Please let me go please let me go let me flicker out of existence for a while Let this heart still let this mind be silenced let these feelings fade until I can bear to face them again.
Why am I leaving?
No, I’m not traveling back in time to stop Hitler.
Nope, not Mao either.
Yeah, that whole holocaust thing was a disaster, but that’s not my assignment.
Nope, I’m not allowed to save JFK or MLK, even if I’d love to meet those two.
Yes, stopping slavery earlier would be noble, as would working to prevent the coming climate disaster.
Unfortunately, I’m being paid to go mess with history for one reason and one reason only…to stop the discontinuation of Cap’n Crunch Choco Donuts. Bezos loves his cereal.
Red roses. A sign of romantic interest, elegant sensuality, and passionate love.
Yes, I have received red roses, but mine weren’t accompanied by affection, butterflies fluttering around my stomach, or flirtatious kisses and caresses.
Mine came with feminine shame, a statement of sexual entitlement, and a paranoia I just can’t shake. I fear I see him in the cereal aisle while picking out my Cheerios. I peek over my shoulder again and again as I walk the driveway to my mailbox. I wake in the predawn, still riding the waves of a nightmare that bleeds into waking reality.
All because of red roses.
Is there meaning here? I stare into space oblivious to all but my own numbness, hoping for a call - a beckoning voice to draw me back from the edge of my self-imposed exile. Drop the feathery gauze from these old, battered lenses and push me if necessary out of the warm niche carved long ago in this mount of regret.
Alone in her mother’s house, she wandered the silent, lifeless rooms, looking for remnants of something she knew she would never find, as it had never actually existed. Yet, she still searched diligently for some secret token, some magical whisper, some buried acknowledgement that what she had always foolishly longed for and sought out just might have had even the slightest basis in reality. Unsurprisingly, in the end, she left empty-handed one last time.
Her old man died. She’d never forget that day. Coming into the house after canning peaches all day in the shed, and finding him laid out on the carpet, a halo of red surrounding his head. She’d known he had guns – had often felt safer and protected knowing they were within reach – but somehow, she had never considered their potential use for self-destruction. Now she wished that firearms had never been created.
I murder houseplants. Not intentionally, mind you, but the result is still the same…dead flowers, dead leaves, dead roots. I’m pretty sure I’ve even killed the dirt (if that’s possible).
Regardless, for some unintelligible reason, people keep gifting the little pots of green hope to me. I swear, sometimes I’m convinced I can hear their little floral voices begging for mercy and a swift end as their tiny veins dry out and the edges of their delicate fronds curl up, eventually crinkling, splintering, and fluttering down to settle on the ceramic base below.
Over time, I’ve learned to look away from this process, as it tends to bring me down. I only wish I could grant my victims a similar solace.
Last night, I dreamt I was a jigsaw puzzle – a background of deep, midnight blue, sprinkled with golden stars. Someone came along and broke me apart, my round edges curling up as they separated.
Thin fingers pierced the middle of each cardboard edge with green metal hooks, the kind used to hang Christmas bulbs. Each piece of me was then threaded and hung from the ceiling.
Soon, I found myself twisting and turning upon the whims of the air current – 500 paper flares, now a floating constellation.
Here is another creative writing monologue. This one is a bit of a riddle. BTW, these monologues are NOT about me personally! If you use this monologue for an acting exercise, Tiktok or YouTube video, etc, let me know! I would be thrilled to know these are being used!
Crap! I almost forgot! I'm late! I'm late! No, not for an important date. No, not for a stuffy business meeting. No, not for the bus or train. What I'm late for is life-altering bankrupting disturbing potentially violent inevitably bloody and if given root - never-ending. Yes, I'm late for THAT.