I Didn’t Run

In this monologue from the play, “I Didn’t Run”, a teenage girl named Casey recounts the moment she defied fear and stood her ground to protect her younger sister during a terrifying attack, in a coming-of-age drama about loyalty, trauma, and the courage to choose love over escape.

CASEY: They told me to run.

When the noise came from the woods—when the branches snapped and that horrible screaming started—everyone bolted. Just like we’re supposed to. Get out, get safe, don’t look back. And I almost did. My legs were already moving. Instinct. But then I saw her. My little sister, frozen. Just standing there, clutching that dumb stuffed fox she takes everywhere, like it could protect her.

And something in me just… flipped.

I couldn’t leave her. Not again.

You don’t get it. Last year, when Mom left… I didn’t say anything. I didn’t fight. I let her walk out the door and I just sat there, like silence could somehow keep everything together. But silence didn’t save us. It just left us more broken. And I promised myself—I swore—I wouldn’t freeze like that again.

So yeah, maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was stupid or brave or whatever word adults use when kids do something they can’t explain. But I made a choice. I grabbed the bat, stepped in front of her, and dared whatever was out there to come through me first.

My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold on. My heart felt like it was gonna explode. But I didn’t move. I didn’t run.

And you know what? I’d do it again. Every single time.

Because if we don’t protect the people we love—if we just abandon them the second things get scary—then what are we even doing? What kind of person does that make you?

I’m not a hero. I don’t want a medal or a headline or anyone calling me brave.

I just want her to be okay.

And when the world goes to hell… sometimes just staying means everything.

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