Opening To A Monologue

Jail Bird

A woman, by the name of Ciara, in her early twenties is sat in a prison cell, on a bed in plain grey clothing.

I think these four walls are driving me insane already, really could do with a lick of paint, I've paid enough taxes for that at least! I’d be happy to do it myself, kill a bit of time. Time is all I have now, tick, tock … Grey just isn't my colour, washes me out. Hardly lookers in here though, no strong competitors, fashion is a crime round here!

A long pause, as she flicks through a newspaper

We’re so easily influenced by what we read, forgetting to look for the proof, forgetting it’s sensationalised, we’re looking in the mirror forgetting it’s doubled glazed. They won’t forget though, they know the cost of looking at the sun!

Lights dim out and back in; Ciara is sat in the court yard alone on a bench silently watching a rough game of netball

They shove me here daily ‘socialise, exercise’ they bark. First time gave ‘em a bit of a shock when a fight nearly broke out, what did they expect, do they know who I am? It’s not like I wish to make pointless conversation with a bunch of guilty convicts anyway. Never been one for team sport. I don’t hide in a team, I step out alone and fight for what I want, you gotta in this industry! Ruthless … But not a criminal. Stabbing ain’t really my style, I’d be more of a trained assassin ‘Nikita’ chic – with the cute outfits and killer riffles. I miss that show.

Lighting fades in and out; Back in the solitary cell

Counselling, oh what fun! She defiantly believes the tabloids, so I’m strong and I keep my cards close to my chest, I’m no detective but I don’t think that’s evidence. Motive you might have, but no evidence and you can’t send me down based on a hunch. The tabloids are tearing me to shreds, it was one of their own, they’re gonna aren’t they? Come on people of course they’re gonna!

A moment of silence and a glazed look as a tear trickles down her face

We’re meant to be attractive to the high bidders, the valuables, I've got the face, the physique, the fame so when he came along I just supposed he was priceless. He stood by me, not just for the photos but behind the scenes too; it was true! He loved my runway and felt proud to call me his, but it was never about that. It was deeper, he thought I was gold but he never knew I thought he was platinum.  

After a short pause she wipes her eyes furiously, leaving black marks all over the grey sleeves

Was he even bronze?

Tick, tock …