Red Sky Morning

In this dramatic monologue for women from the play, “Red Sky Morning”, Elaine (30s-50s), a fisherwoman, laments to her crew about losing her husband at sea and the struggles of carrying on his legacy.

ELAINE: You think I don’t ask myself every day why I’m still out here? Why I drag myself out of bed before the sun, pull these nets, cut my hands raw against the salt and the lines? You think I love this? Love this life? God, no. I don’t. Not one bit. But I do it.

I do it because it’s all that’s left of him. This boat, this endless fight with the sea… It’s what he left me. He told me, “Don’t let it die with me.” That was his promise, or maybe it was his curse, I don’t know anymore. But it’s mine now. All of it.

He didn’t tell me how to keep going. He didn’t tell me how to wake up and face the day when every damn wave reminds me of him. How to keep this afloat when every haul feels like it takes more out of me than I’ve got left to give. He didn’t tell me how to live with this hole in my chest. Because that’s what it is—a hole. A hollow place that used to be full of him.

And now? Now it’s just me. Me and this goddamn sea that never gives, never forgives. But I can’t stop. I won’t. Because if I do, then it’s like he was never here. Like all those years, all those mornings and nights, were just something the tide carried away.

So, no. I don’t love it. But I do it. For him. For what we had. For what this boat means. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s all it ever has to be.

Red sky in the morning… They say that’s a warning, right? But for me, it’s a reminder. A reminder that the storm’s always coming. And I just have to keep going. Because that’s all there is. Just… keep going.

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