Audition Monologues: 18 Short Pieces

Short audition monologues, about a minute each

Showing 18 of 18. All original, written for ScriptLix. Running times are estimates at 140 spoken words a minute. Time yourself out loud.

• ComedicMale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  Some Assembly Required

  Darnell, 30s, sitting on the floor of a new apartment, to his partner, who has offered to read the instructions. He wants to finish the bookshelf himself.

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  No. Put the booklet down. Put it down. I don't need the booklet. The booklet is for people who don't believe in themselves.

  I have assembled this bookshelf in my mind several times. I know its heart.

  Yes, there is one screw left over. That happens. That's a bonus screw. They throw that in to make you feel rich.

  What do you mean it's leaning? It's not leaning. It's relaxed. It's a relaxed bookshelf. We're relaxed people. It fits our energy.

  Okay, it's leaning a little.

  Here's what you need to understand. When I was a kid, my father built our entire back porch with no plans, no help and one hammer. He talked about it for twenty years. "I built that porch." Every barbecue. Every holiday. The porch was his whole personality.

  I just want one thing. One small wooden thing in this apartment that I can point to at a party and say, I made that.

  Hand me the booklet. Don't watch.

  164 words, about 1 min 10 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicFemale40s plusAbout 1 minute

  Gerald the Fern

  Marjorie, 60s, at the returns counter of a garden center, to a young employee. She wants a refund on a fern she is convinced disapproves of her.

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  I'd like to return this fern. His name is Gerald. Don't write that down, that's not important. That's just what I've been calling him.

  No, he's not dead. That's the problem. He's thriving. Look at him. He's never looked better.

  He just doesn't like me.

  You think I'm joking. Every morning I come into the kitchen, and he's leaning away. Toward the window. Away from me. I turned him around. Next day, leaning away again. I turned him around again. He leaned harder. That is not botany, young man. That is a statement.

  My husband says it's the light. My husband talks to the lawnmower. I don't take his opinions on the natural world.

  I've had plants my whole life. My mother grew orchids in a bathroom with no window. I am not a beginner. And I will not live in my own house with a fern that judges what I eat for breakfast.

  I'd like store credit. I'd like something friendlier. A cactus, maybe. Something that knows it isn't perfect either.

  172 words, about 1 min 14 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicFemale40s plusAbout 1 minute

  Eleven Casseroles

  Joan, 70s, a recent widow, at her front door, to a neighbor holding yet another casserole. Joan wants the neighbor to stop bringing food and come inside to sit with her.

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  Oh, Barbara. Another one. That's lovely. What is it? Tuna. Of course it's tuna.

  Barbara, I want you to come see my refrigerator. No, come in. Look. That's eleven casseroles. Eleven. I've labeled them. That one's from the Pattersons. That one's from church. That one I think is from a stranger. I don't know who that is. It has olives.

  I'm one woman. I eat like a bird. Frank was the eater. Frank would have had all of these gone by Wednesday and then asked what was for dessert.

  Here's what I don't have. Anyone to sit at the table. Everyone drops off a dish at the door and runs, like I'm contagious. Like grief is catching.

  So I'm going to heat this up. Your tuna. And you're going to sit in Frank's chair and tell me something boring about your gutters.

  That's all I want. Somebody boring at the table.

  151 words, about 1 min 5 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicMale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  Custody of the Dog

  Greg, 30s, in a divorce mediator's office, to the mediator, with his soon to be ex wife sitting across the table. He has agreed to everything except the dog, and wants the dog.

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  She can have the house. I said that already. She can have the car, the good blender, the couch we fought about for three weekends at the furniture store. Take it. All of it.

  But not Waffles.

  I know he was technically her birthday present. I know that. But who walks him at six in the morning? Me. Who sat with him on the kitchen floor during the Fourth of July fireworks for two hours while he shook like a leaf? Me. Who knows that he only eats the dry food if you say "good boy" in a British accent? Me. She doesn't even know about the accent.

  Look. I'm not trying to win. We stopped trying to win a while ago, she and I. We're just tired.

  But when I come home to that apartment, I need one thing to be happy to see me.

  Just one. Please. He doesn't care about the blender.

  155 words, about 1 min 6 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicAny gender20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  Full Disclosure

  Robin, 30s, on a first date at a restaurant, to the person across the table who has just mentioned they might skip dessert. Robin wants them to stay a little longer.

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  Before you ask for the check, can I say something? It's a little honest. You can leave after.

  I almost didn't come tonight. I sat in my car outside for twenty minutes. I practiced being a person who goes on dates. I said "Hi, nice to meet you" to my rearview mirror nine times. A man walking his dog saw me.

  The last time I did this was four years ago, and it went very well, and then it went very badly, and I've been sort of sitting out the game since then. On the bench. With a snack.

  And then you showed up, and you were nice to the waiter, and you laughed at my joke about the bread basket, which was not a good joke.

  So I'm just saying. They have a chocolate thing on the menu. It's for two people. It says so. It would be a waste of a menu item not to.

  Stay for dessert. That's all. Low stakes. Just cake.

  166 words, about 1 min 11 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicMale40s plusAbout 1 minute

  Dad's Pancakes

  Phil, 40s, a single father, at the kitchen stove on a Saturday morning, to his teenage daughter, who has barely spoken in a week. He wants her to tell him what's wrong.

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  Morning. I made pancakes. Shaped like Mickey Mouse. I know you're sixteen. I know. But your mother used to make them like this and I thought maybe the ears would help.

  They did not come out like Mickey Mouse. That one looks like a potato with ambitions.

  So. Big week. You've said, I counted, eleven words to me since Monday. Four of them were "fine." Two were "whatever." One was "Dad," but in the voice that means "please stop existing."

  I'm not going to make you talk. I read a book. Well, I read the back of a book. It said to give teenagers space. So here's your space. It's next to the syrup.

  But I'm also going to stand right here and flip pancakes until you're ready. I have flour for, I'd say, three more days.

  Whatever it is, I'm on your side. Even if it's my fault. Especially if it's my fault.

  Eat a potato.

  157 words, about 1 min 7 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicAny gender40s plusAbout 1 minute

  Ronald

  Pat, 50s, alone in a quiet house a month after their spouse moved out, to the robot vacuum cleaner, which keeps bumping into the same chair. Pat wants it to stop leaving too.

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  Ronald. Ronald, look at me. You hit that chair four times. It's the same chair. It's always been there. It's not new. You know the chair.

  I named you Ronald because Diane said it was silly to name a vacuum. I said everything with a schedule deserves a name. She rolled her eyes. That was when we still rolled our eyes at each other in a nice way.

  You know what's strange? You're the only thing in this house that still does what it did before. Every morning at nine you wake up and go around the kitchen and under the table and you get stuck on the rug in the hall, and I come and rescue you. And it's the best part of my day.

  That's sad. I know that's sad. Don't beep at me.

  I'm going to move the chair. There. Now you're free.

  Don't go too far, Ronald. Come back when you're done.

  156 words, about 1 min 7 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicFemale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  The Bangs

  Leah, 20s, in a salon chair, to her hairdresser, who is holding the scissors. She has asked for bangs the day before a big job interview and now wants to explain why.

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  Wait. Before you cut. I need to tell you why I want the bangs.

  No, it's not a breakup. Everyone thinks it's a breakup. It's not a breakup. Well, it's a breakup with my old job, technically, but I'm the one who left, so it's a good breakup.

  I have an interview tomorrow. At ten. For a job I really, really want. Art director. My own team. My own office with a door.

  And I have looked exactly the same since high school. Same ponytail. Same face. Like I'm waiting for someone to tell me I'm allowed to grow up.

  So I want the bangs. I want to walk in there looking like someone who makes bold choices.

  Is this a terrible idea? You can tell me. Your face is telling me. You're making the face my mother makes.

  Okay. Small bangs. Brave, but small. Like me.

  Go. Cut before I change my mind.

  154 words, about 1 min 6 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicAny gender20s to 30sAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  Have You Seen This Dog?

  Dana, any age, at a bus stop, to a stranger who has just politely refused a lost dog flyer. Dana wants them to take the flyer and actually look at it.

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  No, please, just take one. You don't have to do anything with it. Just look at his face for three seconds. That's all I ask.

  His name is Moose. He's small. I know the name doesn't match. He was supposed to grow, and he didn't, and we'd already told everyone.

  He got out on Tuesday when the mail carrier left the gate open. Not her fault. He's fast. He's built low to the ground, like a little sports car.

  I've put up two hundred and twelve of these. I've talked to the guy at the hardware store, the lady at the laundromat, three kids on scooters. One kid said he saw Moose eating a pizza crust behind the library. That's my best lead.

  So if you see him, don't chase him. He thinks it's a game. Just sit down on the sidewalk and say "cheese." He'll come right to you.

  Cheese. That's the password. Please remember it.

  157 words, about 1 min 7 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicFemale40s plusAbout 1 minute

  Thirty One Years

  Doris, 60s, at her retirement party in an office break room, to her coworkers. She wants to say something true instead of the speech she was given.

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  Thank you. Thank you. Please put the cake down, Steven, there'll be time for cake.

  Human resources gave me a speech to read. It's very nice. It says I was a "valued team member" and that I "brought energy to every quarterly cycle." I did not write that. I don't know what a quarterly cycle is, and I've been here thirty one years.

  Here's what I actually want to say.

  I started here when the computers were the size of refrigerators. I've had nine bosses. Four were good. I won't say which four. They know.

  I'm not going to miss the work. I'm going to miss the people. I'm going to miss Raymond's terrible jokes at the copier and the way Linda hums when she's angry.

  And I'll miss walking in here at eight every morning and knowing exactly who I was.

  Now I have to figure that out at home. Wish me luck.

  Steven, now you can have the cake.

  161 words, about 1 min 9 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicMale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  The Attic Box

  Kevin, 30s, in his late parents' attic, to his sister, who is ruthlessly sorting everything into keep and donate piles. Kevin wants to keep a box of ridiculous things.

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  You can't donate that. Put it down. That's the bird lamp. You don't donate the bird lamp.

  Yes, I know it's ugly. It's horrifying. It's a ceramic pelican with a light bulb in its mouth. But Dad won it at the county fair throwing rings at bottles, and he carried it to the car like it was a newborn. Mom made him keep it in the garage for ten years. And then one Christmas she put it on the mantel with a bow on it, and he cried. Real tears. Over a pelican.

  I know what you're doing. You're being practical. You're going fast because if you go slow you'll fall apart. I know because you've done it since we were kids.

  But I want this box. The pelican. The bowling trophy. Mom's terrible puzzle with three pieces missing.

  Give me the box, Jen. Go slow with me. Just for this one.

  152 words, about 1 min 5 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicMale40s plusAbout 1 minute

  Grandpa Learns to Text

  Walter, 80s, on the couch, to his college age grandson, who is visiting for the weekend. Walter has just learned to text and wants his grandson to text him back more often.

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  Sit down. Sit. I want to show you something. Look at this. Look at my phone.

  I sent you a message on Tuesday. See? "Hello grandson stop how is school stop." Your grandmother said I don't need to write "stop." I like the stop. It's very clear.

  And you sent back a little yellow face with the tongue out. That's it. What does that mean? Is that good? Are you sick?

  I've been learning. Your cousin Annie showed me the little pictures. I can do the thumbs up now. I can do the cake. I sent your aunt a cake for her birthday and she called me crying.

  Here's my point. I'm eighty one. I don't need a phone call. I know you're busy. You've got your girlfriend and your exams and your band.

  Just send me something. Once a week. A picture of your lunch. A word.

  I'll send back the thumbs. I'm very good at the thumbs.

  159 words, about 1 min 8 sec spoken (estimate)

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• SeriocomicFemale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  The Thirty Ninth Application

  Ivy, 30s, on the phone with a hiring manager at a small observatory, who has called to say the position has been filled. Ivy wants a chance anyway.

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  No, I understand. Filled. That makes sense. Somebody wonderful got it, I'm sure. I'm sure they're very tall and very qualified and have their own telescope.

  Can I just say one thing before you hang up? I'll be fast.

  This is my thirty ninth application. I keep a spreadsheet. It's color coded. Red is no. It's a very red spreadsheet. From far away it looks like a sunset.

  But you're the first one who called. Everyone else sends an email that says "we've decided to move forward with other candidates," like I'm a car they drove past.

  You called. You said my cover letter made you laugh. The part about naming my houseplants after moons.

  So I'm not asking for the job. I'm asking you to keep my name. On a sticky note. If the tall person doesn't work out. If someone needs to answer phones. Anything.

  I'll bring my own snacks. I'm very low maintenance.

  156 words, about 1 min 7 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicFemaleTeenAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  The Locker Combination

  Maya, 14, on the first day of high school, to an older student at the next locker. Maya cannot open her locker and wants help without looking like she needs help.

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  Hi. No, I'm fine. I'm totally fine. I'm just, you know, taking a moment with my locker. Getting to know it. We're still in the early stages.

  The combination is 32, 14, 7. I know that. I've known that since August. My mom wrote it on my hand. You can still see it. Look. It's faded, but it's there.

  The problem is the spinning. You go right, then left past it once, or twice? Then right? Who designed this? Was it a spy? It feels like a spy designed it.

  I've been here eleven minutes. The bell rings in four. I have biology, which I'm told has a teacher who locks the door at the bell, like it's a vault.

  So, hypothetically, if a person were very cool and did not need help, but needed the locker open, what would you do?

  Just show me once. I'll pretend I knew. You can pretend too.

  154 words, about 1 min 6 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemaleTeenAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  Understudy

  Ava, 15, in an empty school auditorium, to her drama teacher, after the cast list went up and she was named understudy for the lead. She wants to know what she did wrong.

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  Can I ask you something? You don't have to look at the list. I've read it. I've read it enough for both of us.

  Understudy. I know what it means. It means I learn every line and every song and every step, and then I stand in the wings and watch someone else do it, and hope she gets a cold. Which I would never actually hope for. Mostly.

  I'm not here to complain. I'm here because I want to get better, and I don't know what better means.

  Was it the song? I went flat on the high part. I heard it. I wanted to stop and start again but you're not supposed to stop.

  Or was it something else? Because if it's something I can fix, I'll fix it. If it's something about me, I need to know that too.

  Just tell me the truth. Please. I can take it. I think I can take it.

  158 words, about 1 min 8 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicMaleTeenAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  The Permission Slip

  Noah, 14, at the kitchen table, to his mother, who has just been handed a permission slip for an overnight class trip to a science museum. He wants her to sign it without asking a single question.

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  Okay, so before you read it, I want to say that it's educational. That's the main thing. Very educational. The word "science" is in the title.

  It's one night. At the science museum. We sleep under the dinosaur. Under it, Mom. Not on it. They're very clear about that.

  Yes, there's a fee. It's forty dollars. But that includes dinner, breakfast and a flashlight tour, which is basically a class. It's like forty dollars for a class.

  I know what you're going to say. You're going to say "remember the last trip." The aquarium was not my fault. That penguin was already out when I got there.

  I've done all my homework. I took out the trash without being asked. Twice. I folded towels. I folded them wrong, but I folded them.

  Please just sign it. Right there. Where it says "parent." You're a parent. You're the best parent.

  Thank you. I love you. Don't call Mr. Hughes.

  158 words, about 1 min 8 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale20s to 30sAbout 1 minute

  The Spare Key

  Daniel, 30s, on the front step of an apartment, to his ex partner, who has opened the door but not stepped aside. Daniel has come to return his spare key and wants to say one honest thing.

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  I'm not coming in. Don't worry. I just came to give you this. The key. The spare. It was still on my ring with the green tag you put on it so I'd stop losing it.

  I kept forgetting to take it off. That's not true. I kept not taking it off. There's a difference.

  I'm not here to fix anything. I know that's done. You were right about most of it. I was working too much and calling it a plan. I kept saying "next year," and next year kept moving.

  I just wanted to say one thing to your face and not in a text.

  You made that apartment feel like somewhere I wanted to come home to. Nobody ever did that before. I didn't know how to say it while it was happening.

  That's all. That's the whole speech. It was longer in the car.

  Here. Take it. Be well.

  153 words, about 1 min 6 sec spoken (estimate)

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• ComedicAny gender20s to 30sAbout 1 minuteGood for teens

  Name on the Cup

  Jamie, 20s, a barista, to a customer who is holding up a coffee cup with their name spelled wrong. Jamie wants the customer to accept the cup and move on before the line riots.

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  I see it. I know. It's wrong. You said "Siobhan," and I wrote "Shivon." In my defense, that's how it sounds. Your name is a trick. Your name is a trap for baristas.

  Here's what I want you to understand. There are twenty two people in that line. I have made forty drinks in the last hour. One of them was for a man who wanted "a latte, but make it a little sad." I don't know what that means. I gave him oat milk.

  I could remake the cup. I could take out a new cup and write your name correctly, with all of its secret letters. But your drink would get cold, and the twenty two people would turn into an angry mob.

  Or you could take this cup, which is perfect inside, and know that I tried. With love. And bad spelling.

  Thank you. Have a great day, Shivon.

  Sorry. Siobhan.

  154 words, about 1 min 6 sec spoken (estimate)

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