Monologue Contest Winners

Enter to WinDrama Notebook is holding an ongoing Monologue Contest for students ages 6-18. We are building a collection of fantastic original monologues for kids and teens entirely written by students.

Teach a class on monologues and enter your student’s work!

Winners are chosen monthly and featured on this page.


Click on the buttons below to see more free monologues for kids and teens written by students from around the world!

*While the monologues in this collection are FREE, they are copyright protected. This collection, or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher (Drama Notebook). The monologues may be performed in educational and audition settings. For commercial rights and other inquiries, please contact us.

Monologues for Kids

Monologues for Teenagers

September 2017

First Place Winner!

Title: “The Bully”
By: Philip G., Age 13, New Mexico, USA
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A teenager warns the new kid about the school bully.

Look, you’re new here, so I feel it’s my duty to warn you… there are a couple of people you’ll want to avoid. Skylar Morrison likes to thump kids on the head. He’s easy to spot because he’s the biggest kid in our grade. He used to be in the grade above us, but I guess he needed to learn more, so he’s in our class now. He’s mostly harmless beyond the thumping on the head thing. It’s Ross Sullivan you really have to watch out for. His real name is Roscoe and sometimes teachers call him that, especially if they are new. But make sure that YOU don’t ever call him that. He’s pretty good at name-calling. There’s this one kid he calls booger-licker or BL for short. That’s Julian Wynn, and he has really bad allergies. Ross also likes to do things like stuff mashed potatoes down your shirt at lunch. I know this from personal experience. If you tell on him, that will make it worse. He especially likes to pick on smart kids, and I’m telling you this because I can already tell that you are smart. (Pause.) What? Oh, I don’t know why he does it. If I had to guess I would say that he probably gets treated like that at home. That’s what my mom says anyway. Kids who torment other kids usually don’t have it so good at home. (Pause.) Yeah, me too. I have awesome parents. Hey, maybe we can try to be nice to him. Maybe he needs a friend. I never thought of that. We can at least try.

Second Place Winner!

Title: “Big Bad Red”
By: Emma Farmer, Age 12, South Carolina, USA
Gender: Female
Genre: Comedic
Description: Little Red Riding Hood scares off the wolf.

(Little Red Riding Hood walks in place pantomiming holding a basket during this monologue.) Why do I have to be the one to bring granny a basket of goodies? Why doesn’t my mom do it? It’s her mother after-all. I know why my mother doesn’t want to go. Truth is, granny is mean as a snake. I’m not even kidding. That crazy old woman made me scrub her floors with a toothbrush and cut her lawn with scissors. Did I mention that her property is two acres? I thought grannies were supposed to give you cookies and presents and kiss your scrapes and scratches. Last year, I broke my leg playing on the swing in her backyard. I screamed and she came running out the door asking if I was alright. I said, “I think I broke my leg” and what did she do? She said, “walk it off.” Um hold up, what? Yep that’s right. That woman broke my childhood. Whatever. Here we are. (Stops.) Wait. What’s that? Oh my god. There’s a wolf on her doorstep. He sees me. What do I do? What do I do? Don’t panic! (Looks down at her basket. Looks at the wolf. Hurls the basket at the wolf.) I can’t believe it! I just scared that wolf away! They should call me Big Bad Red from now on! (Pauses.) Oh no. The basket. He took the basket. I can’t go into granny’s house without that basket. Oh shoot! She just saw me, I have to go in. Hi, granny. (Waving through the window with gritted teeth.) This is going to be like stepping into a mine field. Well, here goes nothing.

Third Place Winner!

Title: “Guilty Pandora”
By: Emma Tricarico, Age 9, Melbourne, Australia
Gender: Female
Genre: Dramatic
Description: Little Red Riding Hood scares off the wolf.

Why did Zeus have to give me that box in the first place? (Pause.) What am I saying? It was all my fault. I was the one that opened the box. I should have known that it was full of nothing good. Now I’ve let all the diseases free. I don’t want to be known for a bad thing. I want to be known for good. Everybody always used to be happy. Now there is sickness and disease and I’m to blame. It was just too tempting. He gives me a box. A beautiful box. And then tells me not to open it! What use is a box if you can’t open it? Epimetheus says that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Anyone would have opened that box. But this happened to me, and not anybody else. I have to figure out why. What can I do? I’m just a lump of clay. Maybe there is a way I can help Hope. He’s just a little bug, out there on his own. I’m going to find him and help him become strong and powerful. I have to try. It’s the least I can do after I opened that stupid, annoying little box.

August 2017

First Place Winner!

Title: “I’m not Sorry”
By: Kaheni Johnson, Baltimore, Maryland, USA, Age 15
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A teen tells his/her side of the story to a police officer.

What were my alternatives, officer? You tell me. I mean how many times you guys been out there? A dozen, maybe? It’s always the same. You take him away, his breath reeking of Colt 45, and he spends one night sleeping it off and she springs him the next morning out of sheer fear. You ever know that kind of fear? Ice in your veins. She did try to leave. A couple times. One time we made it as far as Charleston. We ran out of money and he was calling, begging, his voice thick as honey. I tried everything I could to convince her to keep going. I would get a job. We could have a fresh start. But she turned that car around and drove straight through to daylight. I could feel the planet spinning that night. Did you know that the earth turns at 1,000 miles an hour? Most of the time you can’t tell. But you can always feel it when you are travelling in the wrong direction. That was only a month ago. And right away he started up again. Last night? Okay, you want to hear about last night? He was out as usual and I heard his truck sputter into the driveway. I could tell by the way the gravel crunched under his feet that he was drunk. Pretty soon I heard voices in their room. Not loud at first, but then there was a slam against the wall and there was silence for a moment. Something was different this time, I could sense it. I rushed to their room and saw him hovering over her, hitting her over and over.  She wasn’t even conscious. I screamed at him to stop and he looked at me with white hot rage. It wasn’t even like there was a person there. I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the gun. The one she kept hidden in an old toaster oven in the bottom cabinet. Her “just in case” gun. I didn’t even think about it, officer. I went back to the bedroom and I shot him. I shot him twice in the head. He didn’t even notice that I was there. He was too busy killing my mom. Last night it was going to be her or him, and I chose her. I’m not sorry about it either. So, you go ahead and do what you gotta do. Can I have a glass of water, or some fresh air? Hey, can you feel that? The earth stopped spinning.

Second Place Winner!

Title: “The Interview”
By: Divya M.; Karnataka, India; Age 16
Gender: Any (For male character, change the name.)
Genre: Comedic
Description: A teen prepares nervously for a college interview.

(On phone.) No, mom. I haven’t even gone in yet. I’m in the lobby practicing while I wait. Yes, I will. I love you too. Mom, I WILL. I have to go now. Bye. Now, where was I? (Coughs to clear her throat and smiles.) Good morning. My name is Jeanine Brefcyznki and I know that those are two very polar, funny sounding names but that’s just me! I’m a bit American and bit Polish! My mom always says that I have the benefits of the American dream, blessed with the Polish work ethic! (Rolls eyes and slaps forehead.) Jeanine what’s wrong with you? You sound like a cheesy infomercial. Actually, you’re worse than that, if you were selling a vacuum cleaner, no one would buy it because of how stupid you sound. (Stands up straight, pushes shoulders back and extends her hand for a handshake) Good morning, my name is Jeanine Brefcyznki. How’re you doing this fine morning? (Animatedly) Oh! That’s wonderful! Oh! No, I’m fine with just water. So… how’re you feeling today? (Slaps forehead again and makes irritated noise) Jeanine! You can’t ask your interviewer how they’re feeling! That’s for them to ask you, just shut up and sit down, you silly human being. (Sits down and takes a breath, places hands on lap.) Take three. You can do this. Oh! That is an excellent question. First off, the research opportunities at your university are mind blowing! The stem cell project? Pure genius… and the self-sustaining ecosystems… I would love to be around that kind of innovation. (Smile turns into an angry frown) Okay…. and now I sound totally pretentious. Come on Jeanine! Do you want to get into college or not!? Good god woman! Get yourself together! (Pulls flashcard out of her pocket and paces the room) Da da da da da…. Plato’s sympo…sympos… how do you say this word? Symposium? My favorite book is Plato’s symposium…and why you may ask? Well, because my mother told me that it’ll make me sound smart! Remember Jeanine, open body language and smile…. open and smile. (Smiles at audience. Looks at flashcard again and starts pacing.) Blah blah blah blah… I love to learn… something, something, something… I spend my summers attending contemporary art conferences in Europe… okay okay, okay… where’s the important stuff? (Flips card over.) Oh, right okay! You need to memorize this before the interview starts… (Phone rings. Jeanine jumps looking a bit startled but then angrily picks up the phone.) Mom. I haven’t gone into the interview yet, you don’t need to call me every two minutes! (Pauses for two seconds, mouth and eyes wide.) Oh! Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to yell like that, I thought it was my mom… Yes of course I’ll come in right away! I’m so sorry!

Third Place Winner!

Title: “Under my Bed”
By: Patrick O., Victoria, BC, Age 12
Gender: Any
Genre: Comedy
Description:

Sam is a mostly harmless creature who lives under my bed. He’s covered in fuzz and he’s sort of a grayish brownish color. He makes himself invisible to my mom, which doesn’t matter because she doesn’t think he’s real anyway. He likes to tickle my toes when I stand at the edge of the bed at night, so I usually run from the door and jump on my bed when it’s bedtime. Sam likes candy, so I try to give him some as often as possible. I have to sneak it out of the kitchen, though, because I’m not supposed to have very much candy and my mom would NOT believe that it’s actually for Sam. He only lets me pet him when I give him candy. Most of the time, he just sleeps. However…and this is the bad thing about Sam…he likes to play tricks on me when it’s dark. He makes little thumping noises that keep me awake. He can also imitate monsters by making shadows in the room. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and get scared by the monster shadows and then I remember that it’s just Sam and I can hear him giggling in the corner by the window. I tell him that it’s NOT funny, and I try to go back to sleep. Sam is only scared of one thing, and that’s part of the reason why he doesn’t like my mom. Just like the cats, he hates the vacuum cleaner. I can tell when my mom has vacuumed under my bed because when I get home from school, Sam is a lump underneath my bedspread. I think it’s funny that strange creatures who try to scare you can get scared too.

July 2017

First Place Winner!

Title: “Generation Gap”
By: Caroline F. Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA, Age 15
Gender: Any
Genre: Comedy
Description: A teenager makes fun of his/her mom’s choice in music.

Note: Misheard lyrics are from the song “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana. Actor should play the song listening for the misinterpreted phrase and actually sing it during the monologue.

Do your parents make you listen to their music? Mine do. It’s torture, I tell you. Listening to my mom’s music especially. She likes this one band, Nirvana, and I swear you cannot understand a single word they are singing. There’s this one song and I think it goes like this, “A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido.” I think maybe the band members were poor and couldn’t read or write because also, their clothes look like they came from the free box. My mom also likes this band called Aerosmith. She says that their music makes her feel like dancing and by dancing, I mean leaping and kicking and whipping her hair around in circles. It’s so embarrassing. I looked up pictures of Aerosmith online and the main guy doesn’t look like a guy at all. He looks like my aunt Sharon who used to look really old, but had her face lifted up and now she looks surprised all the time. But the lead singer doesn’t dress like her. More like a person who was going to a costume party and couldn’t decide between being a witch or an Indian Chief. All the other people in the band just look mad in their pictures, especially the skunk hair guy. And oh yeah, she likes the Rolling Stones. And I guess they are kind of cool. For ancient, mummified rock stars. I heard my dad once tell my mom that if there was a nuclear war, the only things left would be the cockroaches and Keith Richards, the skeleton-looking guy. She plays the Rolling Stones a lot in the car and has to sing along with every word. This summer the air conditioner broke in our SUV so she’s been rolling down the windows, but that isn’t stopping her from singing at the top of her lungs. I’ve spent a lot of time shrunk down in my seat. I tried to get her to listen to my favorite band, One Direction. She says they sound like embryos trying to put on a concert. See, I told you that she has terrible taste in music. One thing’s for sure. When I grow up and have kids of my own, I will play One Direction in the car and wherever, and I will for sure not embarrass them!

Second Place Winner!

Title: “I Don’t Need Therapy”
By: Aamira Waheed; New York, New York, USA, Age 17
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: In therapy, a teenager explains why he/she is not the one who belongs there.

I don’t see why I’m here. I’m not the one who needs a therapist. Yes, I’m stressed out, and maybe I’ve been a little emotional lately. You would be too, if you lived at my house. All they do is argue. Doesn’t matter if it’s a big thing or a small thing. I mean, the other day, they argued about how to cut the toast. Mom had cut it straight across and dad said it should go on the diagonal. Then my mom said that she wasn’t his mother and it was time to cut the apron strings. Whatever that means. When they realized I was in the kitchen, my mom flashed me her fake smile and passed me a plate of toast. I said I wasn’t hungry. Next thing, she’ll think I’m anorexic. So what if I stay in my room? It’s peaceful there with my earbuds in. Music makes me happy. I’ve been thinking about learning to play an instrument. I made the mistake of mentioning this to my parents. Right away, dad offered to get out his old trumpet. Mom said that he should shut up and let me decide. Then dad told mom that she didn’t have to be such a witch about it. I said I was finished with dinner and asked to be excused. And mom all of a sudden acted concerned and felt my forehead to see if I was sick. I went to my room and I could tell they were still arguing. They were doing that thing where they were trying to keep their voices down, but it’s totally obvious. They weren’t always like this. I mean, they used to be in love. If you ask me, they are the ones who need therapy. I mean, am I missing something here? (laughs) Thank you for saying that. I really mean it, I do. Most people don’t take teenagers seriously. (pause) Do you play an instrument? Oh, the cello is nice. But I was thinking more like drums. Drown out the noise.

Third Place Winner!

Title: “The Bug”
By: AHiro Nguyen; Corpus Christi, Texas, USA, Age 11
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A teenager makes fun of his/her mom’s choice in music.

I thought about smashing it, but then I remembered how bad I felt when I accidentally/on-purpose flushed my goldfish down the toilet. I thought I was setting him free. Free to swim out into the great wide ocean. My mom was pretty upset and she told me that the toilet water does not, in fact, lead to the ocean. So, I just sat there watching the little gray bug. They are called potato bugs. I don’t know why. I couldn’t resist. I poked him and he curled into a ball. After a minute or two, he opened back up and carried on his way. I wondered where he was headed. Maybe he was going home to his family who lives in a tiny hole in the earth. I wondered what it would be like to be that small. A pine needle would be like a log. A rock, like a mountain. My friend Keegan would have smashed him for sure. He likes to squish bugs to see what’s inside. But I left that bug alone. Instead, I laid down on the mossy ground and imagined life as a bug.

June 2017

First Place Winner!

Title: “No Burial”
By: Sarah K., Tulsa, Oklahoma, USA, Age 14
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A teenager visits her (or his) father’s grave with a friend.

I used to come here a lot. Maybe it was guilt. Or depression. Or just habit. You know he’s not buried here, right? It’s just an empty grave. Kind of ironic that they etched a mountain on his headstone. That’s where he’s actually buried. Well, not really buried. They never told us, but I watched this movie about Mt. Everest, and apparently, when people die up there, they just leave the bodies. Yes, I’m serious. There’s no way to get them off there. It’s too dangerous. After I saw that, I kept picturing him in my imagination, frozen. Tiny icicles hanging from his eyebrows and beard. In my mind, his eyes are open and he is reaching out. Stuck like that forever. Or at least until he’s buried beneath a snow drift. For a long time, I had dreams…well nightmares that he is somehow still alive up there and no one can find him. I worry that his soul is not at rest. My mom told me that she had begged him not to go. He had small children, she said. It was irresponsible. But my dad was an explorer, a conqueror. I don’t remember him much, but I can see it in his eyes when I look at pictures of him. He almost made it to the top. (Pause.) One day, I’m going to make it for him. I’ll do it when I’m still young. Before I have children. I’m going to take a rock from that mountain and bring it back here. Maybe then he can rest.

Second Place Winner!

Title: “DNA”
By: Eli J., Sarasota, Florida, USA, Age 15
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A student offers a melancholy explanation for why he (or she) keeps falling asleep in class.

I’m sorry Mrs. Trask. I’m trying. I just can’t stay awake in your class…yes, I think biology is interesting, especially DNA. Deoxyribonucleic acid. Kind of rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? I’ve been thinking a lot about the double helix and how it reminds me of sacred geometry. Do you know about sacred geometry? Well, that’s okay. But I imagine the shape and structure of our DNA is related to some kind of larger thing in the universe. I mean, look at it. It’s like art. A turning ladder made up of tiny intricate colors. And the fact that no two are the same says a lot. (Pause.) Well, for instance, it means that each person is unique. Even if you are born of certain parents, you don’t have to turn out like them because you are different. (Pause.) No, I don’t really want to be like my parents. Well, maybe my mom. My dad, he’s just stressed out is all. There are five of us, and Spencer, he takes a lot of work. At the hospital, they said he wouldn’t live, but he did, and now my mom has to stay home to take care of him. My dad works a lot and I think that’s why he’s mad all the time. I just wish he wouldn’t yell, and…well, other stuff. I can’t talk about it. Anyway, sometimes I don’t get a lot of sleep. That’s why I fall asleep in your class. I’ll try harder, I promise. I like learning. I like learning that deep in my bones is a code that belongs to me and only me. Gives you comfort, doesn’t it?

Third Place Winner!

Title: “Forks”
By: Amelia S., Houston, Texas, USA, Age 10
Gender: Any
Genre: Comedic
Description: A fork proclaims superiority over the other utensils.

As a fork, I can proudly say that we are the superior utensils. I was talking to spoon the other day and she was all braggy about how they used her for soup AND ice cream the other night. Pffft. That’s nothin. I have the ability to STAB and POKE and SPEAR. Spoon said, “Oh yeah, what about stirring?” Well, I can do that too. Yesterday morning, the big lady human used me to stir cream into her coffee, and it wasn’t just because all the spoons were dirty like spoon said. Knives? Well, they generally keep quiet because we all know they have anger problems. Especially the steak knives. Forks are the friendliest. Everyone knows that. Oops. Gott run. Gonna get used again. Yum, pancakes!

May 2017

First Place Winner!

Title: “The Promotion”
By: Isabel Parent, Calgary Alberta, Age 15
Gender: Male
Genre: Comedic
Description: A nervous Walmart employee makes a video tape of himself asking for a promotion.

Brock: Okay. I think I got it. Alrightie, (Mutters to self.) how do I start this? (Clears throat. Starts again in announcer voice.) Hi. I’m Brock Bruce, and I am here to tell you why I, Brock Bruce, your hardworking Walmart stock boy of 28 years deserves a promotion. (Exaggerated wink.) No! Aw heck. (Jumps off stool and moves off camera. Grabs weights and does a few exercises to calm down.) Okay. (Tries again. Adopts a more serious “sexy” tone.) Hi. My name is Brock Bruce. You may have seen me at your local Walmart. I have dedicated 28 years to that store, and the fine customers inside it. As a fellow, neighbor, worker, and citizen of this fair town I am here to tell you why I, Brock Bruce, deserves a promotion, and how together, we can make Walmart Great Again! Agh! Too Trump! Mama always said avoid the political talk. (Sit back down and smile.) Some of my skills include speed stacking, using candy to locating lost children, and peeling the smiley sticker off first try, no tear! Actually, in grade six I was voted most likely to end up working at Walmart, so who cares about skills when the people have spoken! (Pause.) My hobbies include fitness dancing, because you don’t get a (subtley does some body builder poses.) great body like this from just stocking the shelves. Well if you need any more reasons other than these that which I did just tell you, then I don’t think the Walmart smiley face could get this job! And not just because he’s just a head, I mean… (Talking to self.) Heck, I’ve worked here 28 years and I can’t get this darned promotion. (Speaking to camera.) And I really, need this. I mean, it’s not even for me. My mama needs a stair lift so she can get downstairs to the beer fridge; she hasn’t taken her pills dry since her twenties! Besides, I think I’m running out of time. But I swear, if I get this promotion I will be the hardest worker you’ve ever had. I’m Brock Bruce, and I will see you at work tomorrow. I’ll be there early. And stay late. Just in case you need to contact me. Brock Bruce. Any time. I’ll be there. Okie dokie. (Waits for a minute for camera to turn off.) Oh, I have to turn it off. (Attempts to turn camera off. Struggles and gets frustrated. Yells as he exits.) MAMA! HOW DO YOU TURN THE CAMERA OFF?

Second Place Winner!

Title: “My Sister’s Song”
By: Payton Doerksen, Carman, Manitoba, Canada, Age 13
Gender: Female
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A young woman overhears her sister singing alone at night.

Amanda sits on her sister Isabel’s bed.

I don’t mean to eavesdrop on you, but the walls are so thin. I can’t help but listen. I hear you singing at night and it’s very calming, but also kind of sad. It reminds me of an angel ringing a bell in the moonlight. It’s both soft and light, Isabel. I know you hate me for listening and that I’m just an annoying little sister, but I love listening to you. I love you. Sometimes I wonder if something has happened to you. I wonder and I wonder, and I know that you say it’s just my imagination. But your voice sounds so sad sometimes that it frightens me. There are stories in your songs. I know you have a right to privacy and you don’t have to tell me anything. But you would, wouldn’t you? Just please don’t yell at me again. I hate it when you do that, or when you stop talking to me. The only thing worse than yelling is silence. We’re sisters. We’re blood. And with things are the way they are, we’re sometimes all each other has. I guess we don’t have to talk about it anymore, but please don’t stop. It helps me fall asleep…the sound of you singing your heart out.

Third Place Winner!

Title: “Younger Self”
By: Rosa Miillan, Los Angeles, California, Age 11
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A character talks to a younger version of herself (or himself).

Shannon talks to a friend about her younger self. She holds a picture of herself taken long ago.

This is me. (Shows the picture.) Sometimes I take out this picture and talk to her. I tell her about what’s going to happen in her future, and I tell her that I miss the past. I tell her that I miss the days when I didn’t have to go to school. The days where I would just eat and play all day. I tell her that I miss all the attention I used to get from people., the times when I didn’t even think to worry what other people thought of me. I didn’t judge myself and my imperfections then, I was happy. I think I was like four or five. That was before I realized there was so much sadness in the world. When I look at her picture, I can feel her telling me that it’s going to be okay, and I want to believe her. There were even times when I didn’t want to be on this earth anymore, but looking at her, I felt that things were going to get better…that I would come out stronger than ever. (Puts picture away.) I wonder what my future self will say to me one day. I hope I can give her strength when she needs it.

April 2017

First Place Winner!

Title: “Paper Cranes”
By: Jefferson T., Cupertino, California, Age 16
Gender: Any
Genre: Dramatic
Description: A young man reminisces about his friend Sadako, and the thousand paper cranes she folded during the Atomic age.

I’m a liar… *huhm* Well I’m certainly something. It’s easy to get strange around here. So many grim faces, so many doctors, so many treatments. It all stops making sense after a while. “acute malignant leukemia of the lymph glands” sounds fancy, don’t it? ‘Atom Bomb Disease’ rolls off the tongue better. It was the course of governments that led to the most destructive weapon ever conceived, but it was the people who paid the price. No presidents no emperors, us kids. I wish I could sleep, I’m always tired in the morning, the nurses call me out for looking bleary. I think it’s funny, they know I don’t have anywhere to be. I’ve spent so many nights staring out this same window looking at this same street lamp. I blame the snores from the five other people in this room. I can never sleep when I want to. You think something so basic to living would come easier. Maybe if I fold some cranes, all my struggles would be solved (laughs). I shouldn’t joke about that. No, it’s wrong. It feels wrong to Sadako. Oh, Sadako. She’s in a better place now, outta this place at least. Only twelve in this hospital, this is no place for little girls, this is no place for anyone. Too sterile too gray too hopeless. I can’t stop thinking about Sadako, how she spent her last few week folding all those cranes. I had told her a while ago, jokingly of course, the legend that anyone who folded one thousand paper cranes would be granted a wish. Fold a thousand. Money? Done. Superpowers? Easy. Not dying? Easy. The poor thing spent her last months folding and folding and folding. Not taking in music or colors or flavors, but folding the same damn thing again and again. She only got up to six hundred something, before she (looks for word) went. It didn’t matter in the end, I knew it wouldn’t, paper cranes can’t cure cancer, I know that. I Shouldn’t have told her that. I’m a liar. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing, hope is hope right? And she found that, had it. I think she realized it wasn’t gonna save her, she must have, she wasn’t dumb. I know she saw the end coming, but she kept folding. I can’t understand why she would spend all those hours on something so pointless. I messed with her head with, I’m older I shoulda known better, I shoulda done better. It’s good she spent her time doing something she wanted to do, that is that. But its, it’s weird to think she’s becoming a hero for it isn’t it, the cranes I mean? I hear them talking about how inspirational her story is. Really? They saw how it ended, how it ends for all of us, what’s beautiful about that? I can hardly bear to think about it. It’s not ok, it’s not right. It’s so helpless can’t you see? Folding paper and legends, that’s not enough to build hope on, but it’s all we get. It’s cruel. Nothing inspirational about it. Nothing more to say about it. She’s no hero, none of us are, we’re all just dying in our own ways. I really need to get some sleep, it’s so late. Nothing stops the morning.

 

*Note: this monologue was adapted from a book and we didn’t catch it. Future monologue entries should be entirely original work by the author.

Second Place Winner!

Title: “Fencing 101”
By: Brooke E., Little Rock, Arkansas, Age 14
Gender: Any
Genre: Comedic
Description: A snobby fencing instructor gets a comeuppance.

Hello, and welcome to Fencing 101. I’m your instructor, Archibald Atticus Vanderbilt Carnegie Harvard Dartmouth Stephens Columbia Car-wait, I already said Carnegie, where was I? Oh, stop looking at me like that! I’m sure you aren’t as capable of keeping track of your first fifty middle names. Now, the art of the sword is an art dating back to the earliest ages of reason, perfected during the Renaissance age, when a true Renaissance man knew not only the sword, but—stop chatting amongst yourselves, you urchins! I did not master the sword by ignoring my elders! The children of my day were civil hand-raisers who knew how to address their masters. For foil’s sakes, children, raise your hands! Yes, you, in the out-of-season blouse. “When will we get to stab people,” you ask? Ha! Stabbing people is not what fencing is about. Hey?! Where are you going? Get back here! I didn’t go to Charleston Maxwell Private Academy to be disregarded! STOP SNICKERING! Alright. Alright. All of you, in line. I will be giving you your swords. No stabbing…. What did I just say? Yes, you, the victim of the stabbing? What’s that? “Can I go to the nurse’s office?” I don’t know, can you? It’s may I go to the nurse’s office, child, not can. Say it correctly…. thank you. Please staunch your profuse bleeding and proceed directly there. Now, put your feet at right angles and spread them, bending your legs into a comfortable en garde position. (Go into the correct on guard position.) Oh for the love of-I didn’t say sit down! What?! You can’t bend your leg?! And why on earth is-oh, it’s in a cast. My apologies, young man, I didn’t realize-wait, why are you even here if your leg is broken?! Just… just leave. My patience wears thin with you ruffians. Alright, now you’ll want to take a step forward, then dart out like a majestic scorpion of the Sahara! Much like this-(demonstrate). Now you try. DON’T FACE EACH OTHER! Face the wall and practice hitting it with the tips of your swords. Yes, like that. What is it, girl? You don’t have room on the wall? Just hit that infernal metal box over there! (mocking her in falsetto) “Oh, Mr. Archibald, that’s a circuit breaker! We could cause a power outage! Nyeh, nyeh, nyeh, do as you’re told! Stab the metal box, girl, or begone from this class! (Archibald nods, then shrieks, flailing his sword around). DEAR HEAVEN ABOVE, I’VE GONE BLIND! THE DARKNESS HAS COME TO CLAIM ME! THIS IS MY PUNISHMENT FOR SKIPPING THAT ONE LACROSSE PRACTICE-what?! It’s a… a blackout? But… oh. Erm… well, if you can find it in your hearts… respect your elders… follow the-class dismissed!

(Note: if a girl wishes to perform this, she can change Archibald’s long name to something like “Anastasia Amelie Victoria Catalain Hildegard Diana…etc.)

Third Place Winner!

Title: “I Hate Disco”
By: Payton V.P., Green Bay, Wisconsin, Age 17
Gender: Female
Genre: Dramatic
Description: Teen rejected by her guy finds comfort where least expected–from her mom.

I don’t like disco. I’m sure of that. But when I was messing around with Ricky, I told him I liked disco. It was that kinda, doe-eyed, sloppy lie you tell when you’ve got cherry marmalade in your heart about a guy. Ricky was the bee’s knees, even though he was a lil’ too old for us high school girls. Mom never liked that. She said he was gruff and that it probably wouldn’t last long. But, Ricky’s not as sand paper rough as he comes off. He told me that in elementary school all the kids poked at him for being short. He’d listened to disco and eat his maple ham sandwiches with the teacher, which made me sad. Couldn’t you see my little Ricky with his wide eyes and crazy raven hair as he munched on some dry bread next to a busty middle aged teacher? Ricky never really knew how to click with people quite like everyone else, I suppose. The part that made me ache was when Ricky told me ‘bout the day they served French toast sticks. The kids roughed him up, yanno, punches and kicks like little tykes do, and then poured syrup into the back of his sweater. Ricky got all teary-eyed just talking about it. Everyone called him Sticky Ricky. Still do. I only called him Sticky Ricky when I was angry with him. Ricky was irksome, but, boy, did he love disco. Not me. I didn’t mind some Donna Summers and some Bee Gee’s, now and then, but Ricky loved it. I told him I did too. I never really understood why girls do that for their dopey boys. It was just a tradition. It was a torch passed down on the back of the bus, along with dirty songs and the secrets to youth. My mom would nag at me for bending about disco. I used to always yap and moan about her Earth, Wind and Fire, but that’s just what girls do to their mothers. People tell me how much I’m like her, and it drives me crazy. “Lola! You’ve got your momma’s disco ball eyes!” I didn’t want her disco ball eyes! Or her disco ball hair, hands or songs. When I broke up with Ricky, he spit on my new Mary Janes and then I blurted out that I hated disco. My mom picked me up that night in the back lot of the drive in. We listened to Gloria Gaynor the whole ride home as I cried. I was mad ’cause she was right. Moms are always right. She rubbed my back and made me feel better. I still hated disco, but I didn’t mind it as much in that moment.

March 2017

First Place Winner!

Title: “Emergency”
By: Melanie T., Westminster, CA USA, age 15
Gender: Female
Genre: Comedic
Description: SMITHIE, 26, was hired last week as a 911 operator and is just getting the hang of her job. (Spoiler Alert: she isn’t very good at it.)

The police are on their way, stay calm and breathe sweetie you are going to be fine. I’ll stay on the line with you until the police get to your house. Are you okay? Hello? Hel-. Oh. They just hung up. What do I do when they just hang up? OH! 911, what is your emergency? Can you- Could you repeat that slower, sir? Do you have any idea of where you are located? Cerritos Mall… No, sir crocs are not a 911 emergency, however I do appreciate your concern because they truly are a real FASHION CRIME. AAAAH FABIO is that you?? Honey! I thought told you not to call me at work! Alright already, let the woman wear what she wants okay? Let it go. Okay. Okay, bye. 911 what is your emergency? Mom!? Stop it, MOM, you can’t call me at work anymore. Yes, the breakup was fine. I told you already. He said he still loved me, he just didn’t want to be tied down anymore and mom, I respect that and we’re still friends. I know. Yes, mom I know, I was there and you weren’t. He just called me. On my work phone. Look, I’m going to get in trouble. Let me call you back when I get home. I love you too. Buh-bye. 911, what is your emergency? FABIO? Again? This woman with crocs thing is getting old and I have to work tonight! Wait, Fabio? Oh my god you’re not Fabio… I am so sorry, ma’am I thought you were my ex, um… I guess I could tell you if you want me to… No. No never mind it’s a long story. Please continue describing. You said someone stole your crocs? Where are you? Hmm okay, that’s funny. The mall. Crocs. Really? Do you REALLY want those back? Those crocs? Like THE ugliest shoes on the planet. That doesn’t concern me! Why don’t you just call the police then? (Realizes what she said.) Oh.

Second Place Winner!

Title: “Funeral”
By: Abby S., Alberta, Canada, Age 14
Gender: Female
Genre: Comedic
Description: 30-year-old Sam is sharing a eulogy for their cat’s funeral.

I gather you all here today, to celebrate and remember the life of our dearest friend. I’ve gone through a lot this past week… I’ve lost my best friend, my soul mate. And it’s hard, it really is. I felt like I knew her for my entire life. (Pause, inner realization.) But she’s gone. Sometimes she would know when I had a bad day and would always make me feel better. It seemed like she took care of me more than I did her. I will truly miss the mornings waking up beside her. Sharing our time together, watching me in the shower, sitting with me on the toilette. Climbing the big birch tree was her favorite past time. (Holding back tears.) I would like to share one of my favorite memories of her and I, when I first met her and found the love of my life, I instantly knew that we were meant to be together, and I told that other man that was looking at you “Back off she’s mine.” And it was true. She helped me through everything and I can’t express my gratitude for our relationship. I will, and already do miss her so much. (Talking to box/coffin). Oh my Honey Boo Bear… I loved you so much. But it was your time. You were old. You were ready to go. It was me – I was the one who wasn’t ready. Those thirteen years together have blessed my life. Rest in peace little Missy, my pretty kitty, I’ll never forget you.

Third Place Winner!

Title: “Bippity Boppity Bam”
By: Kathleen H., Bluffton, South Carolina, USA, Age 11
Gender: Female
Genre: Comedic
Description: Gertrude, the daughter of Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother, is upset that she is not getting the attention she (in her mind) deserves.

Bippity, boppity, bam! Hi, my name is Gertrude and I’m the daughter of the Fairy Godmother. Want to know why my name is so bad? It’s because mommy was too busy making little old Cinderella’s dreams come true to think of a good name for me. Oh, and does mommy give me a beautiful dress, a prince to dance with at a ball, or glass slippers? NO! All she gives me is a big fat pile of chores. I don’t even have magic. Mommy says its skips a generation, so I can’t point at my feet and hope to see a pair of glass slippers. Here, I’ll show you. Bippity, Boppity, bam! Whoa! There’s a pair of glass slippers on my feet! I guess magic doesn’t skip generation after all. Mommy was wrong. It wasn’t the first time that’s for sure. I wonder if that Prince Charming guy is still available. If not there may just have to be a magical interference between the prince and Miss Cinderella. Now what was his number?