Female Dramatic Monologues

Best friend? Well, I’ve never been much for friends. My intense competitive spirit, social anxiety, fear of the cafeteria and awkward sense of humor tend to work against me. But strangely, the one friend I have come to entrust this weird title with was once my arch nemesis. Of course, she had no clue. In fourth and fifth grade Angela had a cubby right next to mine. She had lots of friends and took the ‘Nicest Student’ award away from me in the fifth grade, and I was so angry that I squeezed glue in her cubby, which showed how nice I really was. Yeah, Angela deserved the award. She’s someone who has my back when I say, “back me up.” She laughs at my hilarious jokes when everyone else randomly forgets how to laugh. She takes me to a world where awkward moments don’t exist and jealousy is something to joke about and fights never happen (and if they do I don’t remember them). Best Friend? Nah. Angela and I are more like sisters.

I always wished my life was more interesting. I always wished something exciting would happen, something so big it would change my life forever… I had only been attending Columbine for about a month before it happened. I really didn’t have any friends, being the new girl and all, so I spent most of my free time at school aimlessly roaming the halls, or finding a quiet place to sit and read. I remember that day, I decided I’d go to the library and work on homework during lunch, since I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, but I had only been in there for about ten minutes when I heard this loud noise coming from out in the halls. These two students ran in, a guy and a girl, and the girl was calling for the librarian saying that the boy that was with her had been shot. At first I just thought it was a sick senior prank or something, since it was pretty close to the end of the year, so I just disregarded all the commotion… but then I heard Ms. Neilson shouting for everyone to get under the tables. When we heard gunshots, and screaming ringing through the halls, we knew it was real. I panicked and looked for a place to go, and that’s when I saw a student I had never met before, crouched under one of the computer tables. I guess he noticed how lost and scared I looked, because he gestured for me to hide with him. It was so weird. In the midst of chaos, there was a moment where it felt like time had slowed down, and I got a chance to look at his eyes. They were this incredible shade of blue, so bright and full of life. He gave me a timid smile. There was a certain kindness in his expression that made me feel safe despite everything going on around us. That moment of silence was broken by the sound of more gunshots in the hall getting closer, and the boy I was sitting with grabbed my hand, and locked his ocean blue eyes with mine. “We’re going to be okay,” he said, “everything is going to be okay.” but then the doors burst open. Everything after that felt so surreal. Like it was all happening so slow, but all too fast at the same time. The voices of the two gunmen made my skin crawl. I shut my eyes tight and just kept hoping everything would just go away. Wake up, Nicole. This isn’t real— no, this can’t be real. Wake up… But it wasn’t long before the crack of several gunshots silenced my thoughts. I felt a sharp pain in my thigh, it took me a second before I had even fully realized what happened. I reached down to grip the source of the pain… blood…I looked to my left, and the boy with blue eyes had let go of my hand, and was instead gripping his stomach, he was bleeding too, and he was pleading with the shooter… begging for his life. I tried thinking of something to say, as if choosing the right words would save his life but. I could barely even form a complete thought when– no. no, no. I can still see it. there was just… so much blood. I remember grabbing his hand again, it was still warm. but his eyes- those gorgeous blue eyes of his- they were different now. Empty… The room was spinning and the pain from the bullet in my thigh was unbearable. I blacked out after that. I can’t handle the sight of blood. I remember waking up surrounded by paramedics and police. The sound of sirens echoed in the distance. They lifted me onto a gurney and this woman kept trying to ask me questions, but everything was just a big chaotic blur. So much pain from the bullet in my leg, and my head was just full of questions. Why did this have to happen? How did I survive this? Why didn’t he? He didn’t deserve this… he had a family, and friends, and a future, he had a life. Life…we take it for granted, don’t we? I always wished my life was more interesting. I always wished something exciting would happen, something so big it would change my life forever. Be careful what you wish for.

There are always days when you feel horrible, but what if it’s every day? What if you never feel happy or excited about anything? What if you wake up every day feeling like you just want to disappear, sink into a cloud of nothing? I can’t speak for every girl, but I can speak for the ones who know what I’m talking about. Every day you wake up and put on multiple outfits and hope one isn’t too revealing or “slutty” or hope it’s not too boring or basic because the standards people set for you are either high or low and you have to meet the standard or you have to go above and beyond to prove that you are something. You take a few minutes to decide how you’re going to do your hair and how you’re going to do your makeup and if you even want to do makeup. You hope and hope no one criticizes your hair or your clothes or your makeup. Sometimes you don’t even want the good compliments because they make you feel bad because you feel like what you wear shouldn’t matter. People can take one look at you, and make a judgment that lasts a lifetime. You could have one bad day and it could ruin everything.

Orpheus never liked words. He had his music. He would get a funny look on his face and I would say what are you thinking about and he would always be thinking about music. If we were in a restaurant sometimes Orpheus would look sullen and wouldn't talk to me and I thought people felt sorry for me. I should have realized that women envied me. Their husbands talked too much. But I wanted to talk to him about my notions. I was working on a new philosophical system. It involved hats. This is what it is to love an artist: The moon is always rising above your house. The houses of your neighbors look dull and lacking in moonlight. But he is always going away from you. Inside his head there is always something more beautiful. Orpheus said the mind is a slide ruler. It can fit around anything. Words can mean anything. Show me your body, he said. It only means one thing. 

Dear Orpheus, 

I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I was afraid. I'm not worthy of you. But I still love you, I think. Don't try to find me again. You would be lonely for music. I want you to be happy. I want you to marry again. I am going to write out instructions for your next wife. 

To my Husband's Next Wife:
Be gentle. Be sure to comb his hair when it's wet. Do not fail to notice that his face flushes pink like a bride's when you kiss him. Give him lots to eat. He forgets to eat and he gets cranky. When he's sad, kiss his forehead and I will thank you. Because he is a young prince and his robes are too heavy on him. His crown falls down around his ears.

I'll give this letter to a worm. I hope he finds you

Love,
Eurydice. 

Dear Mya, 

We haven’t talked in a long while. The last time we texted was when you sent me a message wishing me a Happy Birthday. Thanks for remembering. The day you left we said we’d text every day. And we did, for a while. I still have all the gifts you gave me, the fluff ball, the coloring page, the paintings, and that terrible ceramic dog that sort of resembles mine. Do you still have everything I gave you? Probably not, maybe you threw those away a long time ago. Remember when you first came to visit? I didn’t talk when we first met, I felt weird with strangers in my house. It was the day before Valentine’s Day, and we were making chocolate dipped strawberries when we invited your family over. Then you made me laugh and after that you always came back. You were my first friend you know? When you moved in next door, I was so happy. I used to be sort of an outcast and suddenly I had my first best friend! That’s why it hurt so much when you moved away. We used to know everything about each other. I miss those days. After you left, I never asked how your new friends were, or how your new school was because I didn’t know what to say. Now I’m here reminiscing and missing the times when we went to get frozen yogurt daily. Wishing for those times when you came over and we became like sisters. To be honest, I don’t really remember why you left, I think it was because your mother had to go somewhere for a better job. I don’t really remember why, just that you were next to me crying, red faced when you told me you were going away. And how’s your father? Do you know? I know him being in jail far away from you must be hard. I don’t think you’ve visited him in a while. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for many things. I’m sorry I never texted you enough, I’m sorry that you left, I’m sorry, and I still miss you. We haven’t talked in a long while, and I thought about not sending this, but we swore to be friends for life, and I am keeping my promise. I’m here, if you need me…and I need you. 

Love, 

Caroline

This is the house… I’m so sorry!… Does Daniel Harding live here? I’m looking for Daniel Harding. He lives here. I thought. But…Ooooh…he doesn’t, does he? Oooh, I am so sorry! I am so embarrassed! You’re probably thinking “Who is this woman and what is she doing here?” (laughs, then stops awkwardly) I just honestly thought he’d be here. I always thought he’d be here. Always… Do you know him? Big guy, big tall guy. Played basketball, All-Maine, center? Strong. Do you know him?, Played hockey, too? Oh, don’t even answer that. That was a horrible thing to ask—. I know that’s a horrible question to ask a person who lives in a small town, as if everybody in small towns knows everybody else. Argh! I can’t believe I asked that. I don’t live here anymore, but when I did, I hated it when people assumed I knew everybody in town just because it was small. It was worse than when they’d ask if we had plumbing “way up there,” ’cause, you know, people in small towns really don’t know each other any better than they do in big towns, you know that? I mean, you know who you know, and you don’t know who you don’t know, just like anywhere else. I’m so sorry to have bothered you. I was just so sure I’d find him here—. When his parents passed away, he kept the house, I heard. He lived here. He stayed here, I thought. He was one of the ones who stayed. I didn’t stay. I went away. And I guess he did too.

I’m tired of him!  Who the hell does he think he is to insult me that way?  I cannot believe it Avid.  I am the adult.  How dare he?  Where does he get the nerve to speak that way?  I just don’t know what to say.  I’m at a loss for words here.  I cannot believe our daughter is dating an animal like that.  What a piece of shit he is.  God!  You know, I told her to stay away from Germans.  Did she listen?  Of course not.  She does what she wants to do anyway.  What’s the point? I never liked him from day one.  Hey, I’m sorry, but it’s how my mother raised me.  She told me,”Nella, you stay away from those German boys.  They are controlling and jealous”.  So, that’s exactly what I did.  I respected my mothers wishes.  If my mother said jump in front of a train I would have, because I trusted her word.  My daughter, completely different story altogether.  She rebels, she rebels against what I want her to do.  She forgets all that I do for her as a mother and as a friend.  Sometimes I can’t believe she was raised under this roof. Whatever, I’m through with it, let them both do what they want.  I don’t care anymore.  At least my other daughter listens to me.  She’s my pride and joy.  Thank God for her.  She keeps me sane.  I never have to complain about that one.  A perfect little angel.

We live in a man's world. I learned that from a very early age. And it is exhausting to exist in a world not designed for you, a world that doesn't take you seriously, where you matter less. Women are 75% more likely to die in a car crash because all seat belt safety tests are designed for men. What do you do with that? It's not one big thing that crushes a spirit. It's death by a million paper cuts. Men, the space they take up, the room, their entitlement, their voices just louder and more. Men growing up, seeing more men. Men at the top. Men in power. They don't see out of their own eyes our vacant stares back at them, our bottled anger, our wonder at how they got to be so satisfied in their knowledge that the world is made for them. So what was I supposed to do with that? How does one climb the ranks of a system rigged against them? I'll tell you. You adapt. You learn to survive. I've done things I'm not proud of, and I've done things I never want my kids to know about, but I'd do 'em again. I'd do anything to protect my kids like no one ever protected me. Anything.

I can’t believe it. You mean it’s alright for you to leave us but it wasn’t alright for me to leave you? It was my future. Why couldn’t I have something to say about it? I need to be independent. So I have to give up the one chance I may never get again, is that it? I’m the one who has to pay for what you couldn’t do with your own life. I’m not judging you. I can’t even talk to you. I don’t exist to you. I have tried so hard to get close to you, but there was never any room. Whatever you had to give went to Daddy, and when he died, whatever was left you gave to Laurie….I have been jealous my whole life of Laurie because she was lucky enough to be born sick. I could never turn a light on in my room at night or read in bed because Laurie always needed her precious sleep. I could never have a friend over on the weekends because Laurie was always resting. I used to pray I’d get some terrible disease or get hit by a car so I’d have a leg all twisted and crippled and then once, maybe just once, I’d get to crawl into bed next to you on a cold rainy night and talk to you and hold you until I fell asleep in your arms…just once…

When I was a kid, I used to be afraid of the monster under my bed. I’d toss and turn all night, afraid that one day it would take me! For years just the thought of it gave me nightmares. But as I got older, I let go of that fear…or so I thought. When I started middle school, I was bullied for my “fascination” with insects. My dad is an entomologist, so he got me interested at a young age. This “fascination” earned me the nickname “Roach Girl” after I caught a roach during class. That’s when I realized that the monsters aren’t under my bed, they are all around me. And in high school, the bullying got worse. The monsters there would attack you for the smallest thing like staring too long, not giving homework answers, or even just saying no. I’m surprised most people can’t see through their hand-crafted disguises. Those painted on faces, fake smiles, and pretend emotions are all designed to fool you into thinking they’re good. You know, the kind of monster that records a fight rather than breaking it up? The ones that have no shame hurting people. I thought I could fight back to expose them. I mean the world would be better without them, right? I tried to fight fire with fire, but there are too many. So, I gave up. For months I felt like a failure, and I couldn’t sleep. Then one night it happened again. I felt that old urge to check under my bed. I was horrified by what I saw- a nearly perfect figure of myself, but the image twisted. It was awful looking and had teeth that could bite someone in half. That’s when I realized that monsters truly are everywhere. They are all around me because I was one too. I am the monster under my bed.

Bye Mom! Bye Dad! Wow, that went really well. What? They do like you. They do. Donny, my parents do like you. Of course they do. Oh, please. How can you tell they don’t like you? They just met you. You guys weren’t even in the same room for fifteen minutes, so what in the world could possibly give you that impression? My mom? Oh, that. Of course she didn’t smile. She’s very focused on anti-aging. She’s extremely worried about the wrinkles that she has around her lips. They’re smile wrinkles, so she’s trying not to smile. When you made that joke she totally wanted to laugh. Of course she did. That was so funny. You couldn’t tell, but I could see it. Her stomach. You know it was moving up and down like a chuckle. She totally thought that was funny. “Wet socks on the counter.” [laughs] That was hilarious. Huh? My dad? Oh, he loved you! He didn’t say anything? Well, yeah, that’s true. But you know why? My dad is the type of person who really likes to choose his words very carefully. He’s probably busy right now putting together what he’s going to say to you the next time he sees you. Of course he is. No, he is not going to say “Stay away from my daughter”. He’s probably thinking of something he can invite you to do, like go fishing or something. You know, some guy bonding thing. I’m sure that’s what he’s busy planning. The dog? Well, that was sort of weird. I mean, honestly, she has never bitten anyone before, but I don’t think you should take it personally. How silly would that be? It’s kind of like a compliment in a way because she chose to take a bite out of you. You really got her attention, ya know. Some people come in the house and she doesn’t even bark. Now that I would find highly insulting. My brother, oh well, he never likes anybody, so he doesn’t count in this discussion. Oh, Donny, I am so excited. I was so worried about this meeting and it went so totally well. They like you. They do. They really, really do!