Fiction, Monologues, Plays & More
JOHN: I’m not trying to insult you, I just think you always see the negative in things.
ANDREA: And that’s not insulting?
JOHN: It’s just an observation.
ANDREA: An insulting observation.
JOHN: So you would say the glass is half full?
She considers the question for a moment.
ANDREA: I would say the glass is too big.
JOHN: What the hell does that mean?
ANDREA: It means the idiot who poured the drink picked an inappropriately sized glass for the drink he poured. Probably the same idiot who came up with this stupid exercise in the first place.
She drains her drink.
JOHN: That would be me.
ANDREA: You were my first guess.
JOHN: Now who’s being insulting?
ANDREA: You started it.
JOHN: It’s kind of strange that we’re sleeping with each other, isn’t it?
ANDREA: This may be the most pointless conversation I’ve ever had in my entire life.
She stands up.
ANDREA (CONT’D): I’m going to get another drink. You want one?
He considers his empty glass.
ANDREA: Are you sure? Because I’ll get you another drink. If you want one.
JOHN: Nah, I’m good.
ANDREA: I’ll get you half a drink.
She walks away.
INT. ANDREA’S CAR – NIGHT
John drives. Neither of them speaks. He looks bored. She looks bored and irritated.
The sounds of enthusiastic sex coming to a climax can be heard in the darkness.
INT. ANDREA’S BEDROOM – NIGHT
John rolls off of Andrea and lies there spent, his eyes closed. She looks content and happy, but the moment quickly fades.
She sits up and turns on the lamp on her nightstand.
ANDREA: We can’t do this any more.
JOHN: I know, that’s why we stopped.
ANDREA: No, I mean we have to stop sleeping with each other.
JOHN: I’m too wiped out to get home. Just let me stay here for tonight.
ANDREA: Damn it, John. I’m trying to tell you I’m not going to fuck you any more.
She gets up, puts on a bathrobe, and heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth.
John sits up and rubs his head.
JOHN: What do you mean.
Andrea spits out toothpaste.
ANDREA: I mean I’m not going to fuck you any more.
She resumes brushing. John gets up and walks over to the bathroom door.
JOHN: What’s this all about?
She spits again and rinses.
ANDREA: It’s about me not fucking you any more. Jesus. Were you hit in the head with a brick tonight or something?
JOHN: No, I mean what prompted this?
She walks back to the bedroom, straightens the sheets, and sits on the bed. John follows.
ANDREA: What prompted this was the realization that this is the most pathetic relationship I’ve ever been in.
JOHN: What are you talking about? I thought we were doing fine?
ANDREA: You call this fine? We sleep with each other out of convenience and habit, because neither of us can be bothered to find an actual relationship. And when we’re not doing that, we either bore each other to tears, or irritate the shit out of each other. It’s a sickness, John. It has to stop.
JOHN: What the hell? I thought the whole point of us sleeping together was to avoid the hassle of an actual relationship. We go out, find somewhere to get a drink, come home and get laid. What’s the problem?
ANDREA: The problem, John, is that it’s not enough any more.
JOHN: See, this is what I was talking about…
ANDREA: I swear to God, if you bring up the conversation about the glass, I will go get a knife from the kitchen and stab you in the face.
JOHN: Is that what this is about? The stupid conversation tonight?
ANDREA: No. Yes. Not really. That’s just an example of how pointless this is. A symptom.
JOHN: What the hell are you talking about?
ANDREA: Look, it’s late, and I’m tired. Just, go home, okay?
John picks up his clothes and leaves the room.
INT. ANDREA’S APARTMENT – THE NEXT MORNING
John is asleep on the couch, in his pants. The rest of his clothes lie crumpled on the floor.
Andrea enters wearing her robe. She glares at John for a moment before going into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She stands there watching it brew for a while before pouring herself a cup and going back to glare at John again.
John lifts his head and looks around in a daze.
JOHN: Huh? Yeah.
After a moment, he sits up. He has bed hair.
Andrea goes back into the kitchen and returns a moment later with a second cup of coffee and places it in front of John.
ANDREA: You were supposed to go home last night.
JOHN: Uh huh.
ANDREA: What happened?
JOHN: Didn’t make it.
She taps her mug.
Thinking of trying again soon?
JOHN: Yeah, in a little bit.
She goes back into the kitchen, pulls out a pan, places it on the stove and turns on the heat. She pulls some butter and a carton of eggs out of the fridge.
In the living room, John pulls on his socks and shoes and walks to the kitchen doorway, pulling on his tee shirt.
JOHN (CONT’D): You making breakfast?
JOHN: You want to come get a mocha with me?
ANDREA: No, John. I want to stay here and drink my own coffee, in my own apartment, eating my own breakfast, alone.
He lets that sit there for a moment. She starts melting a pat of butter in the pan.
JOHN: You want to get together later?
ANDREA: I think maybe we should give it a few days.
He lets that sit there, too.
JOHN: Flash is playing the Viper Room this weekend. You going.
She wrestles with this for a moment.
JOHN: I’ll call you.
He turns and heads for the door.
ANDREA: You know you’ve got a serious bed hair thing going on?
JOHN (O.S.): Yeah.
Andrea turns off the stove, drops the pan of half-melted butter in the sink, and stands there contemplating her coffee.
Sean Kozma is a writer, sound designer, and audio technician living in Los Angeles, and working in professional theatre. He also works behind the camera on independent films as production manager, assistant director, and line producer. Originally hailing from southeast Michigan, he has worked as a dishwasher, a fry cook, a delivery driver, a taxicab driver, a dispatcher, an engraver, and an office drone. He is currently writing a novel, among other projects.