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Bizzy, a "not very much talking run up and karate chop you in the face" boy of 11, pulls out a faded photograph from his pocket. He talks to it when he thinks no one is watching. He doesn't know that his friend Lu, a year younger, hides nearby.
(Warning: Using this monologue without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way.)
Standing in the beam I touched the feeling of your hair - how it softly scratched my face. I could smell that hand lotion on my t-shirts when you folded my clothes. I tasted the grey of your eyes as we sat down at the kitchen table and I heard the red plastic bowls filled with cereal as we watched cartoons together before school which made the time go by so fast.
And then the flash of remembering faded and you faded in my hand and all I always left with is a fragment of a picture, and heavy feet on a floor with the present sight of nothing as you’re not here no more.
(Lu stands quietly, allowing herself to be seen. Bizzy turns, putting the photograph in his pocket.)
What are you still doing here?