Joan Of Arc Monologue

I think a lot about Joan of Arc. Like many young girls of a certain age and temperament, I chose Joan as my name saint upon my confirmation. Joan was a warrior, a girl who before the King of France and demanded an army. Joan was brash and brazen and stood up for herself and her country in a way that still shocks people to this day. Joan was a fighter, for herself and for others. Despite being put on trial, despite being beaten and harangued and jeered at, Joan fought and died for what she believed in. Joan was, in short, everything I wanted to be at twelve.

I was twenty the first time I was raped. I walked away from it feeling lucky. In the days and weeks to come I would tell myself I was stupid to get as drunk as I did, to be out so late, to be alone - that it could have been so much worse. I would list off the

Not then. I’m not a victim. I think about Joan.
The second man to rape me got married last year. I saw the photos go by on social media, mutual friends with their arms around each other asking me why I wasn’t there. I don’t tell them that the sight of the groom makes me want to vomit. That being alone in a room with a man between me and the door still makes my heart race. I don’t tell them what he did because I can’t remember if I ever actually said “no” and isn’t that all that

As a child I was enthralled by her battles, her armies - but as an adult it’s her downfall that speaks to me more. Captured, imprisoned, stripped, shaved, put into a dress, questioned for days on end, attempted rape after attempted rape. She tried to kill herself to go with god and still they could not get her to recant. It was only when faced with a guilty verdict and staring immolation in the face that Joan finally recanted. She apologized. She let them win because her life was worth more to her. Forget France, forget the Dauphin, forget God - Joan was more important to