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 = 607)

Chester Maddox, you devil!

I rode for two hours in the snow to see you. An old friend from Carson Mills gave me a ride. You know, I wrote weeks ago I'd be there this weekend. But you didn't show.

I've really had it with you, I have.

For twenty years I've spent each afternoon, following your devious ways. Like the time you tricked Cynthia into mar- riage, then abandoned her, after she lost her memory, in some town out west. Now, I'm not forgetting you tried to redeem yourself. You did rescue the young girl from that mob of terrorists, but only because Jessie asked. We all knew, of course, that Jessica was your one true love.

Oh yes, I can see through you: handsome and dashing, able to charm them all, even those who don't want to trust you.

But this time I'm finished.

I've written you for years, let you know every detail of my life. And even though you never answered, I felt a bond had grown between us. So when I read you'd be this close, that the entire cast of "All My Tomorrows" would be in Providence, I made sure I'd meet you. I waited an hour in the freezing cold.

Chester Maddox what am I going to do about you?

I'm here at my window watching my ducks across the water near the point. Tears of anger are filling my eyes at what you've done to me. But I'm not the first. And I suppose I won't be the last. I'm lying on the couch in my "jelly" house, it used to sit on the highway where they sold jams and such to the tourists before it was moved. In spite of today I feel so lucky. I have this cozy little place I can afford, because, you know, there are all those expensive mansions across the way. And I've got my cats and my beloved ducks on my pond.

I retired here, I'm sure I wrote you about it, from the mill where I'd worked my way, over the years, to floor manager, 2nd shift. My friends were certain I'd be lonely, away from the clacking looms.

But you know, Chester, I really don't miss it.

I feed the wild mallards and know each of their ducklings by sight. My cats with bells around their throats run free in the grave yard. I watch the seasons change through my picture window, from white to brown to green and back; the sun glances through the plate glass differently each month. In winter the TV's good, in summer it's all reruns.

Except yours, Chester.

Each afternoon I see your life progressing with mine, as we grow old together. You've lasted so long you're almost treated with respect, achieved a certain status by surviving.

Odd for such a scoundrel as you.

Oh dear, it's getting dark. Where are my cats? I guess I'm going to have to call them, stand on the porch, bang my spoon and sauce pan. They're such devils staying out so late.

And after I finally coax them home, I'll feed them and brush their fur. Then I'll open a can of soup, and settle back onto this couch to watch those sitcoms I don't like nearly as much as my soaps. But that's life and I have to accept it, in the evening that's about all there is.

And on Monday we'll see about you, Mr. Maddox.

When two o'clock, rolls around, I might not watch "All My Tomorrows," just to get even. Except knowing you, I won't be able to resist.

So I probably will.

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