LOUISE MONOLOGUE

This is a short monologue I wrote recently about a little girl named Louise! I think I might turn it into a larger piece of work eventually, but for right now it exists on its own.

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Louise, 8 years old, is in her bedroom. The room is gray and bare, except for a bed in the center of the floor. She’s sitting on a box.

LOUISE

Sometimes aliens come and take me in their spaceship. I don’t know what they look like or what they do because they take my memories. But I know they come, because they take my memories. There are big chunks of stuff missing when I try to look in my thoughts. I don’t know how they do it. 

Maybe they have a giant memory sucker, like in Monsters Inc. I don’t think that’s it though, because then I would have really funny-looking puffed up lips from all the sucking. 

Louise jumps off the box. She starts walking, running, jumping, dancing around it in circles. She eventually stops beside it and stares at it, like she’s waiting for a confession. 

Maybe they shrink down really really small and climb into my head through my ears and then they pack up my memories into little boxes and tape them up tight so I can’t get to them. Maybe I just need to get in there and unpack those boxes, and then I can have my memories back and I can know what the aliens look like. 

Louise goes over to the window and blows on it with hot breath. She draws in the condensation with her fingers.

Do you think aliens look like cats? Whenever I think about aliens, I think they look a little bit like cats.

I have a cat, and his name is Sparks. 

I would be really sad if I forgot what he looked like because he’s my only friend.

...........Maybe the aliens pack up my memories inside my head, bring them out through my ears, and then make them big and huge so they can look at them and study them. I must have really cool thoughts, if the aliens like them so much. 

All I have to do is find the box. (She eyes the box suspiciously and then shakes her head. This isn’t the right box.) I just have to find the right box and then I can fill the missing chunks and then I won’t have to worry ever again about forgetting what Sparks looks like.

(Louise crawls into bed and pulls the covers up right underneath her chin and looks toward the door.)

Sometimes though, when it’s bedtime and I’m under the covers and I’m watching the door to see if anyone is going to come in, when I think really hard about it and I try to reach with all my might, I think I can feel them locked away in there. The memories. When that happens, I get really sad. I don’t know why I get sad, but I think maybe, the aliens are doing me a favor. Maybe they took them because they knew the memories were sad and they took them from me because they are my friends and they want me to be happy. Aliens must be really smart. And nice. They might be the nicest.