My First Monologue

“Goodbye Dug”

Dug, a caveman stumbles on stage with his club dragging behind him. He is wet from rain and is trying to fix himself up, straightening his mammoth hide coat. He is tall and thick. A matted beard covers half of his face.

DUG: What’s going on I used to have it. Pounding on a bare chest and the females poured into my cave in droves. I could hand pick the one that I wanted and toss the rest aside like the bones I’ve already picked clean. I would tear that loin cloth from her sweating body. I could feel her feeding off of my raw power. Her claws would dig in leaving marks on my forearms. Ug. They used line up for me those women. Babies, that I created, slung over the shoulders of most of them as they roasted meat for me. They fashioned new spears and clubs for hunting. They sat in circles washing my cloths and whispering as I walked past. I loved to catch them glancing at my long powerful strides.

(Loud fits laughter from men and women are heard Dug’s cave from a small cave off side.)

Now I sit alone in my cave twiddling wet stick around with no chance of fire tonight and watch these same women shake their bodies for another man. That twist in their walk is no longer directed at me but at the man that can still lift his canoe over his head. A man who doesn`t hunch next to his fire. Ug. A man that has a fire. He stands tall in his sabre tooth coat, the long fangs falling around his muscular neck. If I tried to stand that tall I am sure I would snap in half at the middle. I have managed to stay standing on top thirty three years and my reward is to watch my women round with the young while I am just round. These fat old fingers could hardly undo the ties of the simplest loin cloth. I am trapped in a skin that is too loose for my frame.

 Maybe I should do as an old dog would do and just go lie in the forest until my time is up. Will anyone notice that I’m gone? It would be more generous of me to give myself to the wolves. Ug. They would have plenty to eat. At least I would be doing them the service of a meal. I’m sure though that no wolf would want to taste this tough, old meat. If I were a real man then I would challenge those who are taking what is rightfully mine. But to pound my chest would only lead to pain before we even began  to battle and who wants to fight the tired man that can’t lift his club above his own knee? If death is my only way out then it might be best to use the river. There will be no mess for the others to take care of and I would rather be eaten gently by soft fish lips, than to be torn apart by yellow rodent teeth. If only my frail old arms were strong enough to hold the boulders long enough to drown before they dropped them and float back up to the surface being forced to breathe. If only there was a way to end it all without having to be soaked again. Ug. The rain is miserable. There must be something.

(

Dug rummages through his belongings spreading the contents of a bag across the ground and turns around to face the audience with two long strips of leather.)

Why haven’t I thought of this before? I will be removed from this intolerable land without leaving the comforts of my very own cave. I’ll call it, ug, the noose: the first ever in home caveman exterminator. Tired of being the one with the biggest hunch? Need to escape but can’t bear the thought of being eaten by rats? The noose: the greatest little invention since fire on a stick. No man over the age of thirty will ever have to fight for his honour again. An old man is useless, and the noose will set them free.