No judge I didn’t see the cop so it doesn’t count like I was going and this guy was tailgating me so I sped up I figured I’d go with the flow of traffic so I sped up and then he turned on the loud music it was going weeee woooo weeeee woooooo I said wow, I’ll turn on MY music BAAAAA BAAAAAA BAAAAAA how do you like THEM apples buddy? Then he turned on his fancy lights “flash flash flash” and I was like WHOA WELL IVE GOT LIGHTS TOO (mocking) flash flash flash flash flash. And then he comes up beside me “pull over” I said “no it’s a cardigan but thanks for noticing”. But then he said something about like a ticket so I finally pulled over cause he offered me a ticket to somewhere I figured free stuff is always good. So I pulled over and he said “you were going a little fast there buddy” I said, “YOU WERE GOING AS FAST AS I WAS”. So, “Judge” if that’s your real name, if anybody should be in handcuffs today and be “arrested” it’s Mr. blue and white guy over there.

Act 1, Scene 1. The character is based on Charlie Brown of the Peanuts comics. The story is of the Peanuts characters when they are teenagers. It involves many adult themes, and has a tragic, depressing ending. I don't want to spoil too much, so if you like the monologue, read the play. It's by Bert V. Royal.

CB: Dear Pen Pal. I know it’s been a few years since I last wrote you. I hope you’re still there. I’m not sure you ever were. I never got any letters back from you when I was a kid. But in a way it was always therapeutic. Everyone else judges everything I say. And here you are: some anonymous person who never says “boo.” Maybe you just read my letters and laughed or maybe you didn’t read my letters or maybe you don’t even exist. It was pretty frustrating when I was young, but now I’m glad that you won’t respond. Just listen. That’s what I want. (Beat.) My dog died. I don’t know if you remember, but I had a beagle. He was a good dog. My best friend. I’d had him as far back as I could remember, but one day last month he didn’t come bounding out of his red doghouse like usual. I called his name. But no response. I knelt down and called out his name. Still nothing. I looked in his doghouse. There was blood everywhere. Cowering in the corner was my dog. His eyes were wild and there was an excessive amount of saliva coming out of his mouth. He was unrecognizable. Both frightened and frightening at the same time. The blood belonged to a little yellow bird that had always been around. My dog and the bird used to play together. In a strange way, it was almost like they were best friends. I know that sounds stupid, but… Anyway, the bird had been mangled. Ripped apart. By my dog. When he saw that I could see what he'd done, his face changed to sadness and he let out a sound that felt like the word 'help.' I reached my hand into his doghouse. I know it was a dumb thing to do, but he looked like he needed me. His jaws snapped. I jerked my hand away before he could bite me. My parents called a center and they came and took him away. Later that day, they put him to sleep. They gave me his corpse in a cardboard box. When my dog died, that was when the rain cloud came back and everything went to hell…

From The Rainmaker by Richard Nash.

Character: Starbuck

Last scene of Act 1, It starts, "what do you care how do you care how I do it sister as long as it can be done!"

"What do you care how I’ll do it, sister, as long as it’s done! But I’ll tell you how I’ll do it! I’ll lift this stick and take a long swipe at the sky and let down a shower of hailstones as big as cantaloupes! I’ll shout out some good old Nebraska cusswords and you turn around and there’s a lake where your corral used to be! Or I’ll sing a little tune maybe and it’ll sound so pretty and sound so sad you’ll weep and your old man will weep and the sky will get all misty-like and shed the prettiest tears you ever did see! How’ll I do it? Girl, I’ll just do it!… Sister the place I brought rain is now called Starbuck – they named it after me! Dry? I tell you, those people didn’t have enough damp to blink their eyes! So I get out my big wheel and my rolling drum and my yella hat with three feathers in it! I look up at the sky and I say: ‘Cumulus!’ I say: ‘Cumulonimbus! Nimimbululo-cumulus!’ And pretty soon – way up there – there’s a tiny cloud like the size of a mare’s tail – and then over there – there’s another cloud lookin’ like a white-wash chicken house! And then I look up and all of a sudden there’s a herd of white buffalo stampedin’ across the sky! And then, sister-of-all-good-people, down comes the rain! (Crosses to door.) Rain in buckets, rain in barrels, fillin’ the lowlands, floodin’ the gullies! And the land is green as the valley of Adam! And when I rode out of there, I looked behind me and I see the prettiest colors in the sky – green, blue, purple, gold – colors to make you cry! And me? I’m ridin’ right through the rainbow!”

Play: The Rainmaker takes place in the home of the Curry family in a drought ridden town. Thus Starbuck roles in to con them all that he can make it rain.

Scene: The monologue is when Starbuck is trying to sell it to the Curry family. He's is making them fall in love with the idea of rain. He's selling them hope

Character: Starbuck is a fast talking conman. He can be played 100 ways. The real choice is deciding if he thinks he can actually make it rain.

If you have read the play or seen please contribute! Also any notes on the format of submissions! This has to be a team effort!

I can still remember it like it was yesterday. I was working the lateshift at my job, down at the gas station. No one was there but me, until this girl walks in. She couldnt have been older than me, but she acted with self respect compared to some the girls at my school. Well, she walks up and goes to buy some snacks. I dont know what I said, but next thing I know we're joking back and forth, really getting along. She said she was walking down town to a friends party. Pretty dangerous walk for anyone at night, so I decided to close the shop up early and offered to drive her. There we go driving down the street. Talking, joking, just getting along. We get to her stop and she invites me in to join the party. Next thing I know we're in the corner, both half buzzed and REALLY getting along now. She was warm, it made me feel like I was almost alive on the inside again. Her perfume smelled like cotton candy, but I didnt realize it till she kissed me and held me close. For a minute I felt like maybe life could be okay from here on out. That life was gonna turn around and I could make something of my life... Then my alarm went off....and I started crying....not just cause it was all some dream, not cause life had just lost its flavor again, but because....i knew I'd never have that dream again. That that girl would never again hold me close and say everything in life would be fine

Soup or salad? You subject me to an entire menu of options, force me to make the biggest decision of the night in front of a room full of people, and then you force me to solve ANOTHER major dilemma?

Soup or salad. Do you enjoy watching me suffer? Do you derive some sort of joy from watching your customers mentally break down over these incessant questions?

What do you want to drink? Would you like to start off with an appetizer? Are you ready to choose your entree? By the way you have about a billion choices. Why? Because we hate you.

Am I just some pathetic puppet in a little show you’ve created, dancing around in panic as you pull my strings with your cold, unfeeling hands?

What other methods of torture have you conjured up to make me dance? What else have you orchestrated? Did you kidnap my family? Are they in the kitchen being prepared for consumption as we speak? Am I going to take a bite of my meal, finally relieved of the burden of answering your sick questions, only to take a big ol’ chomp of my dear mother’s leg? Is that your plan?

Well, you’ll never get away with this. I’m taking my business elsewhere. Good day to you, sir!

(This is a longer monologue, has a good age range)

EUGENE: What am I trying to HIDE?! What am I … I’m not trying to HIDE anything! Look at me!

[EUGENE tears off his shirt.]

Look! My entire body is covered with spots! Spots of every conceivable shape and size! Big spots! Small spots! Short spots! Tall spots! I have a spot the shape of Italy on my back! And another one ... I ... I know it sounds crazy, but ... I’d swear it’s the virgin Mary! On my ... ahh ... on my ... I’m not comfortable talking about this with you! I’d like to see the doctor! I’m a very sick man! There is something horribly, horribly wrong with me, and I’ve come to you for help! Can’t you just help me?! Isn’t that why you’re here?! To help people who are sick?!

[The NURSE glares at EUGENE for a moment—then makes some notes in his chart.]

What ... ahh ... what are you writing?

[The NURSE continues to write, scribbling violently in EUGENE’s chart.]

You know, I ... I can’t help but feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot somehow. I’d like to apologize if I’ve offended you in any way or ... or made your job more difficult. That was certainly not my intent. It’s just that I ... I’m very concerned about these spots! I’m not normally like this. Normally, I’m very relaxed. Very laid back. Really! Water off the back—all that! You can ask my wife, she’ll tell you. But these spots ... they ... they’ve gotten under my skin! It’s almost ... I know this may sound a little crazy ... but it’s almost like they’re alive! Like they’ve got a mind of their own! They come and go as they please, pop up in the most inconvenient places, torment me for a while, make little pictures, signs, sometimes they almost seem to spell out words! And then they vanish without a trace! As if they were never there at all! For weeks, my wife didn’t believe me! She thought I’d gone insane! Every time I tried to show her, they’d disappear! But as soon as she turned her back, they’d rear their ugly little heads! Twice as many as before! It’s like they’re toying with me! Little microscopic invaders playing games with my mind!

I'm doing a monologue that my teacher has selected my genre for. He gave me "Realistic fiction" and said "Think 'fantastic story' or 'a stretch of the imagination'; plausible but unlikely. Fantasy like story telling." I can't find any decent monologues that are over four minutes long. I'd prefer a younger female character but at this rate I'm open to anything.

No matter how hard i try i just can't stop thinking about Dylan and i fucking hate him. I just want someone to fall in love with. But why is it so hard for me? I find the beauty in everything and everyone but i still cant find someone to love. And all the people i do love, ill never get. And i accept that. I just wish that i didn't have to accept that.
I want to love someone. I want to love something. I want that feeling again. That feeling when your heart races and your face turns red and your palm gets sweaty at just the thought of them. I felt that when i met Jamie. Jamie was a love at first sight for me. I want that feeling again. Its an amazing feeling. Its an amazing sadness too. I want to feel sad about how i love something that i cant have no matter how hard i try. I want there to be nights where i cry so much that i get a headache. I want to feel Lonley. I want all the pros and cons of falling in love. I want the rush and happiness and the sad lonely feeling that comes along with it. I want a connection. I just want something. I dont want something platonic. I want a companion. I want a best friend and also someone im deeply in love with. I want someone to stare at for hours without ever getting tired of their face. I want someone to talk to for hours without ever getting tired of their voice. Asking to be sad is weird, but i really miss feeling lonely. I miss having a large hole in my heart that always aches for more. Its a terrible but pleasant feeling. I want the feeling of love and loneliness. Why is that to hard to achieve? Why cant i just fall in love? Why wont my brain work? Why do memories of Dylan keep coming back to me? Why wont he leave me alone? Why cant i feel happy? Why cant i feel sad or lonely? Why am i always so monotone? Why cant i get anything i want? Why is everything so hard? Why do i want so much but still feel no sadness? Why do i sound sad right now but feel absolutely nothing in actual reality? Why do i feel like im going insane? Just, why? Why am i sad? Why does getting a text from Joey spark joy in me? I dont like him but i do but i dont but i do but i dont but i don't but i don't. I dont. I dont know why i said i dont so many times. I dont like him. I would know. Yeah i feel happy when talking to him but its not the "love" feeling. I dont like him. And i dont like anyone. I think i make myself believe i like people to make me feel like im in love so i can feel that lonely feeling. But i dont think i ever actually feel anything. Why am i like this? Why am i still like this? James i dont know what the fuck to do and im not really asking for advice, i just need to get everything out of my system. I dont bottle my feelings but this seems like a large load. I look in the mirror and i can't smile but i cant exactly frown either. I cant cry. I can't laugh. I look in the mirror with a dead face and all that stares back at me is a person that i don't even know. The face i see doesn't feel like mine. I don't feel like im me but.. I am me.

I’m a freshman in college auditioning to work at a Children’s Theatre company and new a family friendly monologue and I am STUCK!!!! Please help.

Not entirely sure if I'm posting this right since the sub doesn't explain alot but this is still an amazing and dark monologue which has stuck in my head since I first read Watchmen years ago. The series is about an alternative history about super heroes and how the world would react to a damn near God (Dr. Manhattan) suddenly walking among us mere mortal humans. This is the personal diary of Rorschach, the nihilistic and extremely paranoid anti-hero who is the serie's main protagonist, talking about his views on society and a dead superhero in the comic's universe named The Comedian.

"Rorschach's journal.

October 16th, 1985.

42nd Street: Women's breasts draped across every billboard, every display, littering the sidewalk. Was offered Swedish love and French love, but not American love. American love like coke in green glass bottles. They don't make it anymore...

Thought about Moloch's story. Could all be lies, a revenge scheme planned during his decade behind bars. But if it's true...what could have scared The Comedian enough to cry in front of Moloch? Vague and puzzling reference to an island and Dr. Manhattan. Could he be at risk in the same way? What was it he saw? And that list he mentioned...

So many questions. Never mind answers. Nothing is insoluble, nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life. Paid last respects quietly, without fuss.

The Comedian. Edward Morgon Blake. Born 1924. 45 years a comical act. Died 1985, buried in the rain...is that what happens to us? A life of conflict with no time for friends so that when it's done only our enemies leave roses behind for us? Violent lives, ending violently. We never die in our beds. Not allowed.

Something in our personalities perhaps? Some animal urge? Unimportant. We do what we have to do. Others bury their heads between the teats of swollen indulgence and gratification. Piglets squirming beneath a sow for shelter...but there is no shelter. And the future is bearing down, like an express train.

Blake understood. Treated it like a joke, but he understood it. He saw the true face of the 20th century and choose to become an infliction of it, a parody of it. A joke. No one else saw the joke, that's why he was lonely.

Heard joke once:

Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies behead is vague and uncertain.

Doctor says, "treatment is simple. Great clown Pogliacci is in town. Go and see him. He should perk you right up!"

Man bursts into tears. Says "But doctor...I am Pogliacci!"

Good joke.

Everybody laugh.

Roll on snare drum.

CURTAINS "

Hey, this is my English assignment. I wanna see what yall think.
It's a monologue about Doug from Cosi by Lewis Nowra, and It's set 10 years after the play.

I was a failure, but now I’m a success. I’m am retired from being a statistic. A statistic living and dwelling in the horror that was the Melbourne Mental Asylum. No longer do I wake up, only wishing that I was still asleep. Not just asleep, but in a coma, maybe dead. Then I would be happy, with no struggles. The struggles put on me in that asylum, the brain that I was cursed with is what got me there. What’s wrong with me?! Why me? Why did I have to be born this way? I didn’t wanna be like this, and each night I wouldn’t sleep, as my thoughts were bleached with this question. It would make me even madder just thinking about it, but the worst part was having the realisation that there isn’t a person in the world who would understand me. Understanding the mental and physical capacity and state that was my reality. Key word: was. I’m always going to be insane, but I will never again be what I was, a manipulative monster. I hope I don’t go to hell for all the insanity I had done. Everyone makes mistakes, but you must be a real monster to do what I did. It makes me sad to even talk or think about it. I usually avoid this, but… I wanna be heard! I want the dread and guilt off my chest, and I want others to know my story. I want the few select in my former situation, if they even exist, that it’s possible, but it’s a 1 in a million shot. I’m sorry to all the women, I’m sorry to all the animals, I’m sorry to everyone that I hurt. I’m surprised I’ve gotten this far since where I was. It reminds me of those rags to riches stories, but in my case it’s insane to a bit less insane. I’m so thankful for so many people, but especially Iaura. remember when she came to the asylum. It is the most bright and unforgettable part of my life. I wake up being thankful, I go to sleep being thankful. I remember that just before I had just come back from my psychiatrist appointment. I went in there feeing annoyed, and I left quite happy, as he said this is our last session. I was yelling “Yes! Yes! Yes!” As I left his office that day, and I remember how excited I was, and that excitement lasted with me until I was back at the asylum. Once I got back to the asylum, to see the dark, grey, depressing, Smokey building, but mood dipped, but not for long. I was let inside to the jail like environment that I dwell in, but then I noticed something. Outta the corner of my eye, I saw someone with light brown hair. She was quite short, and she was wearing a dark polo jumper. Her fashion style was slightly less depressing than the rest of us, and she stood out to me. She was by herself, just sitting down on a sofa while she was writing something. I walked over, and noticed she turned and was looking my direction too. When I saw her face and her eyes meet mine, I thought for a moment, wondering how could she be here? She looked amazing to me. She looked as happy as could be. Yes, she dresses kinda depressing, but.. I don’t know. It’s hard to put a finger on it. She just looks, not normal, but better than us. I have to admit, I felt like she was far superior to me, like she was alpha and I was beta, which back then, I thought wasn’t even possible. I always had the belief that the male was always the top dog, but this was a turning point for me mentally and physically. I stood still for a moment, with adrenaline and fear pumping through me. The memory of when our eyes locked is still bold in my mind. I remember every little detail. The Smokey smell and the wet, damp, mood given off by our nightmare, known as the asylum; but there was her. It was like darkness everywhere, but she was the light. She was like an angle amongst demons, which is how I like to describe the asylum. The asylum was a demon- good way to describe it, without having to go into too much detail. I try to avoid talking about that demon-ous place, as it just puts me down more- and closer to the me I no longer want to be. But, she lit it up. As I was stuck in my tracks, unable to move due to the fear pumping through me, she stood up, and walked over. I thought she was gonna talk to me, but no, she was walked right past. I was confused, and I was shocked, but I didn’t really care, but at the same time I did. I walked over to the sofa and sat down. I sat there as I wanted to talk to her. I grabbed the flicker and turned on the TV. She came back, and started writing again, and she asked if I could turn it down, so I did, and I asked what she was writing, and that’s where we boomed off. We started talking, and…I..I’ve never spoken to someone like that before. We talked for ages, about our lifes and what not. I try to make it sound as positive as possible, but some of the stuff we talked about in our lifes was dog shit- not positive at all. Quite depressing really, but we could relate. It’s crazy to think that just one moment, one lucky scenario, one unsuspected thing, could change your life. I’m amazed at the luck that she went to my mental asylum. I wonder sometimes, imagine if she didn’t go there? Where would I be? Not where I am, I know that, and I’m grateful for where I am, even though it’s not where I wanna be, It’s a journey. I’m trusting the process. I wake up each morning, to the thoughts that make me want to go back to sleep, but not a coma- which is better than before. I still take medication and pain killers, as well as some stuff I can’t mention, as.. well, lemme just move on. I still can’t sleep at night without taking melatonin and all that, I still can’t concentrate without things, I still can’t push away those voices in my head, I still can’t stop my life like delusions, but despite all this negative, I am happy, as I have her, and I am no longer facing the horror that was the asylum. I now can solicalise. I now can have fun. I now can surround myself with positive people, instead of negative, making me better and better. I’ve heard you’re the average of your 5 friends, so why surround yourself with people you don’t wanna be like? I wish my former self knew all this. I wish the people who run these asylums would push this. I wish that everyone else gets better, for I am thankful.
End

I don’t remember much of my childhood. It was all a blur, a blink of an eye, and I found myself sitting in a factory with individuals just like me, a disposable part of the system. It went on like that for a while, and then, one day, they came up to me, grabbed me, and the world went black. I woke up hours later, able to see nothing. I was trapped in something, and I couldn’t get out. They wouldn’t let me out. I’d hoped for nothing more than to be released from this lightless trap. I heard a voice - the voice of my killer, as I’d come to find out, and then light poured into my eyes, and at that moment I didn’t care about the voice. I felt nothing but joy. I was free. But the light proved ephemeral and my elation premature as the darkness returned, but this time there was more pain. More suffering. More agony. I didn’t know what was happening, but I did know that I wasn’t going to wake up. Suddenly, the pain stopped, and I ended up here.

Life sure was tough for a Twix Bar like me.