Derek was sitting by himself on an old wooden park bench, studying his shoelaces. There was not another boy sitting next to him. No such person existed. And since he did not exist, he did not appear to be nine years old, which was several years younger than Derek. Nor did he have blond hair and freckles. There was no such boy at all. This was why it was so annoying that he kept poking Derek in the shoulder.
"Hey," the imaginary boy said, and poked. "Hey." Poke. "Hey." Poke. "Hey." Poke. "Hey -"
"What!"
"Why won't you talk to me anymore?"
Derek sighed. "Because you don't exist. Like I've told you fifty times."
The boy folded his arms and pouted. "That didn't use to matter."
"Well, now it does. So shut up, you're not real."
"If I'm not real, why do I have to shut up?"
"Because it's not really you talking, it's me talking to myself. I made you up, because I was lonely as a kid, or something. And now I want to stop. So shut up."
"It's 'cause you're trying to be grown up, isn't it? You think you're too good for me."
"That's not. whatever. Think whatever you want, just leave me alone."
"It's not like it's my fault I'm a kid."
Derek stared at his feet again. "I'm ignoring you until you go away."
The kid folded his arms again. "Fine, be that way."
The two of them sat there for a long time.