Dramatic monologues
by Rick Doble
For theatre, theater, acting, actors, plays, movies, drama, film, cinema, stage, dramatic art, performing, actress, acts, motion picture, tragicomedy, melodrama, tragedy, comedy

Dramatic monologues about the experience of love at different ages.

These monologues have been called:
"Dramatic monologues that have contemporary spunk."

Two of these dramatic monologues have been published in the anthology:
Millennium Monologs, 95 contemporary characterizations for young actors, Edited by Gerald Lee Ratlif, 262 pages, $15.95, Colorado Springs: Meriwether Publishing Limited, 2002.
Click Here to Order From Barnes And Noble
Millennium Monologs, 95 contemporary characterizations for young actors edited by Gerald Lee Ratlif

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(Word count = 693)

Usually, I can sleep like a stone.

Lightning seeking the ground next to my bedroom, or birds calling loudly in the morning, have never bothered me. So why am I listening to the slight whine of box springs in the room I rented?

My boarders are softly rocking. Through the plaster walls I hear their breathing, his sudden puff of air. Then the springs ebb to silence, and what's left is the rhythm of their snores. But still I cannot sleep.

I came to St. Augustine to find a husband. And after two years, all I've got is three jobs and a hundred dancing shoes.

Twice a week I instruct retired men in the art of shagging. It's the one job that I really enjoy. And they flirt with me, always ask me to marry them, maybe a little seriously at times. We laugh and even pretend that I will, until it's ten o'clock. Then we close for the night.

They're nice, these older men. They think I'm beautiful and treat me with respect. Although, I admit, on bad days I giggle only to keep them coming back. On those nights, I feel heavy, clumsy; their touch and smell make my skin crawl. But I smile and snuggle into their shoulders anyway. Next time, when I'm in a better mood, I may want them, so I chose not to spoil things.

My day job at the University is full of paper and procedure, and I often long for another's touch. So on good evenings I kick off my shoes and dance barefoot with all the men who have come just for me. And later when I lie here, I can feel each of their wrinkled hands on my waist, my shoulder, the weight and pull of their flesh. It's like having ridden a car for hours, responding to its motion even after it's come to rest.

And then I think of my high school boyfriend, gentle, quiet, angry, who took me swimming in the cool rivers of the Georgia foot hills. My first lover, a married man, who held me so carefully I felt like a bowl he was afraid to spill. And my fiance whose touch felt like flower petals, until he scrapped my skin like rose stems, and our wedding plans ended.

But of course who I really want is my husband. I've always believed that one day I'd find "him," and he would fully hold me, envelop me like no one ever has, make me whole.

Still, where he is, is a mystery.

I am the oldest of a family of five children and none of us has married or stayed married. My parent's relationship was strained at best. As kids we ran between the vacant rooms of their boarding house, while my mother changed the sheets, swept the remains of the night before into a waste paper basket. Guests liked us, because she would never tell what she heard or saw.

The house became a game of hide and seek between the wishes of Mom and Dad, each of us learning how to play their contradictions to our advantage. I guess I sided with Father, Mother seemed so cold. Dad was ineffectual and moralistic, but always had time for me, made me feel I was his "girl."


I reach for a glass of water on my window sill when a flash of lightning illuminates my room. The walls, my oak bureau, the pictures of my family are now bathed in a steel blue light. I sit up and look down on the outside just as another vein cuts across the sky. It glows on the tree tops, the shiny lawns below. Dark rain like a curtain follows, tapping on my glass.

And then the voice begins to fade, the one that's been keeping me awake. I slide back beneath my soft covers, feel as though I'm floating. My hand, with a mind of its own, meanders between my legs; soon warm water rises, overflows.

And now at last I can feel sleep near me; it's coming closer, over taking. It wraps itself around me. I fall into its stream.

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