audition monologue

Reflection

The character enters and sets up a video camera which faces him. He pushes a button on the camera and says something to indicate it’s recording. There is a mirror on stage. The mirror reflects the audience back at themselves. The character addresses the audience directly.

Only two types of people are noticed in this world. Only the best and the worst of humanity are recorded. Mandelas and Hitlers; Mother Tereasas and Bin Ladens; Gods and monsters. Never people like me. Too ordinary, too normal. People like me are merely the darkness of the night sky allowing for the best and the worst to shine brightly.

I’m nothing special… I have enough friends to not be an outcast… But I feel so alone. Sitting at a party with my friends hearing everyone talking about their lives, I just feel distant. Like I’m on the outside looking in. That’s exactly it. Standing in the cold rainstorm of my own rage looking into a huge glass window at everyone warm and happy inside.

My friends don’t know I’m hurting inside. It’s always been easy for me to pretend. I’ve been pretending my whole life. Pretended I was okay with being told I was adopted… Pretended I was okay with my brother’s death at cancer’s hands… Pretended I was okay when I read this letter from my biological mother… (Reading from a letter he removes from his pocket.) “You’re not mine, you never were. I didn’t ask to be raped, I didn’t want you. I don’t want to make contact with you ever.”

I don’t think I could ever describe how deeply that hurts me… That I’m the by-product of crime… A forced mistake. My father, a criminal probably not even aware that I exist, that he has a child. (Pause). I’m a nobody (looking in mirror) an ugly nobody fuckup with no sense of belonging. (Pause).

(Addressing the camera more directly now). Now I want you to understand that I’m thankful to you both for trying to make me feel like I belong when I’m clearly a mistake. But neither of you can change the truth. You might have raised me, but I’m not yours. I’m nothing. A human who was forced into this world by a man’s need to dominate.

He takes the mirror and places it on the floor roughly. He proceeds to take his foot and ram it into the mirror in order to break it. He picks up a piece of broken mirror.

This is all I am. A shattered reflection of this fucked up world. And I’m tired of reflecting a world that doesn’t care… I don’t want to be here when the future arrives… (Looking directly at the camera.) Mom… Dad… I’m not sorry for this, I’m sorry for being the cracked reflection of this world.

He takes the shard of mirror and uses it to end his life.

The Matriarch

A man stands with a packed suitcase next to him or behind him. He stares out into the distance obviously thinking hard. He is wearing a jacket.

At first, I loved her and she loved me. Loved me. Loved me. She made me so happy. I never thought that I’d find that kind of love. I was prepared to settle down with someone I mildly liked. But she changed that. And slowly she started to change me. I was once brave and bold albeit a bit sceptical of love’s role in my life.

It’s been fifteen years now and three children later… And I cannot take it anymore. You know now days how you hear about how bad patriarchy is? Don’t get me wrong, I support feminist views and I believe in equality. But little thought is ever given to the minorities like me who suffer at the other end of the scale.

You see this suitcase? It’s packed. (He picks up the case, seemingly ready to leave.) And I am leaving. (He pauses and stares as he did previous. He then puts down the case softly.) I don’t want to do this to her. But I must. Please don’t judge me. Don’t judge me like her. Don’t tell me I’m a spineless fool. That’s all I ask.

I wear long clothing because of the bruises. This is my favourite jacket. Well, it’s my only jacket. I don’t get much money. (Ashamed.) Well I do, but she takes it all. I didn’t mind it in the beginning. It made her happy and when she was happy I was happy too. But you can’t take away a toy from a child… Especially if that toy is money and that child is a greedy human… (Pause. He is lost in thought now.)

Child. Children. My children… What about them? (He snaps out of it). I mustn’t worry about them. They’ll be fine. (He isn’t convincing). You know, she’s threatened them before… Not to their face but to me. She said if I ever tried to leave her she’d hurt them. And she will. (Getting upset.) Trust me she will. If she can do it to the father of her children she can sure as hell do it to them. (He is now notably upset at the idea of his children being hurt by her.)
I fell for her and I fell hard. But now I realise that I didn’t fall in love… I fell and broke. False happiness hid the bruises. Well, this jacket too. (Pause.) I must go now. (He picks up the case again. He takes a few hesitant steps but then stops and drops the case.) I can’t… I just can’t. (He is now on the edge of a breakdown – tears if possible.) She has me trapped. What am I without her abuse? I’m nobody. She’s right. Without her I’m nobody. I’m useless. I’m, I’m… I’m fucked up. (He gains composure.) I know – I’ll leave tomorrow. I promise I’ll leave tomorrow. Just one more night with the kids… Just one more night.

A Book and Pencil

On stage is a boy holding a weathered book and a pencil that is almost finished. He is sitting down with his legs crossed and is dressed in rag-like clothing.

All I have is this book and this pencil. I mean it. That’s all I have. Well I lie, I have these clothes too but they aren’t much anyway. Look for yourself! Holes everywhere. Much like my life… Missing pieces, ripped edges, filthy marks… It’s quite funny actually that all I have is this book and pencil. (He chuckles.) I can’t write. Or read. Or count very high. But that’s me. I can draw though. Look here! (Standing. He shows the audience a picture he drew – it’s a simple stick family) That’s what I imagine my family looked like. (Pause. He seems a little sad by mentioning family.)

When I said this is all I have I meant it. I have nobody. My parents died when I was still a baby. I have no brothers and sisters – well none that I know of at least. I was raised by an old lady, she had a face like my clothes. That’s all I remember about her – I never knew her name. She left when I was seven. She went to the clinic – she’ll be back. I’ve been on my own since. It’s always been natural for me to find food for myself. I manage. I think I should be bigger by now though… I’m sixteen. I think I’m sixteen at least. When I said that old lady left when I was seven, well that’s how old I think I was. I don’t actually know.

I don’t count days very well… I just draw a picture for every day that I don’t get hurt by them… I haven’t drawn many pictures. When I say ‘them’ I mean the guys who sleep under the bridge. They hurt me whenever they see me with money. And they take the money to buy this green stuff and smoke it. It smells horrible. Sometimes they sniff this white sand. But that’s not often. I just try avoid them, but they always find me. If I have something to give them, I know I won’t be hurt that much.

They also call me names. They tell me I’m worthless scum who can’t even read. But I know that I’m not worthless. Just because I can’t read or write or count properly doesn’t mean I can’t think. I’m good at thinking. I think all day about my parents. I know they loved me. Just like the old lady with the dirty face. (Pause. The emotion shifts to very sad.) I lied when I said that all I remember is her face… I also remember she used to hug me and I felt warm. I want to feel warm again… Why did she have to leave? I want her back. She’ll stop them beating me. She still hasn’t come back from the clinic. Maybe she’s waiting for me there… Or maybe she’s, she’s… (Pause at the realisation she is probably dead.) No! (He cries. He then rips out the page of his family from his book and crumples it up in anger, frustration and sheer desperation.) Why?

Apple Blossom

“But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.”
– The Song of Wandering Aengus, W. B. Yeats

The way you looked at me the first time our eyes met. We both knew it was something more. Eyes can says a thousand things in a single second. It felt right. They way you looked at me made me feel special… Maybe that’s why I loved you so much… People always look at me with longing, or lust really. You looked at me differently, you saw deeper… You looked beyond my face. You looked straight into my soul.

You loved me selflessly, and you promised that you’d give everything up in the world if you had to just to keep me. (Pause to recollect.) And you did. You gave your life to save mine… You were the one who completed me, you completed me in my incomplete world. It’s hard when you’re a model and your world is built on superficiality. You don’t know who your true friends are or who is there using you as a beautiful accessory. At least with you I felt real.

You were so secure in yourself, that was so attractive to me. You were the one beating the insecurities out of me. (Slight laugh.) Weird how life works like that. Maybe the priceless oil paintings are painted by the most damaged hands.

I can tell you one thing… They’ll remember you forever, and that’s your dream! A legacy, the legacy you worked so hard towards. So whenever I feel lonely I’ll come to this apple tree and I’ll remember this day, the day I scattered your ashes… I’ll remember our first date under this tree where we shared our first kiss and made love for the first time… Where we both felt happiest. And when the red apples are ripe I’ll remember your smile. I’ll remember I’m your apple blossom and you’re my red apple. Because I’m the beauty and you’re the substance.