Theatre Monologues

For one of my classes this semester [Intro to Theatre] we were given the assignment of choosing a picture [one of the few that our professor sent us] and coming up with a backstory for that character.

Then we were supposed to write a short monologue for that particular person and present it to the class.

This was the picture I chose, and here is the monologue I wrote for my character:

After that day, I picked roses in her memory.  She loved them, you know.  So much.  She loved a lot of things, you could say.  She used to wear this perfume, see, that smelled like—I don’t know, like, sunshine—I guess.  Yeah, like sunshine—and light, and flowers, and her.  I don’t know what it was called.  She never told me.  I never smelled it on any other woman.  Just her.

She loved bright colors, too, and I used to paint her in my brightest shades, all green and pink and blue and yellow in her floral print dresses and cherry lipstick.  That’s another thing; flowers.  She adored flowers.  I made it a point to surprise her whenever I could with a bouquet, just to see her smile.  That smile was like cold water being poured down my back, or breathing in the scent of sun-warm strawberries—exhilarating and sweet and beautiful, all at the same time. 

As I painted her upon my blank canvases in splashes of vibrant color, she slowly painted herself on my heart.

The world wouldn’t miss me the way it misses her…  I miss her.  It should have been me.

Of all the things she loved, though, she liked roses most of all.  I remember that.  So every day since…since then, I’ve gone down Barker to where the wild roses twine through the dilapidated fence.  When they’re in bloom, I pick some for Robbie.

Peach-colored ones.

Not one of the best things I have ever written, I'll grant. But it was a fun assignment.

Cheers.

-RAD