed by rage within my own thoughts – anything could set me off. From the very moment the sheep bleated “four legs good, two legs bad” I knew this so-called rebellion would become corrupt. It is not my fault that I never thought Animal farm would become a paradise; it seems to me that I was the only one that wasn't blinded by hope. I’ve seen this never-ending cycle before and it took away the optimist in me. I now know that I should have been the voice for the other animals, but on the other hand – what did we have to lose? We already had nothing and the stupidity of the other animals weren’t going to help us anyway.
The knacker's van is pulling in.
These idiots really think that the pigs are going to fix Boxer, fools. Only I knows the truth of how they are going to slaughter and destroy the only thing that gave me peace. Boxer, I wish you knew that you are the only thing that I had. You gave meaning to my life, you comforted me even without knowing it and you silently gave me hope that maybe one day our world will know true leadership. Poor Boxer, his fate has finally caught up to him. His strength finally failed. I could never bring myself to tell Boxer what was going on - if his work gave his life some meaning, I might as well have let him be. Or maybe I just didn't care, although the thought is a stab to the gut. To be fair, working alongside Boxer is probably the only thing which kept me sane amongst all these fools. If only I wasn't the only one who could see the irony in Boxer’s fate: Old Major’s terrible predicament came true. Either win to live, or die trying – it’s not my job to disenthrall us all.
Death? A donkey dead?
Impossible, no donkey lives a short life. It is not in our nature. Boxer’s death is something I cannot bear. We donkeys live a very long time and are very wise – how have I allowed them to tyrannize us? It just seemed to me that life would go on as it always has – badly, seeing as we are ruled by a bunch of pigs. I always knew that things would never become better here, but Boxer really does deserve to see the change that he’s always worked towards: justice.
Should I scream?
Let them know what’s happening. Let these fools know that dumb Benjamin can speak of atrocities. Boxer’s pain must count. See the shock on their faces; do they think I don’t have feelings? –oh yes, I can actually speak. Perhaps I can admit that I am unwilling to get involved until it’s too late. Could it be that the deterioration of Animal Farm is entirely my fault? My infamous words “Donkeys live a long time” are out of place now. My senseless speaking adds up to nothing, I have little effect even towards helping my best friend. Lamenting on the anguish of Boxer’s final moments, torment will live to dominate my remaining years. Even I am inconsolably wracked with the pain of unanswered dreams this time.
It’s too late.
Our enemies there they are, walking on their two hind legs, their shadows dancing behind them almost forming human-like silhouettes. These pigs are a true definition of rotten characters, vermin, and destructive creatures. The crooked van is leaving, commotion dies down, hysteric sounds slowly evaporate and the piercing voice within me goes higher. I’m sad to say I’m losing the battle with myself. Maybe I already have.
