Welcome to Monologue Mania- one new free monologue a day
- for a whole year!If you just started
this blog and want to read the earlier monologues, pleasescroll down for the previous days or go to http://www.monologuestore.com/ -click on the Monologue Mania button please scroll down.
To start at the beginning - Feb. 13, - click here.
For a list of the blurbs from each day, click here
Help a playwright and get more great award-winning monologues - MonologueZone.com
Thank you for your comments - and for liking and sharing this site
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monologue Mania Day #127 by Janet S. Tiger Five Minutes in Hell (c) June 19, 2014
Parental alert - strong language
Parental alert - strong language
Five Minutes in Hell
by Janet S. Tiger
(c) June 19, 2014 all
rights reserved
tigerteam1@gmail.com
(Stops typing)
There's a cheery thought! Let's go with that!
(She hunkers down as if to type more but her hands remain frozen over the keyboard)
This is what happens whenever I start to write. I call someone up, we go out for coffee...all right, maybe sometimes ice cream......but then I blither on how I can't write, and that's my writing time.
(She puts the phone away.)
All right.....I won't call, but, how much time do I have left to write?
(She examines the timer.)
(Shrieks) Oh my God, I forgot to push the on button!
(She almost throws the timer across the room, then stops, pushes wildly and sets the timer down carefully.)
All those precious minutes! And they don't even count.....
(She pulls the paper out of the typewriter, counts the words on the page.)
(She gets up, shaking her head)
Now school was a way of stretching minutes into hours, days into months, years! I remember waiting for the bell to ring....the seconds ticking on that clock.....
(Snaps back to herself, sits down, types)
Only one stinking minute to go! I guess
these things aren't like the old sand timers, where
you could shake them and they'd go faster. (Like a TV announcer)
Like sands through the
hourglass, so, too, are the days of our lives.... I remember my mother watching that! I wonder if someone got
that idea trying to write five minutes a day.....
(She sits down, more thoughtful.)
Excuses. Maybe I should write a 'Book of Excuses.' I certainly have enough.
(She starts to type.)
The kids are little, I don't have time. The office is busy, I don't have time. My aunt is sick, I need to take care of her, so I really don't have time. I got sick, I can't write when I'm taking antibiotics. I have to go shopping, I have to get the car repaired...the list is...endless. Actually, why did I do this? Why start? (Loud) Why did I start these five minutes in hell?
(She stops as if in anguish, then gets up as if searching........She takes a deep breath. A light dawns on her face.)
(A woman comes onstage and sits at a typewriter. She stands up, walks around, then sits down again.)
Okay, I'm going to do this.
(She carefully takes out a timer)
(She carefully takes out a timer)
And now I set it......
(She adjusts the buttons, putting it on the table. She now stares at the typewriter, raises her hand to hit the keys, then takes it back.)
(She adjusts the buttons, putting it on the table. She now stares at the typewriter, raises her hand to hit the keys, then takes it back.)
This is going to be harder than I thought. Who would have thought five minutes could be so long?
(She types)
(She types)
Five minutes. What if I had only five minutes left to live?
(Stops typing)
There's a cheery thought! Let's go with that!
(She hunkers down as if to type more but her hands remain frozen over the keyboard)
How can I do that? I know damn well that I wouldn't spend
the last five minutes writing...I'd try
to argue or cajole or talk my way out the mess. Which assumes there was a mess, and I wasn't just dying. If
I was dying from a horrible, painful slow excruciating demise, would I want to extend that? No, extend is not
the right word....continue...no....oh,
wht is the word.... let me call up my friend....
(She pulls out a phone, starts to make a call, then stops.)
(She pulls out a phone, starts to make a call, then stops.)
This is what happens whenever I start to write. I call someone up, we go out for coffee...all right, maybe sometimes ice cream......but then I blither on how I can't write, and that's my writing time.
(She puts the phone away.)
All right.....I won't call, but, how much time do I have left to write?
(She examines the timer.)
(Shrieks) Oh my God, I forgot to push the on button!
(She almost throws the timer across the room, then stops, pushes wildly and sets the timer down carefully.)
All those precious minutes! And they don't even count.....
(She pulls the paper out of the typewriter, counts the words on the page.)
Nine words, and now I am spending time counting them.
Genius. I am a genius. Why
should I write - others should be following me around with a tape recorder to
catch my every dripping
......(she pauses to think of the right word) ...what word is it? ' dripping..... thought? idea? they
don't drip, they...drop......there I have the truth...droppings...what comes out of my brain......How much time do I have left now?
(She examines the timer)
(She examines the timer)
Four minutes and 30 seconds. Holy crap! I think I've
invented a way of getting more
time! You set a timer to do something you hate to do, then the minutes
stretch like hours....
(She starts to type furiously, then stops.)
Another brilliant idea. Except I realize, from the depths of my memories that it's been done...only it was called...school.
(She starts to type furiously, then stops.)
Another brilliant idea. Except I realize, from the depths of my memories that it's been done...only it was called...school.
(She gets up, shaking her head)
Now school was a way of stretching minutes into hours, days into months, years! I remember waiting for the bell to ring....the seconds ticking on that clock.....
(Snaps back to herself, sits down, types)
Okay, I can do this. If I write more than the
five minutes, can I avoid tomorrow? (Shakes
her head) No, my original concept was to do a little writing every
day. That's what I'm
doing. I can waste an hour, all right, maybe a few hours, on those stupid
angry birds, but if I can do that, I
can write for 5 minutes every day.
(Looks at timer)
(Looks at timer)
There, that wasted...I mean used....almost one
minute. (Starts to get happier) I can do this, I can do this! (Gets a thought) Can I count
thinking as part of the time? (She weighs
this) I don't know if it's fair.....
(Looks at timer, shakes it a little)
(Looks at timer, shakes it a little)
(She sits down, more thoughtful.)
Excuses. Maybe I should write a 'Book of Excuses.' I certainly have enough.
(She starts to type.)
The kids are little, I don't have time. The office is busy, I don't have time. My aunt is sick, I need to take care of her, so I really don't have time. I got sick, I can't write when I'm taking antibiotics. I have to go shopping, I have to get the car repaired...the list is...endless. Actually, why did I do this? Why start? (Loud) Why did I start these five minutes in hell?
(She stops as if in anguish, then gets up as if searching........She takes a deep breath. A light dawns on her face.)
Wait a second...I think I remember. This is for me.
Only I can write these words. No
one else. Someone can read them, but they are a part of me.
(She sits and starts typing)
(She sits and starts typing)
My children, once a major part of my life, are grown up, and although
I see them, and of course I still nag them...... it is just not the
same. Thank God for that. I can do things for myself - get a haircut, a manicure, take a
bath. (Figures it out) But when I ....when I write,
that IS me.
(The timer rings. She turns to it and shuts it off. Then we see her reset it.)
(The timer rings. She turns to it and shuts it off. Then we see her reset it.)
Maybe ...maybe five minutes isn't enough.....
(She presses the button to start the timer, only this time with reverence.)
Maybe just a few more minutes.....
(She sits to type and the lights go down. We hear typing and laughter.)
(She presses the button to start the timer, only this time with reverence.)
Maybe just a few more minutes.....
(She sits to type and the lights go down. We hear typing and laughter.)
(The
end - but actually the beginning - this is how this year really started!)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Janet S. Tiger 858-274-9678
www.JanetSTiger.weebly.com
Member Dramatists Guild since 1983
Playwright-in-Residence
Swedenborg Hall 2006-8
www.JanetSTiger.weebly.com
Member Dramatists Guild since 1983
Playwright-in-Residence
Swedenborg Hall 2006-8
No comments:
Post a Comment