Opening Monologues Novels & Stories

He said as she looked around the room. “So should I go?” She asked. “Yes.” He said, and then he got up and stretched. Then he winced at his arm when he moved it. “However, open the door, look outside, and then shut the door quickly. When they aren’t there, don’t do or say anything. Just come back in and lock the door.” “That sounds too easy,” Haven said. “They will think you wish to play, then. It will be about a half an hour, and then they will do it again.” Mack said. “It will continue the entire night. Know that darkness surrounds the house. They think they have the advantage here.”

Taking the microphone, she began her speech, "Hello, everyone. I'm Amanda. It's an honor to be here to share my journey with all of you. Today—" Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Natalie! You're nothing but the bastard daughter of a homewrecker. You don't deserve to be here. Get off the stage!"

His show is tomorrow and if there's any hope that I'm semi-normal and able to perform, I need some TLC. We enter the den and Monroe pulls out an ottoman. "Pants off," he says in the dominant way that drips off him. It's taken me years to figure him out. Well... figure out parts of him. Monroe is an odd, mysterious duck. I'm grateful to call him a friend. "You have such a lovely bedside manner, Nate." The first smile splits his face. "And you are loopy even before the pill takes effect. That is how I know you're in pain."

The maid leaned closer and spoke firmly, “Then open it while you’re afraid. That’s the only way to truly live.” The monster howled in rage, struggling against invincible chains. “Daughter! Don’t! You need me! You need him!” Camela shut her eyes tightly as her hand wrapped around the cold metal door handle. The maid’s whisper gave her strength. “Now show him you belong to no one but yourself.” With determination, Camela pulled the door wide open. The fire roared and was drawn inward into the dark void beyond the door as the throne hall twisted around her—marble broke and mirrors shattered under the chaos.

“Open up.” Monet pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, her breathing ragged. She tried inhaling, counting to four, exhaling but the sobs shook her still. “Let me in, child. Let’s talk.” Her hands trembled as she turned the lock. Florence slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She didn’t rush forward, didn’t crowd her just stood, calm and steady, eyes quiet but piercing. Monet’s voice cracked the silence. “Marry him, take care of the kids… and then what?” Her hands twisted in her lap until her knuckles went white. “Imagine being with someone you know will never love you. It sounds… unbearable.”

I begged, pleaded, and apologized, my voice cracking under the weight of desperation. "Mona, please, open the door!" My voice trembled, laced with urgency. "I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was blind, stupid, and reckless." I pressed my forehead against the cool, hard surface of the door, feeling as if the weight of my heartache was pushing me down. My body shook with sobs, each tremor filled with regret. "I love you, Mona. You're my everything. Don't shut me out like this." Despite my pleas, the door remained stubbornly closed—a silent wall of resistance. I could sense her presence just a breath away, yet she refused to yield. Her voice, which usually wrapped around me like a c

“You ruined everything for me…” Her fists slammed the air as she burst into sobs. “You took everything from me… You liar! You monster!” Her cries echoed through the room. ….……………. The door swung open, and there stood Diana....wearing nothing but a bra and panties. Mon’s eyes moved slowly from her face down to her exposed skin, lingering. “Oh… I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” Diana said, her voice dripping with seduction. “You could’ve at least thrown something on before opening the door,” Mon muttered, stepping inside.

Perfect place to hide. Perfect place to die. Caspian moved forward. Silent. Every step calculated. He'd done this before. Hundreds of times. Hunted men. Killed men. This was what he was good at. This was what he was. The main floor was empty. Just old machinery and broken windows. Moonlight cutting through the darkness. "Mr. Nero." Kozlov's voice echoed from somewhere above. "I knew you'd come. Couldn't resist, could you?" Caspian didn't answer. Just kept moving. Toward the stairs. Toward the voice.

My name does not matter in this house. Men like me do not get remembered. We hold doors. We stand near walls. We speak only when spoken to. That is how it has always been. But I notice things. And lately, there has been too much to notice. I stood outside Luca’s office that afternoon with my hands folded in front of me, staring straight ahead like I was trained to do. The hallway was long and quiet, the marble floor polished enough to reflect the chandelier light above.

I compliment myself in the mirror before stepping out of the room to resume sitting in the living room awaiting my next instruction. I didn't even know I was lost in my own thoughts only to reach the evening when the living room door opened, my eyes snapped towards the door and I saw Monaco walking in with a box. Just like earlier, his expression is less bitter, maybe the calm evening made an impact on him. He shakes his head and instructs me to stand up.