Dramatic Monologues: 19 Original Pieces

Dramatic monologues

Showing 19 of 19. All original, written for ScriptLix. Running times are estimates at 140 spoken words a minute. Time yourself out loud.

• DramaticFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  Voicemail Number Eleven

  Lena, 16, leaving one last voicemail on her late grandmother's phone line, which her family is disconnecting tomorrow. She wants to say what she never said out loud.

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  Hi, Nana. It's me. Again. This is number eleven, I think. Mom says they're turning off the line tomorrow because it costs twelve dollars a month to keep a phone ringing in an empty kitchen, and she's right, I know she's right. But I needed one more.

  I keep calling because your voice is on the greeting. "You've reached Ruth, I'm probably in the garden." You recorded that in, what, 2015? You sound so annoyed with the machine. I play it on the bus. I play it before tests. Is that weird? It's probably weird.

  I never told you about the art school thing. I got in. The summer program, the one in the city. I didn't tell you because you'd have made a big deal and I wasn't sure I was going. Then you got sick and it felt like the wrong time to be happy about something.

  I'm going. I start in June. I'm going to draw your tomato plants first, the ugly ones by the fence.

  Okay. I'm going to hang up now. That's the hard part. That's always been the hard part.

  Bye, Nana.

  188 words, about 1 min 21 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  Cut List

  Marcus, 17, to his best friend Dev, who made the varsity team when Marcus did not. Dev has just said he will quit in solidarity. Marcus wants him to stay on the team.

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  Don't. Don't do that. Don't stand there in my driveway and tell me you're quitting for me like it's some kind of present.

  You know what I did when I saw the list? I read it four times. Top to bottom. I thought maybe they'd put me in the wrong spot, alphabetically, like maybe I was hiding under the Ts. And the whole time my stomach was doing this thing, and then I saw your name and it stopped. Because at least it was you. At least one of us.

  You think I want to sit in the stands knowing you threw it away so I wouldn't feel bad? That would be worse, Dev. That would be so much worse. Then I'm not the guy who got cut. I'm the guy who got cut and took his best friend down with him.

  We've been shooting in this driveway since we were seven. That hoop is crooked because you hung off it in fourth grade. I'm still going to be out here. I'm going to get better. And next year I'm coming for your spot.

  So you'd better be there to lose it to me.

  194 words, about 1 min 23 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticAny genderTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  Table Nine

  Riley, 15, to a new student who has been eating lunch alone in the library for two weeks. Riley wants the new kid to come sit at their table.

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  Hey. Sorry. I know you're not supposed to talk in here, but Mrs. Okafor is on the phone, so we have about four minutes.

  I've seen you. Not in a creepy way. I come in here sometimes to return books and you're always at the table by the globe, eating crackers behind a chemistry book so nobody sees. You're really good at it. It took me three days to notice the crackers.

  I did that too. Last year. My parents split and I switched schools in October, which is the worst month, because everyone has already picked their people. I ate in a bathroom stall for a week. Do not recommend. Bad acoustics.

  Then this girl Tasha just sat down across from me at the bus stop and asked if I liked dogs, and I said yes, and she said, "Cool, table nine, tomorrow." That was it. That was the whole thing.

  So. Do you like dogs? You don't have to. It's not actually a requirement. Tasha just likes asking.

  Table nine. By the windows. We have the good chairs. Tomorrow, if you want.

  184 words, about 1 min 19 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  Thirty Seconds

  Dana, 17, to her debate coach after she froze during the state final and the team lost. She wants to keep her place as captain.

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  I know what you're going to say, so can I go first? Please. I've practiced this in the car, and if you go first I'll lose it.

  I froze. In the final round, with the whole team watching, I stood up and I had my notes and I had the argument, and I opened my mouth and nothing came out for thirty seconds. I counted them. Thirty seconds is very long when four hundred people are looking at you.

  I'm not going to make an excuse. I didn't sleep, but nobody slept. My mom couldn't come, but plenty of moms couldn't come. It just happened.

  But here's what I want you to know. I am the person who stayed after practice every Tuesday. I am the one who made the flash cards for the freshmen. I know every argument we've ever run, because I wrote half of them.

  You can take captain away. I'd understand. But if you do, don't do it because you think I can't handle it. Do it because someone else is better.

  And if nobody is better, let me stand up there again. I'll talk the whole time. I promise. You'll be begging me to stop.

  200 words, about 1 min 26 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMaleTeen1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  The New Address

  Eli, 16, to his father, who has just announced they are moving again for a new job. Eli wants to stay and finish senior year with his friends.

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  Can you just not unpack the boxes this time? Like, save us both the trouble. Keep everything in the garage, labeled, ready to go. That's basically what we do anyway.

  That's four schools, Dad. Four. I know you know. I just want to hear you say it out loud.

  You always say it's an adventure. It's not an adventure for me. It's a first day. You get a new office and a parking spot with your name on it. I get a cafeteria and two hundred people who already know where to sit.

  And this time I actually did it. I joined things. I'm in the robotics club. Mr. Tran says I could run the build next year. I have people who would notice if I left. Do you get that? That's never happened before.

  Aunt Carol said I could stay with her. One year. It's eleven miles from school. I already checked the bus.

  I'm not trying to hurt you. I know the job matters. I know you've been waiting for something like this. I'm not saying don't go.

  I'm saying let me stay. Just once, let me be the one who doesn't leave.

  195 words, about 1 min 24 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  Last Booth

  Carmen, 30s, in a diner booth, to her younger sister Ana, who has not spoken to their mother in four years. Carmen wants Ana to visit their mother in the hospital before Friday.

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  You ordered the pancakes. You always order the pancakes and then you eat half and push the plate at me. You did it when you were nine. You're still doing it.

  I didn't ask you here to fight. I know that's what you think. I know you sat in the car for ten minutes before you came in. I watched you. You fixed your hair twice.

  Mom's at St. Vincent's. Fourth floor. They're moving her on Friday to a place with a garden and nurses who talk very softly, and you know what that means. I don't have to say it.

  I'm not asking you to forgive her. I'm not asking you to forget what she said at Dad's funeral. I was there. I heard it. I've been mad at her for four years too, I just did it from closer up.

  But she asks for you. Every day. Not by name anymore. She says "the little one." She says, "Is the little one coming?" And I have run out of ways to say no.

  You don't have to talk. You can sit in the chair by the window and eat pudding from the cart. You can just be there for ten minutes.

  Then you can go back to being angry. I'll even drive you.

  215 words, about 1 min 32 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  The Rookie

  Captain Reyes, 40, in an empty firehouse kitchen, to a young firefighter who froze on a call and has just handed in his resignation letter. Reyes wants him to tear it up.

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  Sit down. No, sit. I'm not reading this. I'm putting it in the drawer with the takeout menus, and in a week, you're going to ask me for it back, and I'm going to hand it to you, and you're going to throw it away.

  You froze. On the stairs. I saw it. Everyone saw it. And you think that's the end of something.

  Let me tell you about my first year. A kitchen fire, nothing big. I walked in, and I saw a highchair. Empty. Kid was fine, already outside with the neighbor. But I saw that highchair and I couldn't move my feet. Ten seconds. Fifteen. My lieutenant had to put his hand on my back and push.

  I thought I was done. I sat in my truck that night and wrote a letter just like this one.

  My lieutenant came out to the parking lot and said, "The ones who freeze are the ones who understand what's in there. I'd rather have one of you than ten guys who think it's a game."

  I didn't believe him. Took me two years to believe him.

  You understand what's in there. That's not a weakness. That's the job.

  Shift starts at seven. Be early. I'll make the coffee.

  209 words, about 1 min 30 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale40s plus1 to 2 minutes

  The Recipe

  Rosa, 60s, in her kitchen, to her adult daughter, who has come to help her move into a smaller apartment. Rosa has started to forget things and wants her daughter to learn the family recipe today.

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  Put the boxes down. The boxes can wait. Come here. Wash your hands.

  You're going to learn the tamales today. Don't make that face. You always say next Christmas. Next Christmas. Every year, next Christmas.

  Look at me. I put the salt in the sugar jar yesterday. Last week I called your brother by your father's name. I know what's happening. The doctor talks to me like I don't know, but I know.

  So we do it now. While it's still in here.

  My mother didn't write anything down. She said if you need paper, you weren't paying attention. So you watch my hands. Not my face. My hands.

  The masa has to feel like this. Touch it. Like your ear lobe. Not like your cheek. Too soft and they fall apart. Too hard and your uncle complains for an hour.

  And you fold it like this. Away from you. Always away. My mother said you fold toward the door so the good luck goes out to the neighbors. I don't know if that's true. I never wanted to find out.

  Now you do one. No, I won't help. Do it.

  There. You see? Your hands knew.

  197 words, about 1 min 24 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  Night Shift

  Kim, 30s, a hospice nurse, in a hallway at three in the morning, to the son of a dying patient, who has been yelling at the staff. She wants him to go back into the room.

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  Mr. Halvorsen. I need you to stop. Just for a second. You've been shouting at the vending machine, and the vending machine didn't do anything.

  I know. I know you're not actually angry at the machine.

  Here's what I see, and you can tell me I'm wrong. You've been in that chair by her bed for two days. You haven't eaten anything that didn't come out of a crinkly bag. And every time she wakes up, you leave the room. You say you need coffee. You've had nine coffees.

  I've done this job for eleven years. I've sat with a lot of families. And the thing nobody tells you is that there isn't a right thing to say. People wait for the perfect sentence. They practice it in the hallway. And then the time passes, and they never say it.

  She doesn't need a perfect sentence. She needs you in the chair when she opens her eyes.

  You can tell her about the weather. You can read her the box scores. You can tell her the coffee here is terrible. It is. That's true.

  Go back in. I'll bring you some toast. Real toast.

  194 words, about 1 min 23 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticAny gender20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  The Quiet

  Sam, late 20s, home from military service, on the back steps at a welcome home party, to an old friend who keeps asking what it was like over there. Sam wants the friend to stop asking and just sit.

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  You want to know what it was like. Everyone wants to know what it was like. Your uncle asked me between hot dogs. A guy at the gas station asked me because of the haircut.

  I'm not going to tell you. Not because it's a secret. Because I don't have the words yet, and if I try to find them out here, with the music and the balloons, I'll find the wrong ones, and then those will be the ones I keep.

  You know what I miss? This is going to sound crazy. I miss the quiet. There was this hour before dawn where nobody talked. Twelve people, and nobody said a word. Not because it was sad. Because we didn't have to. Everyone already knew.

  And then I come home and everyone wants me to talk. To explain. To be okay in a way they can see.

  I'm okay. I'm mostly okay. I just need people to sit with me without making me prove it.

  So can we do that? Can you just sit? You don't have to say anything. You can drink your soda. We can watch your cousin try to light the grill.

  That's all. That's what I need. The quiet.

  204 words, about 1 min 27 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticAny gender40s plus1 to 2 minutesGood for teens

  Room 114

  Mr. or Ms. Avery, 60s, a high school teacher, on their last day before retirement, to a student who has stayed behind after class. Avery wants the student to apply to college.

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  You're still here. Everyone else ran out like the building was on fire. You're stacking chairs. You don't have to stack chairs. That's not your job.

  Sit down a second.

  Thirty four years. Thirty four years in this room. That stain on the ceiling is from 1998. A chemistry project. I wasn't the chemistry teacher. Long story.

  I've had maybe three thousand students. I don't remember all of them. That's the truth nobody says. But I remember the ones who stayed late to stack the chairs. Every single one.

  You haven't turned in the application. The scholarship one. Ms. Patel told me. Deadline is Friday.

  I'm going to guess why. You think it's not for people like you. You think somebody with your grades and your job after school and your little brothers to pick up at four o'clock doesn't get to want that.

  I read your essay on the lighthouse. I've been teaching for thirty four years and I have never read anything like it. I took it home. I read it to my wife.

  So here's my last assignment. My very last one. Turn it in by Friday.

  I'll stack the chairs. Go home. Write.

  197 words, about 1 min 24 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  Visiting Hours

  Andre, 20s, on the phone through the glass in a jail visiting room, to his younger brother, who is starting to hang out with the same crowd Andre did. Andre wants him to walk away from them.

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  Don't smile at me like that. Don't do the thing with your eyebrows like this is a vacation. Sit up. Look at me.

  Mom says you got new sneakers. Two hundred dollar sneakers. Where'd you get two hundred dollars, Jaylen?

  Don't. Don't tell me a story. I invented that story. I told it to her at your age, with the same face, in the same kitchen.

  Listen to me. You think those guys are your friends because they laugh at your jokes and drive you around. They laughed at my jokes too. You know how many of them have come to see me in here? Count. Go ahead. I'll wait.

  Zero. Mom comes. Grandma comes when her knee lets her. You come, when Mom makes you.

  I've got two years left. Two years of this phone and this glass and this chair. I want to walk out of here and see you at a graduation. Not in here, on the other side of this window, with me telling you it's going to be fine.

  Give the sneakers back. Tell them your brother said so.

  They'll laugh. Let them laugh.

  189 words, about 1 min 21 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale40s plus1 to 2 minutes

  The Auction

  Walt, 60s, a farmer, standing in his empty barn, to the bank representative who has come to set up the auction. Walt wants one more season.

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  You can set your table up over there, by the door. That's where my wife used to sell eggs. Folks will know where to stand.

  I'm not going to make trouble. I know how this works. I've been to six of these. I bought a tractor at the Lindqvist place when I was thirty and felt bad about it for a week.

  I just want to ask you one thing, and then I'll get out of your way.

  One season. Give me until October. The corn's in. It's in the ground. It's coming up good, better than the last three years. You can walk out there and look. If I get the harvest in, I can make the next payment, and some of the one after.

  I know what the papers say. I know the numbers. I'm not stupid. I'm just old, and I've watched that field come back from worse than me.

  My grandfather broke that ground with a horse. My father fixed every fence on it. My son doesn't want it, and that's all right. That's his life. But I'd like to be the one who decides when it's done. Not a man with a folding table.

  October. That's all I'm asking. Then I'll ring the bell for you myself.

  212 words, about 1 min 31 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  Second Position

  Elise, 20s, a ballet dancer recovering from a knee injury, in a rehearsal studio, to her mother, who has driven her to every class since she was five. Elise wants permission to stop dancing.

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  Mom. Turn off the music. Please. I'm not going to warm up today.

  I need to tell you something, and I need you to not do your face. The face where you're already planning the next audition.

  The doctor says the knee will heal. It'll be strong enough. I could go back in the spring. You heard him. You wrote it down in your notebook. You underlined spring.

  I don't want to go back.

  I've been lying on the couch for six weeks with ice on my leg, and for the first time since I was five years old, I didn't have to be anywhere. And I wasn't sad, Mom. That's what scared me. I thought I'd be sad.

  I read books. I made bread. I went to a coffee shop at ten in the morning on a Tuesday and just sat there, like a normal person.

  You gave me everything. I know that. The car rides. The shoes. The second job. I know what it cost you. And I'm so scared that if I stop, all of that turns into nothing.

  Tell me it doesn't. Please. Tell me you'd still drive me somewhere. Even if it isn't here.

  199 words, about 1 min 25 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticAny gender20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  What I Saw

  Casey, 20s, in a police interview room, to the detective. Casey gave a statement yesterday about a hit and run, and now wants to change it, because the driver was Casey's best friend.

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  I need to change my statement. The one from yesterday. Can you take it out and put it on the table? I want to see it.

  I said I didn't see the driver. I said it was too dark and the car was going too fast.

  That's not true. I saw him.

  You don't know what this is like. You've probably never had to do this. He's been my best friend since we were six. He taught me to ride a bike by running behind me holding the seat, and then he let go and didn't tell me, and I rode all the way to the end of the street before I knew I was doing it by myself.

  He's not a bad person. He was scared. He's probably sitting in his kitchen right now, not sleeping, waiting for someone to knock.

  But there's a man in the hospital who has kids, and his kids keep asking who did this. I saw them on the news. The little one was holding a drawing.

  I can't stop seeing that drawing.

  Write it down. I'll tell you everything. And then I'm going to drive to his house and tell him myself. Before you get there. I owe him that.

  207 words, about 1 min 29 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticFemale20s to 30s1 to 2 minutes

  The Envelope

  Nora, 30, in a coffee shop, to the birth mother she is meeting for the first time. Nora wants an answer to one question before she will say anything else.

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  No. Please don't. Don't hug me yet. I'm sorry. I just need to sit down first.

  I brought this envelope. It's everything I have from the agency. Two pages. Your first name. Your age, nineteen. And one line in the notes field that says "mother expressed wish for child to have a musical home."

  That's it. That's the whole file. For thirty years I've been reading that one line.

  My parents didn't know what it meant. They aren't musical. My dad can't clap on the beat. But they bought me a piano because of that line. A used one, with a broken F key. I learned on that piano. I teach piano now. I have forty students.

  So I have one question. Just one. Then we can do the rest. The coffee and the photos and whatever comes next.

  Why music? Out of everything you could have asked for me. Not money. Not a good school. Not a big house. You asked for music.

  I need to know if you meant it. Or if it was just something you said to the woman with the clipboard because she was waiting for you to say something.

  Because my whole life is built on it.

  203 words, about 1 min 27 sec spoken (estimate)

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• DramaticMale40s plus1 to 2 minutes

  Final Timeout

  Coach Lyle Brennan, 50s, in a locker room at halftime, to a high school basketball team losing by eighteen points in his last game before retirement. He wants them to stop playing for him.

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  Sit down. Everybody. Water bottles down. Look at me.

  I heard what you were saying in the hallway. "Win it for Coach." "Last game, boys." I know. I know you mean it. It's kind.

  And it's why we're down eighteen.

  You've been playing the whole half like you're carrying something heavy. Like you're scared to drop me. Every pass is careful. Every shot is a prayer. You're not playing basketball, you're playing a funeral.

  I don't need a trophy. I've got a shelf at home with eleven of them, and my wife dusts them, and nobody else has looked at them since 2009.

  Here's what I want. I want to watch Terrell throw a pass behind his back that he's not supposed to throw. I want to see Marcus take the shot from the logo that I've told him a hundred times not to take. I want to see you laugh on the court. I haven't seen any of you laugh in four weeks.

  Play for each other. Play like it's the park. Play like I'm not even here.

  If you lose, you lose. That's fine. I'll still remember this team.

  Now go have some fun. That's an order. My last one.

  202 words, about 1 min 27 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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• 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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