(A/N: As someone who has VERY LITTLE experience writing scenes, I'm practically BEGGING for help here. Also, a forewarning: It's rather bizarre; it was written for the vague prompt of "write a scene with two people and a book". oo Thank you so much for any feedback.)

Characters:

Ages (ay-gus), a straightforward but sympathetic man.

Zal (rhymes with doll), a homeless boy, around fifteen, give or take a few years. He has slight bipolarity and paranoia, and only one possession; a book that serves as a sort of diary, but also holds great sentimental value. It contains all his memories.

Setting:

Against a brick wall. Zal is onstage when lights come up, between an overflowing trash can and a graffiti-laden doorway with a bright gold doorknob and a dusty window. It is a freezing November night, and Zal has no shoes. There is one wide spotlight.

AGES: (from offstage)

This boy has a book full of memories

It’s commonplace, tattered and plain.

This boy has a heart full of images

That’s like nothing a book can contain.

His mind is a black-and-white reel

That’s cracked, and spotted, and old.

This boy in his life has beheld things

That a child shouldn’t have to behold.

ZAL:

The cover is cracked and the pages are yellowed

And leather-bound life is still hollow.

My path is worn-down, though I know that I lack

The capacity to lead or to follow.

I wander alone, through the litter-lined roads

And I wonder alone in the rain

If my book full of memories, if scattered away

Would also scatter my pain.

(Ages enters. Zal is looking at his book, which is lying on the ground, closed.)

AGES:

Do you really want this with you? Just give it to me. Come on, let me take it off your shoulders.

ZAL: (as if trying to convince himself)

I don’t want it. Take it.

(Zal holds out the book. Ages tries to take it from him, but it remains stuck to Zal’s hands.)

AGES:

It won’t budge. Just go ahead and drop it.

ZAL:

It won’t let me drop it. I can’t give it away, I can’t get rid of it, and I can’t put it down and forget about it.

AGES:

But why?

ZAL:

It’s a part of me. Look.

(He throws it away from him, but it flies back and hits him in the chest. He staggers and sits down.)

Whenever I try again it just comes back harder.

AGES:

Just put it down! You don’t need it anymore.

(Zal places the book on the ground and takes a few steps. Then he runs back and picks it up, clenching it to him like a lifeline. This should not be funny, but more indicative of his dependence on it.)

What am I going to do with you?

ZAL: (opening the book)

November 2nd:

Dear world: you have everything I want, and everything I need, but you’re not giving it to me. World, I wish you were a person, so I could get back at you for all the shit you’ve put me through. I wish you were alive. And I wish you weren’t so selfish. Zal.

AGES:

Start over. I need the beginning.

ZAL: (flipping pages)

M’kay. Here:

February 5th:

Today I didn’t eat. And yesterday, I didn’t eat. In fact, I haven’t eaten since the first. And I can’t even remember when the first was. Damn, I can’t remember anything. (beat) I need some sleep.

(beat)

AGES:

That’s not the beginning.

ZAL:

Basically.

AGES:

It’s repetitive. Just stop being so dramatic and tell me the facts.

ZAL: (defensive)

Facts? I don’t know about anything but myself. There are no facts for me besides what’s in here. (beat) That’s exactly how it is. And yeah, it’s repetitive. Life is repetitive as hell for me, okay?

AGES:

What can I do to help?

ZAL:

You don’t really want to help. You’re just asking so you can feel good about yourself, I know it. You’re all the same.

AGES:

I can take it away from you. I can help you get rid of it.

ZAL: (indignantly, as if it’s a new suggestion)

No, don’t - it’s all I have to look to.

AGES: (harshly)

It can’t help you. You can’t help you. I can.

ZAL:

No… I need it.

July 4th:

Happy fourth of July from the guy with the cracked rib. But cheers, I got away with it after all.

(beat. Zal smiles a little, almost sarcastically, as if recalling some memory that doesn’t really fit with what he’s just read.)

This is me. It’s my life. I can’t move on. I really can’t – I’m not capable.

(Long, awkward silence. Zal is sitting on the ground, still.)

AGES:

Take my hand.

ZAL:

Why should I?

AGES:

Don’t judge. Get up.

ZAL:

Thanks, but I’d rather not. I’m keeping my book. I’m going to keep it.

AGES:

Take the initiative. Get off your ass. Leave the memories behind.

ZAL: (muffled)

Get away. Get away.

(He curls around the book and doesn’t get up.)

AGES:

If you don’t give me that, you’ll – you’ll die.

ZAL: (almost pleading)

There’s one more page. Just one more. Please. Let me keep it.

(He opens to the very last page, and shows Ages that it’s the only one left. It is blank; the rest are scrawled on.)

AGES:

Look.

(He takes out another book, completely blank.)

Look what you can do. Come on; just stand up, and you can have a clean slate. New beginning. It’s the world offering you something for a change. You said it never gave you anything? Well, here it is. This is more than something. It’s everything.

(beat)

Good God, what have you turned into, a defeatist? Doesn’t this tempt you at all?

ZAL:

I guess… I’ll try.

(He takes the new book and exerts great effort on trying to open it, but the covers will not budge. With something like relief he picks up his own book and throws the new one back at AGES.)It won’t open. And I can’t get rid of mine, so I’ll just stay with it, I’ll just keep it.

AGES: (in disbelief)

You’re really not going to move on? For goodness’ sakes, this is the freakin’ golden opportunity!

ZAL: (stubbornly, but quietly)

Since when did I take opportunities? I’m sticking with what I know, okay, Ages? My life. My story.

(He opens his book. The last page is ripped out.)

Where did –

Ages? Where did –

AGES: (over Zal’s calls)

You should’ve just tried again. Defeatist.

(Zal looks around. Ages is slowly walking out of the wide spotlight, ostentatiously opening and shutting the new book with ease. He stops right as he is about to leave the light completely, pulls out the last page of Zal’s book, and starts writing something on it.)

ZAL:

Wait! Wait, I need that page!

(He tries to get to his feet, but stumbles and topples back over. Breathing hard, he raises his head to see Ages shut the new book loudly, with the last page of his book on top of its cover. He pulls himself over to the trash can, leans against it, and slumps over.)

AGES: (reading from what he wrote on the last page)

The cover smells new and the pages are crisp

And life would be newly fulfilled.

The path is untrodden, just waiting for someone

To be resolutely strong-willed.

To wander alone, through the litter-lined roads

And not wonder alone in the rain

Of their book full of memories, their trampled dreams,

their life, their death, and their pain.

(beat)

Not worried, not fearful, but courageous and strong

ZAL: (raising his head one last time)

And not scared about where to belong.

(Zal dies. After a pause, Ages reenters quietly, takes the old book from Zal, and puts the last page back in. He shuts it, places it in his pocket, and exits.)

CURTAIN