Monologue of a young boy

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Monologue

*Kicks his football up against the house wall*

I never used to be able to do this. I can do it now though obviously. Me and my dad spent a whole afternoon practising my kicking. “The side of your foot it goes long, the tip of your foot it goes high.” he would say. I never got what he meant at first. I could kick it far but not high. The first time I went to kick it high like dad told me to, I fell over onto my back. It really hurt. My eyes were watering but my dad always told me that big boys don’t cry. He grabbed the ball off me and booted it higher than my bedroom window!

I can’t remember the last time me and dad spent the day together. He’s always working, or down the pub, or going out with his fancy bird Jenny.

*George doesn’t kick the ball in time and it rolls behind him. He puts his finger up into the air*

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Emirates Stadium. Dad got us 2 tickets for the Arsenal v Man U match. Well 3 actually. Jenny came. She wouldn’t stop moaning! “David, I’m cold. David, how long until we can go home? David. David. David.” The moaning ruined it. She ruined it. The only time she shut up was when dad had his tongue half way down her throat.

*Puts his fingers down his throat* BLERGH!

He never used to do that with mom. They would always shout a lot. When I would go to bed I used to have to put my pillow over ...

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