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Monologue (1 Viewer)

Indigo

Senior Member
I wrote this momologue for a performance my youth theatre group did. the theatre we work in used to be a church which was used as a home for victorian fallen women. We had some of the group lead the audience around the passageways in the cellars and we did our performances there instead of on the stage.



(She stands with her back to the audience, washing her hands in a sink, the room is dark and you can just about see her face in the mirror)

This place is a prison, I don’t care what anyone else says... We are pushed out of the way, brushed under the carpet. Branded with insulting stereotypes. Nobody bothers to find out the truth; nobody bothers at all.
(Sits down)

You go to friend’s houses, knowing they will understand, but they are just
as horrified and condemning everyone else. That hurts, when the friends
you think will take you in abandon you...You can never be one of them again...

We all need help, but we don’t need to be saved, rehabilitated and transformed into good, normal people because we already are. Normal people who don’t need to be shunned and shut away and abandoned by society as unfortunate mistakes...

We need help and something to believe in, down here, in the cellar of this church... It’s odd, I live in a church yet I’ve never felt further from God. I don’t know what to do. I’m loosing my faith, and now I’m loosing the thing I never thought I would, my hope...


 
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