Female Monologues From Scenes for High School Drama Students

DRAMA | It's A Doll's Life

Situation: A rag doll, who has been neglected by her owner Sally, reflects on her disappointing life in her nursery. 

A doll sits in the middle of a table with her head down. 

Sure, everyone thinks being a doll is fun. All of the other toys say, "why wouldn’t you want to be a rag doll? Little girls adore you. You would be their favorite toy."  Right and what would the other toys at the store say now about my perfect life? All I do all day is sit up on this shelf, collecting dust. 

It has been a long time since I have been to a tea party.  It has been such a long time since I have even left this spot. I used to be Sally’s favorite toy. I remember the first day I arrived home from Eaton’s department store. My box was wrapped in pretty gold paper, with a big green bow on the front. "Oh Mommy, oh Daddy, I love it. I going to play with her for ever and ever and ever and I am going to love her for ever and ever and ever." 

Where are you now Sally? Are you off with your collection of Barbies or are you watching television? She doesn’t even realize how hard it is for me to watch her play with her other toys. I just sit here, hour after hour, day after day, watching. I’m not alone though. Numerous Care Bears have been stuffed in the closet, her Cabbage Patch Kids collection is over in that corner and we can’t forget the Disney Store in the left corner. At least I got a shelf.

Please, don’t get me wrong, when I first arrived in this nursery, everything was wonderful. That month was the happiest month of my life. Sally would play with me every day. We would have tea parties, we would read books together. We did everything together. Sally would take me everywhere. I once got to go to show and tell with her.  I was always there for her. She could tell me anything, and I wouldn’t tell the other toys. But, on that cold November day, her Dad brought home her first Barbie, and our life together was over.

I never even got a name. All of her other dolls have names. I am just referred to as "her" or "dolly". Why didn’t she give me a name? Naming a doll is not the hardest thing to do in the world. It only takes a few seconds of thought.

Sally will occasionally stop and talk to me. Just last week she picked me up and brushed my hair.  But I soon returned to my spot. Is this my destiny? I want to have fun again. I want to play again with a person. I want someone to love me. I don’t want to spend my life on a shelf, collecting dust. It doesn’t look like I have a choice, does it? 

C. Clarke

Original Published Scenes for High School Drama Students 1997 

Uploaded December 2016

DRAMA | Can't Judge A Book By It's Cover

Situation: Two friends working on homework. Victoria is reacting to what Veronica just said about Julie, a popular girl at school. Both girls are in Veronica's living room.

I feel really sorry for Julie. (Pause.) Do my ears deceive me? Did I just hear Veronica say that she felt sorry for Julie? (Pause.) I know, I know that is what you said. How could you possibly feel sorry for Julie? Wait, don't tell me. I want to examine the facts myself.

Stands up and walks over to another table and grabs a textbook.

Now, let's see shall we? Julie Donn, moved to town about three, no four years ago from downtown Toronto. She is the exact replica of a Barbie doll - pretty, slim with one of those personalities to die for. Not much in the brains department though. If she was a real Barbie, I would have to say that she would be Malibu Barbie because she is not smart enough to be the pet doctor one. And you can't forget that breathy voice. Oh darling, I forgot all about it. Can I copy your homework and hand it in? Please, give me strength.

Yeah, I know that what I just said deals with what we just see on the outside. So, what is your point? I'm guessing that you want me to dive into that sea of make-up to get to the inner person. Well okay. She is……

Wait, why do you feel sorry for the girl who waltzed into town and stole your boyfriend? The same person who is your lab partner but yet the only work that she does in class is file her fingernails. And don't forget the Jell-O incident where she was carrying a bowl over your head and "accidentally" tipped it and you got to walk around all day with green Jell-O in your hair. I know that you have been working at her house on your science project, but obviously you have been spending too much time over with the princess in her little castle.

Do I remember what you told me? You mean about her past? The part about her dad getting fired because he we stealing money, which if you ask me does not make sense because they are old money and were loaded to begin with. Or the part about her mom having a few affairs with high up politicians? Or about her brother being a drug addict and her twenty year old sister marrying an eighty year old man? Is that what you mean? Oh. I guess I was a little bit insensitive wasn't I? Okay a lot. I forgot about all of that stuff that she has to deal with, but that is no excuse to be mean to us. Alright, maybe I should be more considerate and consider what she is dealing with before I judge her. Never judge a book by it's cover right? Jeez, I hate it when you point out that I am being insensitive or wrong. I am not that mean!  But you know who is really mean? A deep dark, I don't want to meet you in a dark abandoned ally kind of mean? Billy. That's right, Billy Vos. Hey, don't give me that look. Oh, I guess I am doing it again right? 

C. Clarke

Original Published Scenes for High School Drama Students January 1998

Uploaded December 2016

DRAMA | Observations

Situation: A student lifeguard/instructor has had enough of her Deck Supervisor.  She walks in the door, throws her bag on the table, and releases her frustration to the room. 

Note:  As I was pasting in this monologue from the original source in March 2017, I had an urge to do some and made some changes.  The original monologue, as posted in 1997 on Scenes for High School Drama Students, is copied from below. 

She just stands there.  Stands there!  You know, on the right side of the guard chair. Hands on hips, whistle with its nasty cord all twisted around the manicure that is overdue for change.  She's watching us.  Not the kids.  Us!  I want to scream across the pool, "your class is right beside you, not over here!"  When I'm at that moment, I always get the look from Paul, you know that give-her-a-chance-she-is-new-look.  And then I'm splashed right back into reality. 

What everyone doesn't know is that I was right.  People have been musing since she started a couple of weeks ago about what she writes on the clipboard.  (Pulls out clipboard from bag.)  The one that she never lets out of her site and always locks in her locker.  Locker not fully locked today.  (Pause.)  You learn some tricks when you're around the building as long as I have been around.  

So, look what she put.  What am I going to do?  Here.  Right here she put that I had my kids play with those rings that sink for the last ten minutes of class. A fun deep diving exercise.  And here. Two days ago. She writes that that my kid almost knocked out another kid with the Ring Buoy.  Health and safety concern.  I didn’t know that a seven year old could throw that hard, plus the other kid swam right past the mock victim while the Ring Buoy was in motion. He came out of no where and should have been watching where he was going.  Where is that in the report?   And, look at this, four days ago here are the notes with the two year old fell into the deep end. Not my fault. Guarding the shallow end at the time. Bob, who was guarding the deep end should have prevented that one.  But, nothing about Bob in these notes.  Actually, as we flip through to the Bob section, nothing about him at all. (Flips through the pages, realizing the notes on the other lifeguards/instructors.)  Looks like I don't have anything to be worried about. There were a lot more bad things on the other lifeguards then there were on me. 

Why can't Donna come back and be our Deck Supervisor? She was fun and caring and nice to the kids. She didn’t take notes on us. We should take notes on Mary and add them to this clipboard. You know, she did let a little kid fall off the aqua table today. (Pause.)  What do you mean how am I going to sneak this clipboard back into her locker before the shift tomorrow?  I have my ways.  

C. Clarke
September, 1997, March 2017

 


The Original Monologue

(Walks in and throws her bag on the table.) She stands there, on the right side of the guard chair. Her hands are on her hips, and her whistle is twisted around her fingers. She is watching us. I often wonder what Mary is actually looking at. She should be looking after her own class.

(Flops down on the couch.) Mary has been working at our swimming pool for about a month now. She is our Deck Supervisor, which basically means she runs the pool. Everyday when I arrive for work she is sitting at the edge of the pool in the same blue chair with her clipboard on her lap. There is usually about one or two swimmers in the pool at this time. Looking bored out of her mind, Mary watches them swim back and forth, back and forth. Occasionally she uncrosses her arms to brush a curl of short dark hair out of her eyes. Mary is always wearing that ugly green Speedo that looks like it is going to fall apart. The only reason why it hasn’t become an object for the garbage yet is because it has Deck Supervisor in big white letters on lower left side. That doesn’t matter anyway because she also always wears plaid shorts and it covers the title up. I know that she has other bathing suits because I have seen them in her big bag that she leaves in the middle of the office. Then there is her voice. She has this loud, screechy voice that echoes in the pool. (Laughs.) Even the parents are afraid of her, not to mention the kids. 

Mary never lets that clipboard out of her sight. The other lifeguards think it is because she has been taking notes on us. They think that, but I know that she has notes on us. Why else would she be watching us teach our classes so closely?  (Slowly and quietly.) There was one day when she left and forgot to take her clipboard. I was the only guard on duty, and nobody showed up for the adult swim - which is not a surprise. Anyway, I needed a class list for the Otter class that I would be teaching the next day, and Mary had it on her clipboard. So, while I was looking for the list I accidentally saw the sheets with all of her observations. There were some good things, but there were some bad things too. She put that I had my kids play with those rings that sink for the last ten minutes of class. Now that was a fun deep diving exercise. Then she had that my kid almost knocked out another kid with the Ring Buoy. I didn’t know that a seven year old could throw that hard, plus the other kid swam right past the mock victim while the Ring Buoy was in motion. He came out of no where and should have been watching where he was going. And then there was the case where the two year old fell into the deep end. Now that was not my fault. I was guarding the shallow end at the time. Bob, who was guarding the deep end should have prevented that one. I’m not worried though. There were a lot more bad things on the other lifeguards then there were on me. 

Things were much better when Donna was our Deck Supervisor. She was fun and caring and nice to the kids. She also didn’t take notes on us. I do think that Mary should spend more time watching her own class instead of taking notes on us. We know what we are doing.  (Thinking.) Maybe we should start taking notes on her. You know, she did let a little kid fall off the aqua table today.

C. Clarke
September 1997

DRAMA | Pigtails

Pigtails. That's what they call me. That and many other things, including "Farm Girl", "Mary Anne" - as in Gilligan's Island - and "Hand-me-down".

My real name is Lilia Katherine Jacobs. I was named after my great-grandmother who came over from Scotland as a young child. She was the eldest of five kids in a farm family. Her life was almost exactly like mine. She grew up on this farm; her father a farmer, her mother doing all- and more- than her time would allow. I'm positive she went through what I'm going through now.

I once read a quote in her diary- "The eyes are the window into the soul." It didn't say who told her this, but Mama told me that once. I guess she read great-grandma Lilia's diary, too. Well, the quote is true in my classroom. The other kids, city kids (as I call them) are peppy, lively, and energetic. Their eyes show their souls are, too. I try to be happy, but looking into my eyes, you see the truth. You see the eyes of a chained wild horse- sorrowful and upset. Or the eyes of a puppy beaten one to many times- scared and defeated. Or those of a longing soul, a broken soul, longing for love, affection, and acceptance of any kind from kids her age.

All the other kids my age are city kids. That's what I call them. Mean, rotten, snobby, bratty, spoiled, rich. That's what most city kids are.

Don't get me wrong. Mama and Daddy try hard to make me like them. They give ,or make me nice clothes, a wonderful home, plenty to eat, and more love than Romeo gave Juliet. They try to make me like city kids; they think that's what I want, but they can't. I don't live in a fancy mansion, or have tons of money, or the latest toys- but to tell the truth, I don't care. It's actually better this way. I couldn't be a city kid- no matter what. I'm like a wild horse as Mama likes to say. I have to have space and air. Freedom. There's no way to tame me or keep me locked up. I need to breathe the fresh air, the honeysuckle, the roses. I need our farm.

Lilia Katherine Jacobs- that's what the city kids SHOULD call me. But I guess for now I'm just plain Pigtails, and I have to live with it. I try to look past the fact that they're city kids and treat them for what's in their souls. Why can't someone see past my country background and see me for what I am - Lilia Katherine Jacobs, a 15 year old girl, who happens to live on a farm? 

Angel Harrison

Originally published Scenes for High School Drama Students

1998

 

 

DRAMA | Loving You

Loving You

I don't love you anymore. I'm not sure if I ever loved you. I know that I wanted to love you, I needed too. All of my life, all I've ever wanted is someone to love who loves me. I never felt complete. I felt like I needed someone to tell me that I was worth it- that I was worth all the trouble of loving, the heartache, the wanting, the waiting, the crying , the fighting. But now I know that I just tricked myself into thinking that you were mine, and that I was yours, and that we belonged to each other.

But I could never give my heart to you. Not my soul! Not my dreams and my hopes! I can't give those things to you. Because (pause), because, when I hold you, (tenderly) I'm always the first one to let go. And when we stare at each other, I'm always the one who becomes distracted with some minor detail else where than your face. 

And when you tell me that you love me, I don't feel complete. I feel like I'm cheating you, out of real love. Don't you see, they were all right. We were wrong and they were right.  And however much we don't want that to be true, it is.

But just before you go to sleep at night, and when you see a shooting star, and when you laugh, think of me, and how much I needed you all those years. How much I needed you to love me. And how much I needed to love you. 

Amber Wardell

Originally published Scenes for High School Drama Students

1998

 

 

COMEDY | Skiing Adventure

Skiing Adventure

How was my skiing adventure? Well, it was an adventure.

What a day I had! If I never saw a pair of skis again, it would be too soon. 

What happened? It is a long story. Okay, I will start from the beginning. We arrived at the hill, my brother and I, and everything was fine. The sun was shinning, and it wasn’t cold. You could call it a perfect day. So, we went inside the chalet to rent some equipment. We ended up standing in a rental line for 37 minutes. You can image how impatient I was by the time I got my equipment. I ended up with these ugly gray skis and boots from the 1970s that looked pathetic compared to my brothers beautiful Salomon skis and Technica boots. Anyway we got on the lift and went up the beginner hill, or the "baby hill" as those expert skiers call it. I made it off the lift without falling, which was a huge accomplishment with wood logs strapped to my feet. So, we push ourselves to the top of the hill and my brother says, "all you have to do is form a pizza wedge, and then you have to turn. That's it." Now, the pizza wedge or the snow plow, as the experts call it, is very uncomfortable! So, I’m standing at the top of the hill in my 70s specials, in this pizza wedge, and my brother says "try doing a turn" before he skates down the hill.  So graceful.  

Okay, how hard can it be? Let me tell you.  Hard. 

So I push myself forward, still in my pizza wedge, and I'm moving, and the snow is fast, and I am approaching the side of the run. Then, I'm at the forest and right in front of the tress.  I’m going to hit a tree.  I am going to hit a tree!! My brother is yelling "turn", but I can’t. I can’t turn! So, I fall to the hard, cold ground with a big, loud thump. Meanwhile, as I was trying to regain my pride, there were little four year-olds zipping by me. And I realize - if a four year old can do it, I can do it.  So, after a few attempts at standing, I brush myself off and decide turning is for losers.

And I go straight down the hill.  I gain so much speed.  A wiz past my brother.  I feel great for a split second.   

Speed can be a negative thing when it comes to being out of control.  Thankfully, the Ski Patrol was a pleasant, soft, landing pad.  What followed?  A long, boring lesson on the Skier’s Responsibility Code.  Because I was perceived as "giving attitude" the Ski Patrol took away my lift ticket.  Sixty bucks down the drain. I don’t understand what the big problem was. I mean, don’t these things happen all of the time? Anyway, I didn’t like skiing. That one run was enough for me. Skiing is a very dangerous sport, and I think that I will stick to watching it on television, instead of actually, physically participating.  I don't want to risk it - leave it to the professionals. 

My brother?  Oh he took off to the expert runs when he saw I was with the Ski Patrol person.  He also ended up taking the bus home. 

C Clarke 

Originally published Scenes for High School Drama Students January 1997

Updated July 2018 

 

COMEDY | P Beauty

P Beauty

Adapted from Maria Howes' Peeing Beauty

My nickname?  You mean P Beauty? Here's the origin story. 

I had landed the lead in the school's production of "Sleeping Beauty". I was so proud. The cast had been rehearsing for two months and we were more than pumped and ready to get onstage and perform it! After months of stress and laughter at rehearsal, we had finally reached opening night. Our hands were sweaty and we shook with anticipation and nervousness backstage. As the lights dimmed and the audience hushed, we took our places behind the curtain. Everything was off to a great start. Choreography solid.  Lines on pace.  Chemistry high.  I even hit the high F on my solo!

It was time for my big scene where I was going to kiss Rick, the handsome prince.  No stage kiss for us tonight.  We were going to let the moment take us - to be authentic as possible. I rushed backstage and changed into my a beautiful, white lace gown with sequin trim that surprisingly, didn't look like a wedding dress from the 80s.  The wedding chorale music began to play, I made my entrance, and a hush fell over the crowd.  I smiled and predicted a loud and cheery applause. Instead, the audience burst out into laughter! Bewildered and confused, Rick whispered into my ear, "let's just hurry and finish the show". With hardy laughter still echoing throughout the audience, the scene finished with a rushed stage kiss.  The curtain went down and I ran off the stage, bursting into tears. My company members tried to stop me but I couldn't face them.  My performance was so horrible that the audience laughed.  Laughed!  All that work, for what?  To be the joke.   I quickly ran into the dressing room,took off my costume, gathered my bags, dried my tears and sneaked out the back door. 

As I walked towards my car, I tried to figure out what in my performance had caused the sudden outburst from the audience. Then I heard snickering coming from two audience members walking down the sidewalk about twenty feet from me. I tried to ignore them but couldn't.   

The tall one pointed at me, and then yelled:  "That's the girl who peed onstage! As she was about to get married, peed on stage!"

What?!?!

I wanted to be swallowed up the concrete. Confused and embarrassed, all I could do was look down as they passed me by. 

And then it came to me. 

Wait, what?  Peed?

I ran inside to the dressing room and grabbed my dress from the rack. I turned it slowly to the backside and noticed a very obvious large yellow stain. I know it seems kind of gross, but I wasn't sure what it was, so naturally, I cautiously smelled it! Relieved, but still upset, I realized that it was Mountain Dew! I looked around the dressing room and saw, right next to my chair, a plastic cup, tipped over sideways, still dripping the curious yellow liquid.

I walked out of the dressing room with my dress and a piece of paper that read, "another victim of food and drink in the change room."   And, the next night, we did the play again and everything was perfect.  I stopped worrying about what people thought and played the scene.  

To this day, I'm known as P Beauty.  The lesson is this is obviously, don't have open soda in a crowded dressing room. AND to figure out what truly happened before jumping to conclusions. 

C Clarke 

Peeing Beauty originally written by Maria Howes and published on Scenes for High School Drama Students, 1998. 

 

COMEDY | Sleeping Beauty

Sleeping Beauty

Hello. My name is Rose, but you may know me better as "Sleeping Beauty." I just have a few things I want to get out in the open.

You know, ever since that stupid prince woke me up, I have been getting a lot of grief from a lot of people who have no right sticking their noses into my business. Everyone seems to think that just because some guy kissed me and woke me up, I should marry him. As if. I was just lying there, minding my own business, having a pleasant dream - as I had been for the past one hundred years - when "Prince Charming" decides to take it upon himself to plant one on me and bring me into a conscious state. I barely know him. I'm not going to marry someone I hardly know.

And then, there's the matter of his last name. Think about it. How would you like to spend the rest of your life as Mrs. Charming? Ugh. Just thinking about that disgustingly sweet name makes me want to puke! No way am I getting a joint bank account with that name. Think of how our poor children would be teased. Think of the jokes at the PTA meetings. What a life I would lead! If you think I'm obnoxious now, imagine how I'd be after a few years as Mrs. Charming. 

And, of course, we mustn't forget the fact that I'm already betrothed. Now don't look at me like that. I know it's been a hundred years. Just because I was technically in a coma, doesn't mean I'm brain dead. I know he's dead. Quite dead in fact, but he does have descendants. I can just marry someone a little down the line. Okay, way down the line. I must stay true to my parents promise. Chivalry isn't that dead.

Well, I'd better get going. I've got to go find a younger branch on my fiancée's family tree. But before I go, I just want to make one thing perfectly clear: just because someone breaks a spell that doesn't give them any claim to your future.

Keena Lindsay

Originally Published Scenes for High School Drama Students 1998

COMEDY | Goldilocks

Goldilocks

Hi. My name is Goldilocks and I've been the victim of a bad rap all these years. Mothers always tell their children: "Don't be like Goldilocks. Don't be like Goldilocks." Well, I'd like you to hear my side of the story.

I did walk into the Bears' house when they weren't home. I readily admit that, but they had this fancy schmancy sign on the door that said "Welcome". I'm no fool. I know what that word means. Bears speak with forked tongues and then make a big fuss when somebody believes their sign. 

And about that porridge. Porridge? (Shakes head, then nods on next line) Wallpaper paste with a few raisins in it. That stuff was awful! And notice they didn't like it either. They went off walking in the woods and left that sign as bait to help them get rid of it.

I did break a chair. One chair. One cheap little chair that wouldn't even make it in a yard sale! Besides, they could always glue it back together with some of the leftover porridge.

And then there were the beds. Beds they call them. Waterbeds with no water. No wonder those bears were always off walking in the woods, they were looking for a soft place to lay their heads and take a nap. So sue me, but get off my back!

Well, anyway, thanks for listening. I just wanted to set the record straight. When you grow up and read to your children, be kind to Goldilocks. Tell them I wasn't such a bad kid. It's all the media's fault.

Keena Lindsay

Originally Published Scenes for High School Drama Students 1998

COMEDY | Fairy Godmother

Fairy Godmother

You'll excuse me for not doing the whole "appearing in a cloud of stardust" routine, but my back is killing me. Besides, stardust is expensive, and our budget just got cut. Whenever there are cutbacks in the Fairy Tale World, the magic department always feels it first. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a sudden outbreak of insomnia with all the way they butchered the Sandman's budget. 

Now I can't afford to buy a new wand. I have been waiting for months for that funding to come through. My old one has been in the shop twice in the past week. Of course, it's not because of cutbacks. It's an older model and that Cinderella character overloaded it! Boy, that girl really cracks my crystals! All I hear is whine, whine, whine. "I need a coach. I need footmen and a groom. I need a dress." And just when I think it's all over: "I need shoes." So I gave her those glass slippers and I hope she has to walk over some rocky terrain!

As if the annoying people at work weren't enough, I have to come home to my husband - The Fairy Godfather. Every time I ask him to run an errand for me, I get, "Someday I will call upon you to do a favour for me." If I have to hear that line one more time, I swear I'll scream! But I give it right back to him. Every time we have a fight I tell him he can "sleep with the fishes" because he ain't gettin' in my bed! 

Well, I better go. I have to get my wings detailed. I just have one request. Please write a letter to the Queen of Hearts, you know, the head honcho, and ask her to give us a little slack in the magic department. I speak not only for myself. The genies are running out of bottles.

Keena Lindsay

Originally published on Scenes for High School Drama Students 

1998

COMEDY | Wicked Queen

COMEDY | Wicked Queen

Wicked Queen

I am so sick of being called the Wicked Queen! I am not wicked, I'm obsessive. There's a big difference.

All I ever wanted was to be the fairest in the land. Maybe attempted homicide was a bit extreme, but that doesn't make me evil. Do you have any idea what it's like to constantly be around someone you know looks better than you? It's terrible!

Besides, I was doing a favour for all of humankind. That girl is just too happy for her own good! I was so sick of the blue birds flying around the castle all the time. Who do you think cleaned that up? It wasn't Snow White, I'll tell you that. I never made her do any chores. She's just like my friends stepdaughter, refuses to let anyone else lift a finger and then turns it around and makes us look bad. I'm telling you, that Cinderella girl should get together with Snow White. Let them fight it out as to who gets to do the work. It's like some kind of . . . complex or something.

All I'm saying is that it wasn't completely my fault, but I'm still destined to go down in fairy tale history as "the wicked queen." Please help me to stop this ugly rumour about my actions. Oh dear, I better go. I have to do my community service sentence: cleaning up after those dwarfs. I would have rather done hard time, but what can expect from a jury of playing cards?

Keena Lindsay

From Original Scenes for High School Drama Students 

Published 1998