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MONOLOGUES

Actors are welcome to use monologues as audition pieces free of charge, but please let Tara know if you are using them.  You may email her at tmeddaugh@gmail.com.  Thank you!

Each monologue runs 2-4 minutes. 


I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t seen my soul tonight. I didn’t know it was my soul at first, but when it started talking to me, when it started telling me how I was scared of being hit by invisible cars, how I was only happy listening to Simon and Garfunkle…well, it sounded so much like me.

So I go to it. I go to it and ask it, if it could tell me one thing, just one thing about itself, about me, what would it tell me. So it hesitates at first, you know, like it can’t decide what delicious secret to tell me. Then it sighs, as much as a soul can. It sighs and sort of hiccups a little. Like maybe it’s overexcited. Or drunk or something. So when it’s done making these sounds, it stares at me with its transparent eyes, and it says, in this tiny voice—the voice a fawn might have, or a baby lamb. And it says, “If you live through today, you’ll get fired tomorrow. And when you get another job, you’ll get fired from that. And when you find someone you love, that person will leave you. And when you die, no one will care.”

So what do you say? What do you say when your own soul tells you you’re a failure? And it looks pretty happy about that too. Almost giddy. Like it’s having fun telling you you’ll end up alone. So I start to wonder if it’s really my soul at all. If it’s someone else’s—like maybe my arch nemesis or something, and it’s telling me all this so I give up hope. Stop fighting for the good side and my enemy wins. By forfeit.
So I say the only thing I can think to say. And I do the only thing I can think to do.

“I don’t need you,” I tell it. (pause) And then I squash it. And I kill it. (pause) And
that’s why I’m down here, I guess. (pause) I really thought it’d be a lot hotter.



I know you think I murdered your ferret, but—hey, stop crying. You’re gonna make me cry too. And you (starts crying)—know—happens—when—we—both—start—oh! I’m doing it too now…Okay. Okay. What would Zena do?

Julia, your ferret ran away. He did. I know you don’t want to believe me, but I know this, because…well, I saw him. And I was wearing my glasses, so I had 20/20. Or 20/30. I need a new prescription. But I could still see it was Foozu, and he was wearing the yellow rain slicker, not the winter coat you tie dyed for him, so I think he was headed for Seattle.

And, I don’t think we should go after him, Julia. That Payless box wasn’t big enough; you always forgot to feed him, and when you did, it was usually just pebbles and sticks—and I really don’t think ferrets can live on that. Seattle has a lot more to offer Foozu. Food, drinks, warm shelter, intellectual stimulation, perpetual contentment. He deserves that, don’t you think?

I, I know coming in and seeing me with the knife over Foozu’s box makes it look rather strange. But. . . Well. . . You miss him, don’t you? (pause)

I could be your ferret. Don’t dismiss it right away. I’d be a good pet. I like to curl up in small places and I don’t mind rocks and sticks. You could knit me a winter coat, and you don’t even have to tie dye it if you don’t want to. That’s okay with me. Is that okay with you?

I’m gonna just rinse this knife off and throw this little bag away, and then I’ll curl up in my box. I found a new one—a size 11! I’ll wait for you there and you can throw me a ball, okay?

Unless, you don’t want me to be your ferret. You don’t need to back away from me. . . Don’t you want me here anymore? If I’m not here, who’s going to sing to you? I know the entire soundtrack to Sleepless In—don’t be scared—I’ll—but I don’t know where I’m supposed to go, Julia. (pause)

I could follow Foozu. I could—I could go to Seattle. . . . I’ll follow Foozu.

But Julia, when I go, you’ll have to clean off the knife again—I won’t be able to do it. . . . I don’t have a yellow slicker.





I—I saw the baby, Mom, the baby, he…

She calls me, Clara calls me around noon and says the winds are getting bad and water levels are rising. I’m sitting there, eating popcorn, watching reruns of Ally McBeal on DVD—and the whole town is evacuating! She asks if I can come to her place, give them a ride to your house. So of course, I tell her I’ll pick them up. I don’t even hesitate.

I walk outside and it’s pouring, and I see the water rising too. Rising fast. But I get in my car and start for her house. The wipers can’t keep up with rain, so I drive less than 5 miles an hour. It takes me forty-five minutes, forty-five minutes to drive one mile to her house. But I get there. And I’m not even thinking about how we’re going to get out of town, how I’m going to get my car to move again. I’m just so relieved to be with my sister, and the baby.

But when I stop the car, when I crawl out the window and look up at her house…her cozy ranch-style home…it’s not there. It’s just…not there. I mean, there are pieces of it, there are boards and there’s the frame or whatever it’s called. But it’s not a house anymore.

And I start screaming and running around—as fast as I can through all that water—and I’m terrified because I can’t find them—then I hear a cry, a baby cry, and I see my little nephew, sort of propped up in a piece of broken gutter, between two boards, and I start toward him. He sees me and I think he recognizes me! I’m racing, I’m moving as fast as I can, but the winds are so strong and the water is so deep. Then I hear this giant crash behind me, and I stop and turn around. That big oak has fallen on my car. It’s crushed.

And when I turn back, when I turn back to see my nephew and grab him and bring him away with me…he’s not there. He’s not there anymore. Like the house.

I turned around, Mom. I turned around and I lost the baby. I lost Clara’s baby.




(Young mentally retarded man, covers head in hands and shakes head)
Not s’posed to tell! Not s’posed to tell!
(uncovers head, looks up)
I tell but not use names. Okay? That’s what Jimm—that’s what my best friend tell me to do. No names. ‘Cause we’re best friends. My friends always save the cherry one for me. They good friends. ‘Cause I useta play by myself, but now they play games wi’ me. My friend teach me S-s-s-sah-li-taire. Put black on red. Black on red. Black-on-red. Blackonred. (pause)

Why I gotta tell you ‘bout the game we play? It our game! My game wi’ my friends! (pause)
We gonna play Muppets, he tell me. You be Gonzo! He tell me. GONZO! (pause)
Gonzo got a purple banana nose. I like Gonzo. They tell me be Gonzo ‘cause Gonzo weird and stupid. Like me. (laughing) They funny. My friends. (pause)

We gonna do Muppet Caper. My friend Pe—my friend, he play Kermit. And one play Piggy—but he’s a boy, not a girl. (laughs) He’s a boy, not a girl. (laughs) Boy-not-girl. Boynotgirl. (laughs) They all silly. (laughs) (pause)

I don’t wanna tell you no more. You’re not laughing. You don’t think my friends funny. (laughing) They make me laugh. (stops laughing) But you make me cry. Why you look like you so mad? Wanna go home. Don’t wanna stay here. You look so mad. Don’t wanna talk. (pause)

Muppet Caper. They go inside, they play. Gonzo stays outside and watches. Gonzo watches for the police. When police come, Gonzo go inside and yell, “Over the rainbow! Over the rainbow!” Then Gonzo stay there. Till muppets grab him and pull him away—to safety! (claps) Then muppets go back to J—my best friend’s house and eat poptarts—I get cherry with sprinkles—and cocoa. (laughs) That s’posed to be Muppet Caper! Muppet Caper! Muppet Caper! (pause)

But when police come and Gonzo go inside, no muppets there. And it look bad inside. Gonzo look and look. “Beaker! Fonzy! KERMIT!” (pause)

I forgot to say rainbow. (pause)

They gone. (pause)

But you there. With your gun. (laughs) But you didn’t wear blue hat then. I like your blue hat. And you take me here and make me talk to you and tell you my game. Wi’ my friends. (pause)

They be here soon. They tell you. They tell you our game. I didn’t take nothing. I didn’t hurt no one. I play game—Muppet Caper. I’m Gonzo! Purple-banana-nose. “Over the rainbow, Miss Piggy! Over the rainbow!”




I’m thrilled you all could make it tonight, gentlemen. I know I ask a lot of you, but I hope you all realize, I notice everything. Every tiny smile, every command obeyed, every sacrifice given. You’re my men, aren’t you? And tonight, you’re going to prove it.

Now, I want you all to pick up your instruments and line up in—You! Stand up straight, please. I said, stand up! Would you like the whole town to see you in a wrinkled band uniform? Don’t answer, just listen. (pause) Now, form that single line and reflect on your assignment tonight. Remember, you’re more than simply clarinet players or baton twirlers. You have a mission, a purpose—and while you may not be here to witness the difference you make, know that I will. And that’s really what matters most, now isn’t it?

So all those people who said I didn’t have a voice, who said no one would ever listen to me—those awful people, with their awful taunts in my head—“She called ‘fire’ and no one heard her!” “Have you noticed how the waiter never stops at her table?” “She can’t even get a dog to lick her hand!”

Well, Awful People’s Taunts! Look at me now. Listen to me now! I have all these gentlemen right here. Haven’t I, gentlemen? Don’t answer, just think! You’re all prepared to march out that window, march out with flutes and heads held high, and fall to your fated death…all for me. All for me.

Ready? (pause) Oh, no! Mr. Teddy, your stuffing is seeping out again! I want you to look perfect when they all witness my power over you. I’ll grab a needle. But the rest of you, begin marching. (pause)

Begin marching!


I’ve been practicing my clarinet all morning and I really thought I was gonna get in this time. I know marching band is competitive, especially for the hockey team, but I had a good feeling about it all morning. Fifth time’s a charm, my mom said.

Then that guy who wears all the jewelry stole my crutch. My mom said it was okay for me to practice my song outside, since it wasn’t raining and I was only playing marches. But he ran up to me from across the street. He was yelling something like, “shut the hell up!” or something. And he knocked my stand over and grabbed one of my crutches. I tried to run after him, but I’m not very fast on one crutch. I didn’t let him get my clarinet though! I had to toss it under the picnic table, and I think one of my keys got bent a little, but at least I saved it.

Anyway, now I have to sort of hop and walk to get anywhere. I don’t think I can make it to the gym on time with only one crutch. And since you have that crutch you used in fourth grade when you were Tiny Tim, I was wondering if I could maybe borrow it. I know you want it to stay in mint condition, but I won’t mess it up. I’d have to bend over a little, since it’s a kiddie crutch, but my mom said I have a strong back. I don’t mind.

Hey, you’re the reason my leg is broken anyway. You’re the one who told me to jump off the truck so Lisa would see and fall in love with me. But since the truck was going 30 miles an hour—and you weren’t supposed to be going that fast—I just got this broken leg instead. The hospital did have HBO Plus though. My mom and dad don’t get that at home. I saw Austen Powers two times in one day!

But Lisa didn’t fall in love with me and now I have to hop and walk. So I don’t care if you don’t want fingerprints on your Tiny Tim crutch. I think you owe me! This is my chance to get in the marching band and show Lisa I’m worth something. So give me your crutch or I’m gonna tell your mom.


I think I’m next actually. I was here—well, I’ll just wait then. It’s just my arm is kinda bleeding right now and I was here before that woman with the twitch. But I’ll just wait over here. But maybe you can’t see me very well. Maybe I’ll just wave my arms around like this. Is that better? Now you can see me real clear, right?

Well . . . I think I should stop waving my arms around. It’s just my arm is dripping on things, well, the blood anyway is dripping. ‘Cause it’s Christmas, y’know, and my girlfriend wanted a real tree. But I have allergies. I sniffle a lot. I think it annoys people. Well, I can’t help sniffling, y’know. I wish I would stop.
But I know my girlfriend’s been real disappointed not having a pine tree for the past few Christmases—so I thought this year would be different. But I never used a chainsaw before. Lot harder to handle than it looks. And since my girlfriend decided to take a break from me this summer—I lived with her . . . in a house. You don’t mind I’m dripping on the floor? I’ll take my sock off. Here. I’ll wrap it around my arm. That’s smart thinking, right? I don’t mean to mess up your nice floors. They’re so yellow. That’s nice.

But now that my girlfriend thinks I don’t have any motivation ‘cause I lost my job ‘cause I couldn’t keep up with my figures, well, now we don’t live with each other. So I thought it’d be a good time to get her a real nice tree for Christmas since I won’t be around to sniffle at it. ‘Cause they said it’s not in anyone’s best interest for me to spend time with my girlfriend since she didn’t like my calling on all my breaks at work to make sure she was okay and tell her I loved her. It’s a dangerous world out there. I used to get a break every two hours. I’ve never been on salary yet.

Oops, the blood’s soaking through my sock. Well, I have another one, I guess. But then, it’s not so comfortable wearing shoes without socks. My girlfriend used to say my feet smelled like sour milk. I guess they do a little bit. So I’m not supposed to see her really, but giving her a Christmas tree I cut down by myself isn’t so bad, right? Oh, I really think I should see a doctor soon. I’m kinda cold, y’know?
Well, I may not be seeing my girlfriend or anyone really on Christmas day, but at least I got her that tree. Left it on their porch. And that’s why I have to see a doctor. Because she has good aim with that gun (holds up arm)—as you can see.
I hope she decorates it with lots of tinsel.



Yes, the tulips are dead, Mother. But I didn’t originally plan that. Plan on giving you brown tulips. With crispy leaves. I tried to refuse them, but…I’m just not good at talking to florists.

But I know it’s important to you—to have fresh flowers on your grave. So this afternoon—when she—the florist—when she brings out these dead ones, I try to explain. But still be polite, like you taught me. So I say, “Ma’am, thank you for the thought, but—” And I put my hand out, I gesture, to sort of make my point. And I’m not done, but that’s all I get out, when she shoves them in my hand and almost screams at me, “You’re welcome!”

So the flowers are in my hands and she’s looking at me, grinning, like she expects money or something. And I’m about to pay her, I’m about to pay her for four dead tulips and leave—when something—I don’t know, something suddenly surges through me, through my veins—like I’ve got new blood in me! Powerful blood! Strong blood that people will listen to! Respect! So with my new blood pumping through me, I grab the tulips with one hand and this lady’s neck with the other, and I shove those moldy flowers all over her! I shove them in her ears, and her mouth—since she’s got it open, screaming—and just all over her face! And it feels so good, Mother! It feels so good…

Then I look back over at the brown tulips and I wonder if they’re all really dead? And I want them now. So I let go of the woman and I cut off a little piece of blue ribbon from the counter, and I tie it around the flowers. And I come here. To you.

And I know you’re used to getting fresh flowers every day, but I want you to know that I’m not coming back tomorrow. Or the next day either. Because it’s a two hour bus-ride to get here and I have a job now.

So you can have these dead flowers, Mother. But I’m keeping this tulip. Because it still has a little green in its stem.

I’ll see you at Easter.