Monologue:: WWI's Children

Many are Often Forgotten

[A young aboriginal male with bright eyes, possibly in his early twenties, enters a room with a clutch due to leg injuries in the Second World War. A general with a neat-shaven beard, places a piece of paper and a pen in front of the desk he's sitting at, questioning him his feelings toward the war.]     

[He takes a deep breath then starts writing. This is preformed as a monologue.]

     I am an aboriginal who has lived in Canada for generations. My parents started their own business and I was mainly raised in the city and swore that I would live and die for my country. When the war began in 1914, I was prepared and ready to go fight for the country I call home, but was rejected and not welcomed to what many thought as the "White Man's War". I was devastated, everyone in my family and community was. Two years later, when the government announced that I was practically being invited to join the war, I was once again in a dilemma. My sister told me that they were just putting our people on the front line because there weren't enough men. And now, they suddenly needed backups and even sacrifices, that's why they're begging us. My mother said I should go anyways since I am one of Mother Canada's children. I knew she was right—even if I was just being used by them, I knew that's still my country that's in war out there. I had to help. And peace always comes after war, so for the sake of our peaceful country, for the sake of my promise, I will stand and fight.

Fate of the Enemy Alien 

[A distant noise of a truck becomes clearer as a young German girl sat at the back, tears in her eyes as she writes something with a crumpled piece of paper. She seems quite young, maybe no more than 15, no evidence is given for why she is alone.]

[She looks up at the sky in contempt as we see what she is writing. This is preformed as a monologue.]
    
     I am a German girl whose family settled here in Canada. We've been here for many years, and I was even born in a hospital in Winnipeg. Late one night, several men came knocking at the door and gave us papers telling us that our bakery and house was to be taken away. Father argued where we were going to live, and a few days later we were on an old truck and sent to what people call "internment camps". I felt bitter as I held my sick younger brother in my arms, while mother placed hers around my shoulder. It was a moment of betrayal, and I couldn't understand why the Canadian government would push us –rightful Canadian citizens- out of our homes. Everyone's stares on the street were filled with alert and suspicion, and I was extremely confused in what I did wrong. After the war, they said that we could come back and return to our "normal lives". My father swore angrily in German, telling us to pack our bags and return in Germany immediately. I, too, was disappointed in the things they did—if a war were to spark up, would we be forced to leave our homes once again? I couldn't live here in knowing I'll be pushed back and forth like this. So we wiped our tears as we waved goodbye to Canada.