SEPTEMBER. EVENING. CLOSE-UP. HEART-SHAPED PINK SUNGLASSES. HIDING A FACE. MUSIC PLAYS. THE SUN FALLS ACROSS THE BEDROOM IN A BRIGHT SHAFT OF LIGHT. CUT TO: WIDE SHOT. GIRL LIES ON HER BED, PROPPED ON HER ELBOWS, CHIN IN HER HANDS. Phyre, sixteen, that’s me! And this is my life. Or how I picture it. The door swings open and I smile up at you. ME Come in. Close the door behind you. We painted my name on it when we were seven. Phyre, still there because we used oil paint and nothing covers it. Put regular paint on top and it beads and wipes right off, like watercolor on wax crayon. Purple, because it’s my favorite color, the color of this bedroom! Depending on the light. See how everything burns pink in the sun? ME Sit down! I swing a hand toward your usual spot. YOU Stylish sunnies, Phy! The sunglasses were a present from you, a joke, but I wear them anyway.
