Swallowing My Pride

How did I get here?

My head is stuffed with cotton. The hallway, is spinning lazily counter-clockwise as it breathes in and out.

That’s what I should do. Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Okay, that seems to help. That feeling in my stomach is going away. Just keep breathing. In. Out.

Let’s try to stand up.

…

This may be harder than I expected. How about knees first. Okay there we go. Keep breathing.

Exhale. My head is up and my eyes are closed. Inhale. Eyes open again. I’m still spinning, or the hallway is spinning, or we both are, but atleast I’ve got my head up. That’s something to be proud of.

Ha! Listen to me, talking about pride after a night spent sleeping in an empty hallway. I think.  If I were sober, I’d scorn myself. But I’m not sober, so I’m filled with pity and loneliness. I doubt I found the compassion I seek in the feet that stepped over my body last night. No commiseration from the bodies that stood around me in bemused delight and minimal concern.

How did I get here?

How did I get to a place where no one cares? You know, I don’t blame them. I would have stopped, stared and carried on just like the rest of them had it been someone else lying on the cold floor. They’re not heartless bastards who want nothing else than to draw cocks on my forehead. Rather, they tag my body because they do not know how else to deal with a situation that they should never have come accustomed to. A lifestyle I should never have been accustomed to.

But here I am, on my knees, my head bowed before a trashcan, spilling my guts out in a greenish-brown stew that once must have been my pride and their compassion.

Things to Avoid in the Future

Idle hearts
Ex-girlfriends
Food poisoning
Repeated mistakes|
Fear
Idle minds
Endives
Girlfriend’s best friends
Trans fat
Men with guns
M. Night Shymalan films
Boredom
Avril Lavigne
Missed birthdays
Apathy
Skynet
Desk jobs
Lay-overs
Burnt tongues
Hate
Speeding cars
Self-pity
Anal beads
Loss
New Jersey
Indifference
Reruns of Deadliest Catch
Regret

The Sea Scallop

There were any number of things I could have noticed first about her. The tall boots. Her gray eyes. The lazy brown waves of her hair. The chunky necklace draped around her slender neck. The small mole just below her left eye that I couldn’t help but kiss. These were the things that the people around her noticed. The people sitting at the tables eating chicken breasts with plastic utensils and salads wet with weak dressing.

Standing behind her, I first noticed what rested in her left hand as it hung by her side next to the counter. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her thumb in the smooth curves of a small scallop shell. Held in place by her index and middle fingers, she lived, worked, fucked, ate, sang, slept, walked, wept with that shell in her hand. She had found it on a beach on the Cape two years ago when she had been killing time before a dinner of salmon, potatoes and asparagus. She had found it amongst a collection of pebbles left by the receding tide of the afternoon. She had lifted it up with her thumb and her forefinger and brought it to the water where she rubbed out all of the sand stuck in its ridges. The scallop was not particularly beautiful. Its whites and purples and browns and reds were dull and haphazardly mixed.

She had held it close to her eye to study it. She turned it over and over, running her fingers across every curve, ridge and edge, memorizing  its simple design as waves lapped the sand 10 feet off and the sun dipped behind the dunes.

I could see that she was there now. She was awake and her eyes were open, but she was not in front me. Her fingers were working through that shell as she stepped out of the line and onto the sand. It was there that I saw her take off her boots. I saw her eyes fill with the softest blue and the lazy brown waves of her hair catch the wind. I saw her drop the necklace in the sand and let the sun warm her neck. It was there that I kissed the small mole just below her left eye.

Ever Since the Day We Met

The clearest of dreams are often thought to be reinterpretations of our own realities. If this is the case, my reality is defined by loneliness, sexual apprehension and the paint job on my dented car, set against the beat of “Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth With Money in My Hand” by Primitive Radio Gods; the reprise “I’ve been downhearted baby/ever since the day we met” playing over and over, volume constantly adjusting to fit the scene.

It was strange. I was surrounded by people, faces both familiar and fresh, were given new lives. Loud, gregarious aquaintances were suddenly pensive and withdrawn. Forgotten friends from years past suddenly stood at my side. And a tall, blonde girl with an indistinguishable face named Bree was at the center of my attention. I remember little of what she said, but I do recall an eagerness in her voice; an anxiety that came from a desire to do too much in too little time.

On this particular evening, she wanted to dance. Standing beside her and two unidentified friends, I stood near the wall on the second floor of a parking garage. The ceiling was uncomfortably low, but the throng of equally eager and carefree 20-somethings either did not notice or they did not mind. Bree stepped forward a few steps towards a growing opening in the center of the pulsating crowd. She turned to me as she continued to walk backwards and stretched out her hand. She wanted me to follow her. To dance with her. To join her for a life of forward motion and sponteneity. But I could not move.

She melted into the crowd, the parking structure, the thin green lawn that preceeded it, into the world around her. No. She didn’t melt away. I was pulled back. As her hand has reached out, the power and irrationality of my dreaming mind interrupted itself midthought; my brain depriving me contentment and companionship. Bemoaning the lost opportunity, I found myself standing in another parking garage. This lot, however, was much smaller, outside and set on a slight incline. Two empty spots lay at my feet and not a soul could be seen or heard. Regardless of my isolation, I remember having a troubled dialogue concerning the paint job on my recently repaired car. Even at the time I realized the situation’s mundane nature, yet the conflict proved itself surprisingly profound. I settled on white, the car’s original color. Not a sparkling, clean white of Greek democracy and new Ipods but rather a white that spoke of age and use. A white that was imbued with dirt and exhaust.

Throughout the course of the evening, I traveled between that parking lot and the garage where Bree once stood with her hand outstretched, but she had left me behind after my first disappearance. She had probably joined the cacophony of human bodies in the middle of the garage. I thought about her as much as one could in a dream. Tried to remember her face, her words and the voice that had breathed life into them. And as I dreamed, I dreamed a second time that I had taken her hand and joined her. I dreamed that I dreamed that her and I meant something. That she was something important in me or something I needed or something that needed to be found. But everytime I would stop and remember the truth. That I had left her. That she had gone ahead with her life in an  attempt to experience everything in life before her time was up. That I was standing in two empty parking spaces, having an imaginary debate over an imaginary car while she danced the night away.

Bowling (1st Draft)

So I think I’ve arrived (albeit a few days late) on a good New Year’s Resolution: take my writing more seriously. I started out this blog as a place mainly for my screenwriting, though it has sort of devolved into short-form pieces. I’ve actually been really happy writing most of the stuff I have posted here and it’s been a good exercise in exploring some themes and some different styles, but I think I should start to reintroduce some more screen-work here so you all can get a good look at what I’m working on. Below is the first version of a 20 minute film, tentatively titled “Bowling” for lack of a more creative title, that I’m writing for a fellow Oxy film student. I haven’t looked at this in about a month but I remember being fairly okay with how it is, despite some obvious tweaking that comes with revision. However, as I am writing this for someone else, this draft is completely different from what it will hopefully one day become. In the version that has-yet-to-be-written, the ending will not be nearly as nearly and a far more tense and dramatic relationship will develop between David and Criss, one that will most likely include a prexisting relationship between the two of them. Also, hopefully Wes won’t be such a complete douchebag… But for now, this is what I have, so here it is:

oh by the way, pardon the formatting as cut-and-paste is not so friendly when coming from Celtx.

Black Screen

LOU
(voice-over)
For 43 years I’ve watched them. The people come and go, but the pins, they stay. Standing still until the inevitable comes rollin’ down the lane and sends ‘em flying. Imagine that. Seeing trouble coming your way and you just standing still. Like playing chicken with an axe and you’re the tree. Only one way thing’s are gonna end…

int. bowling alley

LOU, a heavy-set mid 60 year old man, stands behind the check-in counter at a bowling alley. He is spraying the insides of a line of a bowling shoes with a disinfectant.

From what we see, the alley is old and worn but still feels warm and familiar.

DAVID, CAMERON and WES, all 18 years old, enter excitedly. David is slim and handsome. TOM is tall and has dark features. Cameron is shorter and is rounder than his two friends. They walk directly towards Lou at the counter.

David throws his hands up into the air with a big grin as they approach Lou.

DAVID
Victory! Hey Lou, we did it!

LOU
You sure as hell did boys.

Lou extends his hand and shakes all three of their hands. He hangs onto David’s maybe a little too long.

LOU
I’m damn proud of you. Damn proud.

DAVID
I’m gonna need that hand back if you want me to keep bowling.

LOU
Bowling? You better not be bowling when you’re off at school. Better be using that hand for studying and writing papers.

WES
Or grabbing all those college ladies.

LOU
Not too much of that I hope. Word of advice: never get too close. Cause you a whole lot of hurt, and not just coming from her either.

DAVID
Thanks Lou, I’ll keep that in mind when I’m working too much to have a social life.

WES
Fuckin’ loser.

LOU
Hey! Watch your language when in you’re here.

Beat

LOU
David, you’re not going to have any problems making friends. You’re a good guy, should be easy for you.

DAVID
Thanks Lou. Mind if we grab a lane while we wait for Criss and Miles?

LOU
You’re still asking?

Beat. Everyone smiles.

LOU
Take number 3.

DAVID and CAMERON
Thanks Lou.

The boys each grab a pair of shoes that are already on the counter-top. They walk off towards the lane.

LOU
Hey Cameron. Tell you’re Dad I got a project for him.

CAMERON
Or I can do it. I’ll be in here all summer, we’ll talk about it.

Cameron turns and walks after David and Wes who are headed towards a lane near one end of the alley.

Beat

LOU
Yeah. We got all summer…

int. Lane 3

The boys plop down in the semi-circle of old bench seats around the score table which has its own chair.

They occupy themselves by loosening the ties and belts they are still wearing after graduation and slipping on their bowling shoes.

WES
Where are Criss and Abercrombie?

DAVID
I don’t know. Criss said he was driving her over here afterwards. I saw him after the ceremony but…

WES
Oh I’m sure he’s driving her right now.

DAVID
Come on Wes.

WES
What?

DAVID
Don’t say shit like that about Criss. You know her.

WES
Exactly. I know her. I know Miles McDouche too. And so do you.

DAVI
It’s not like that.

WES
Shut the fuck up. You know better.

DAVID
Miles’ a nice guy, he’s good to her, he…

WES
Oh bullshit.

DAVID
Let’s just bowl. Cam, you’re up first.

Cameron, awkwardly watching this conflict gets up, grabs a ball and squares up to go.

DAVID
I’m done with this conversation Wes.

WES
Fucking delusional.

Int. Bowling alley entrance way

CRISS, a slight, beautiful 18 year old girl, enters and makes a b-line for Lou. Her face is neutral but brightens as she approaches Lou

On her heels, MILES, a classically attractive 18 year old guy enters the alley. From his clothes, it is clear that he of a different social status.

Seeing Criss, Lou steps out from behind the counter and opens his arms to approaching Criss.

LOUThere’s my girl!

CRISS
Hey Lou!

Lou envelops her in his arms.

LOU
I’m so proud of you.

CRISS
Thanks Lou. David and the boys here yet?

LOU
Yeah hon, they’re over in lane 3.

Criss takes off towards the boys leaving Miles to cross the expanse of the alley by himself. Lou gets behind the counter again.

LOU
Hey Mr. Clark

MILES
Hey Lou.

Miles walks past the counter without slowing and heads after Criss.

Criss quickly sits down between David and Cameron. Wes is up bowling.

CRISS
Hello boys. Sorry I’m late

DAVID
No biggie.

CAMERON
Hey Criss.

WES
Hey there lady.

As Miles approaches and sits down, Criss shoots David a quick look before instantly resuming her perky facade.

CAMERON
Hey man.

Miles makes the rounds of hand shakes.

MILES
Hey. Congrats guys. Big day.

DAVID
Thanks man.

MILES
Big day and you guys are here.

DAVID
Where else would we go?

CAMERON
I think I just assumed we’d come here after graduation.

MILES
I don’t know. I thought that today you guys would want to do something cool. You know, celebrate.

WES
And what? Be surrounded by a bunch of people who I’m never going to talk to ever again? I’m much happier here.

MILES
I guess if holding large balls makes you happy, more power to you.

WES
Ah fuck you man.

DAVID
Chill out Wes, just a joke.

WES
Thank you for that explanation David. Really, thanks.

Wes gets up and heads off towards the bathroom. David gets up as Criss watches.

David catches Wes in the small hallway that lead to the bathrooms.

int. bathroom hallway

DAVID
Wes, what the fuck? What’s going going on?

WES
David I…I’m sorry. Just, why is that fuck here? He hates this place, we know that, Criss knows that. Shit, even Lou knows that. And not only that, he’s here telling us what the fuck we should be doing today? All I want is to do is hang out with you guys and bowl before I’m off to basic.

DAVID
Hey Wes, just calm down man. He’s here because of Criss, you know that. That doesn’t say something about him? Okay so he’s not the greatest guy but…

WES
He’s a fucking rich douchebag.

DAVID
Yeah, whatever. He’s not the greatest guy but he makes Criss happy, so maybe we should lay off him.

WES
I guess. You know, if he’s dating Criss, that means we won’t have to deal with him much longer, with her track record.

DAVID
Hey man, don’t say shit about her like that.

Wes heads off towards the bathroom, talking to David as he walks away.

WES
Alright Mr. Cavalier.

Beat

WES
It could be you David.

Wes exits into the bathroom. David stands where he is for a beat before turning back towards the group at the lane.

int. Lane 3

As David approaches, everyone is staring at David. Criss looks especially concerned.

CAMERON
He settled down?

DAVID
Yeah he’s fine. Oh don’t give me that face Criss, you know how he can’t take a joke sometimes.

Beat

CRISS
Yeah.

DAVID
Alright. Let’s start over. Wanna go grab some shoes Miles? Criss?

CRISS
Yeah!

Criss hops up and takes a few steps towards Lou behind the counter.

CRISS
Come on Miles. I don’t know your shoe size.

MILES
Oh I think I’ll just watch. Not much of a bowler.

CRISS
Miles, we all know how you can’t bowl, now come on.

MILES
Yeah I just….alright, whatever.

Miles gets up and walks towards a smiling Criss. Miles cracks a smile and throws an arm around her shoulders as they walk towards Lou.

MILES
The shit I do for you.

CRISS
I know. So taxing. Thanks.

Criss gives Miles a quick peck on the side of his cheek. At this moment, David turns away from them and Wes reenters from the back and grabs a seat beside David.

DAVID
Better now?

WES

Relaxed and stress free. Nothing like a combat jack to calm the nerves.

CAMERON
Combat jack? What the fuck is…oh you are soooo nasty.

David and Cameron are squirming as Wes smiles and laughs.

DAVID
You are fucked up.

WES
No, you guys are fucked up. What kind of guy do you think I am? I’m afraid to look in the sink here. Who knows what kind of shit lives there. Man, you guys. Don’t tell me I fucked up if you believed that shit.

DAVID
…fucking gross.

Miles and Criss arrive with bowling shoes in hand. They plop down and start changing their shoes. David moves over to the scoring table and restarts the game with 5 players.

DAVID
Okay so it’s Cameron, Criss, me, Miles then Wes. Get goin’ Cam.

CAMERON
Hey, don’t rush the magic. Let it happen. You see…

Wes, David and Criss all chime over Cameron

WES, DAVID and CRISS
…the magic works you, you don’t work the magic.

The three of them laugh.

CRISS
I think you gave me that speech the first time David brought me here.

WES
Well Cameron was quite the charmer wasn’t he?

CRIS
Oh totally. Also because I thought David was a total creeper to bring me here the first weekend I was in town.

DAVID
Where else should I have taken you milady? Our lovely, local shopping center with its bargain stores and sketchy fast food restaurants?

Wes and Cameron smiles. Criss laughs as she gets up to bowl.

DAVID
Besides, it’s not like I hung out with anyone besides these guys and I didn’t want you to think I was a complete social reject.

CRISS
And thus you took me to a bowling alley on a Friday night.

MILES
That might be one of the worst first date ideas I’ve ever heard of.

DAVID
It wasn’t a date and everything worked out in the end. Look where we are tonight?

CRISS
Point taken. And it totally was a date.

David and Criss pass close to eachother as David heads up for his turn. They look at eachother and smile

DAVID
No it wasn’t. I was just trying to be a friendly neighbor by showing the new girl around.

CRISS
Oh bullshit. You had such a big crush on me and you wanted to show me off your buddies.

DAVID
Why are debating this? This was more than two years ago.

WES
I think she’s got you pegged.

CRISS
Thank you for agreeing with me Wes.

Wes returns after his turn.

DAVID
Okay so maybe I liked you a bit back then but I wasn’t showing you off. I really did want you to meet some of my friends so you knew some people once school started. And, I mean…

CRISS
David, stop. You’re being defensive. I didn’t care. Besides, I thought you were being really cute anyway.

Criss has dropped her voice a little and David responds in kind.

DAVID
Well thank you.

CRISS
No problem.

Criss smiles and turns to watch Miles bowl. David sits down and slumps in his chair.He catches the eye of Wes who is giving a knowing look with raised eyebrows and a slight grin. David shakes his head and smiles.

The sounds of pins breaks the silence.

MILES
Fucking splits. Can’t ever hit both.

Wes gets up and struts up over to the balls with more than enough confidence.

WES
Sure you can, you just gotta have the right touch. I shall demonstrate.

Wes bowls and is left with a split at the end of the lane.

WES
Miles, pay close attention. It’s all wrist. You just gotta be gentle, soft, tender. You gotta be caring and attentive.

Miles chuckles as everyone smiles.

WES
Are you watching Miles. I want you to see this. When you release, just flick your wrist a little so you get a nice spin going. Watch.

Wes does an over dramatic wind up and releases. He hits both spins.

WES
See Miles? Not impossible. Now suck on that!

Wes snaps in a Z shape in front of Miles. Everyone is smiling.

MILES
You dick.

WES
I know. Thank you.

Everyone laughs.

Insert bowling montage in order to move time forward. Images show the group has having a good time, though Miles is always slightly removed and plays worse than everyone. Other images show Criss and David laughing together while Wes and Cameron relax and soak in the moment. By the end of the montage they are wrapping up the game.

Wes releases the ball and turns away from the lane to face the group. Before the ball hits the pins, he starts to speak.

WES
It’s been a lovely game folks.

The sounds of pins being knocked over comes from behind Wes. He smiles.

WES
But that’s game! See you next time.

CAMERON
Wow, you won again. Shocking. Truly shocking.

WES
I know it’s hard to comprehend Cameron, but one of these days, when your carving out my throne from the biggest tree in town, you’ll realize that I am a god at bowling.

CRISS
And only at bowling.

WEI can’t help it if I’m amazing. I might as well bask in the little glory that I have.

MILES
Oh I’m sure they’ll be plenty of glory for you after boot camp.

WES
True, I think I might be able to kick your ass more than usual after boot camp. Good point Miles. Thanks.

MILES
No problem Private.

DAVID
Wow. Who knows where you’ll be this time next year.

MILES
Iraq.

WES
I don’t know, maybe I’ll do officer training or something.

MILES
Iraq.

WES
Or some cushy shit in Europe.

MILES
Or Iraq.

WES
My God you do want me to beat your ass tonight don’t you.

David puts his hands on Wes’ shoulders. He talks quietly

DAVID
Come on man. We’ve been having a good time, don’t ruin it.

At the same time, Criss grabs Miles and talks to him.

CRISS
What is wrong with you?

MILES
Just saying where’s he gonna go.

CRISS
Well it’s not funny, okay? Just shut up please.

Criss walks over to Wes and David.

CRISS
I’m sorry Wes.

WES
Why are you apologizing? He’s being the dick, not you.

Beat.

WES
I need some air. This asshole’s ego is pushing all the oxygen out of my lungs.

Wes brushes past Miles on his way out. He slaps his shoes down on the counter. Lou is no where to be seen.

MILES
Fucking asshole. Who the fuck does he think he is?

CRISS
Maybe you should shut up Miles.

MILES
Criss all I said was…

CRISS
All you’re going to say is “I’m sorry.”

MILES
Criss I didn’t…

CRISS
“I’m sorry.” Not too hard.

Beat

Miles, mumbling to himself, walks after Wes.

CAMERON
I think I might chaperone. They’re both a bit touchy right now I think.

DAVID
Alright. Holler and Lou will knock some sense into both of them.

Cameron trots after them, leaving his shoes on the still empty front counter.

CRISS
Or he’ll just ‘e, hit so hard that can’t remember why they were so angry in the first place.

DAVID
Haha. Yeah.

CRISS
David, I’m sorry about Miles. He was being an asshole tonight.

DAVID
It’s okay.

Criss gives David a look.

DAVID
Well it wasn’t okay, but Wes didn’t really help.

CRISS
True. But atleast I expect it outta him.

DAVI
Not Miles?

Beat

It takes her some time and effort to get her words out.

CRISS
Well…Maybe I do expect it from him. He’s just so stiff sometimes. I don’t think he gets Wes. I mean, for him, the only people who go to the military are poor or too stupid to go college. Miles just doesn’t get it really. What it’s like for us. How amazing it is that you’re getting out of here.

DAVID
So are you.

CRISS
Yeah, but I’m different.

DAVID
How are you different? Everyone’s so proud that you’re going off to school. Me more than anyone.

Criss smiles at David.

CRISS
Thanks David. But I mean that because I’m with him, that somehow makes me different for him. I’m above you or something and that’s just not true.

DAVIDYeah, but it’s not really his fault, he’s from a different place than us.

Beat

CRISS
Why do you always do that?

DAVID
What?

CRISS
Why do you defend him if you don’t even like him.

DAVIDI do like him…

CRISS
Don’t lie. He’s an ass.

Beat

David is now the one who struggles with his words.

DAVID
I…I see you around him and you’re smiling and it seems like you really like him. And I guess that’s enough. Just knowing you’re happy.

CRISS
That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.

DAVID
Well it’s true.

CRISS
I know. But how do you do that?

DAVID
What? Be honest? You’re by best friend, why wouldn’t I want you to be happy?

CRISS
Even when you’re unhappy?

DavidI’m not unhappy.

CRISS
David. Look at me. Look at me.

David reluctantly looks at Criss.

CRISS
I know you. You are unhappy. You wish it wasn’t like this. You wish it wasn’t Miles. You wish that two years ago you had said something to me. And you never did.

David is looking at his feet. Criss’s hands are on David’s arms.

CRISS
David. All you had to do was ask.

Criss smiles as David looks up. Criss plants a soft, lingering, but not too long, kiss on David’s lips.

CRISS
Just ask.

Criss smiles.

DAVID
After thinking of how to say this for so long, I have no idea what to say.

Criss is looking past David.

CRISS
Well save it for later, Lou is looking at us.

Criss and David realize how close they are and separate. They look over at Lou who pretends not to notice them by spraying shoes. The two of them walk over to Lou and place their shoes on the counter.

LOU
Where’d the other boys go?

DAVID
Oh they’re outside. Miles and Wes had a bit of a tiff so Cameron is with them working it out. They’re okay.

LOU|
Oh dear. Give me the word and I’ll knock some sense into those two.

DAVID
No really, it’s okay. Thanks though. Have a goodnight Lou.

Criss and David walk off together towards the door leaving Lou.

LOU
Take care you two.

LOU (cont’d)

(voice-over)
43 years. Some pins stay up and others come falling down. But I’m still surprised every year. The same pins never fall and every time, new pins stay standing up in the face of whatever’s coming they’re way.

Lou looks and sees David and Criss walking out the door. They are holding hands but they release as the open the doors and exit.

Field of Dreams

As Shift stepped into the deepening black, the sound of rushing water faded. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt no need to turn around. Rather, he was drawn towards the solid darkness in front of him. His eyes being of little help, he closed them, allowing his sense of touch to guide him. Taking small steps to avoid tripping over the stones that lay in his path, Shift moved forward with little urgency, though a knot of apprehension had managed to take up residence in his stomach.

Time passed indiscriminately as Shift marched forward into the unknown. Shift took a step and something light brushed against his face. With another step, he felt it cover the front of his body. Invisible threads, clinging tentatively to his body as if he had stepped through a spider web. He walked forward, feeling the threads stretch across his body, only offering the slightest of resistance to his progress. Pulling free of the web, Shift continued forward. Within a few paces a cool wind whispered through the tunnel and a dull light appeared through Shift’s closed eyelids.

Easing his eyes open, Shift found the light much closer than he anticipated, laying only ten meters before him. Quickening his pace, Shift walked out of the tunnel and into the glaring sun. Squinting to protect his oversaturated eyes, it take a few moments before he realizes that something is terribly odd about where he has found himself. He stood at the edge of a broad, circular field encased in tall canyon walls. Evenly spaced along the bottom of the canyon, arched stone entrances were greeted by the tall grass that covered the entire floor of the opening. In the center of the field stands a massive tree, twisted with age. Despite its obvious aged appearance, the tree seemed surprisingly lively covered with broad leaves that seemed to carefully hold the sun’s light. On the far side of where Shift stood, beyond the great tree, is a narrow, open trench that curves out of sight. But none of these things struck Shift as odd. It was two other things that made him feel uneasy in this serene landscape.

Leaving the arches that lined the canyon floor are pairs of people in wet robes. In every case, a proud, slender woman preceded a second figure, moving with resignation past the tree towards the trench beyond it. There was no indication of dominance or anger or resentment among each pair, but emotion still charged the air, making Shift’s stomach knot tighten. Second, an even more disturbing to him was that this canyon, the drenched people, the tall grass, the regal tree at the field’s center, were all devoid of color.

Wading (c2)

Marcus stared at the Crane Tower waterfall even though the mist once again shrouded the scene. He had no idea of how long he had been standing still when he realize that he was standing ankle-deep in the freezing river around him. He turned his head and scanned the road for dry spaces but the mist continued to obscure his view. Marcus turned to his right and took a few steps towards the side of the street, hoping that one of the towering buildings around him was unlocked. Inside, he would be out of the water and able to call his father once again. As he neared the Park Hotel, a massive antique of a building with heavy wooden doors, the sound of shattering glass cried out from above him. Hundreds feet of where Marcus stood, water came rushing out of the 36th floor of the hotel. Abandoning the entranceway of the hotel, Marcus ran downstream, back towards where he had come. From glimpes caught by the corners of his eyes, Marcus saw that water was now pouring out of every building on the block, turning the entire block into the Iguazu Falls of Brazil. With a wall of water at his back, Marcus pushed his way through the deepening water. Marcus hobbled around the corner, feeling the cold water lick his hears and neck. He feels a powerful punch in the small of his back that knocks the wind out of him and the world turns black.

Marcus opens his eyes and they are stung by salt water, he immediately closes them again. He is spinning, his limbs turning over eachother in unnatural positions. His lungs burn. His head bursts above the water’s foam and he gasps at the sudden supply of oxygen but he is quickly pulled under once again.

He can not decide if hours or seconds have passed, but the current of river has slowed significantly, forming a large lake in what was once a parking lot. For the first time, Marcus surfaces on his own accord, breathing deeply before attempting to get his bearings. Drifting on his back, Marcus identifies the local bank and Shaws that reside only 4 blocks from his apartment building. He didn’t know what was at his home, but atleast he knew where he was. Catching his breath, Marcus begins to swim slowly towards his home. His raises his left arm but is stopped by a sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder. He looks and sees his arm dangling unnaturally beside him. His shoulder is dislocated but there is little he can until he can reach solid ground.

Marcus paddles with steadily with his right arm to the far side of lot where water is slowly trickling out in a dozen directions. His feet scrape the asphalt beneath the water. A few more kicks and he is crawling on his knees, his face inches from the water as he doubles over in exhaustion. Minutes pass before he finds the strength to lift his torso. Resting on his knees, Marcus looks again at his twisted left arm. He’s watched enough TV to know that it’s supposed to “pop” back into place, but he has little idea as to what that actually means. Clenching his jaw shut, Marcus grabs the top of his arm and pushes it back towards his shoulder. Pain shoots through his entire arm, shoulder and neck. He lets out a shriek and releases his grip. He waits for the pain to subside and for his breathing to return to normal before trying again. This time, Marcus pushes upwards and back into his shoulder. There is an audible popping sound and the searing pain returns as the joint clicks into place.

His arm burns  and his body is tired. He focuses and slowly rises to his feet. He slowly marches forward, his mind blank with exhaustion. The ten minute walk takes thirty minutes at Marcus’s slow plod but time seems insignifcant. Had Marcus the energy to lift his head, he would have seen that his street had been left relatively unaffected by the torrent. Water still runs a few inches deep through the street, but the buildings are comparatively dry. He would have seen that all of the windows were dark.

Marcus pushes the walk-up’s door open and enters his apartment on the left. Every inch of his body is cold and wet, but the apartment is unusually warm. Head hanging, Marcus trudges upstairs and removes his wet clothes. His body is covered in scrapes and bruises, a dull pain he has been keeping in the back of his mind. He throws on sweats and collapses on his bed. Sleep comes immediately.

Disclaimer

In reference to my previous post: bear with me. I’m experimenting with a longer narrative style that’s more akin to a novel rather than a screenplay or the short-form works I’ve been doing. I’m just trying to force myself to write in ways that I’m not very comfortable with and that I know I’m not very good at. The major issue is that I’m starting from mental images and trying to write around them which sort of works for film but not so much for a longer narrative. Thus, I have some really cool things that look awesome…in my head, but they’re kind of difficult to get into words and I need to lead into them, but I guess that’s what good writer’s do.

I think I just implied to myself that I’m not a good writer and I think I generally agree with that statement…

Just bear with me..,

Almost Beautiful (c1)

Marcus usually woke up to the sound of his father leaving the apartment in his tired Chevrolet, the muffler only barely subduing the car’s groans. By the time his father had forced the car out of reverse, Marcus would be rubbing his eyes with his right forefinger and thumb, cracking his lids open slowly in the face of the sunlight pouring through the edges of his curtains. It would be five minutes until he was fully out his bed, standing awkwardly as he stretched his arms and legs, rousing them from the night as if they too had not slept well. He would slide into the hallway bathroom , piss, wash his face and hands with cold water and return to his room. He would dress casual, relaxed, but always with some consciousness: faded jeans, a slim, vibrant red polo and white shoes with red and blue stripes. He would grab his messenger bag and head downstairs where he would fix himself breakfast and scan the day’s headlines. Thirty minutes after waking, he would be out the door.

But today Marcus awoke to silence. No slamming car doors, no engine groans or gears changing. Had he slept in? He didn’t think he had gone to bed that late, though he hadn’t slept well, but that was nothing new. He hadn’t slept well for two monthes, but his body was slowly getting used to it, adjusting to function with baggy eyelids and a clouded head. But he had already spent too much time thinking, it was time to get going. Marcus went on with the remainder of his morning ritual: washing his face and hands and dressing quickly yet carefully before heading downstairs.

The kitchen is strangely quiet, the kind of silence can only be found after a heavy snowfall. It takes Marcus a minute to realize why. He looks at the microwave only to the find the screen blank. He opens the refridgerator to find vegetables and cheese hiding in the shadows of its darkened interior. That’s what’s so strange, there is no electric whirring of machines creating the background noise that we associate with life.

Marcus’s eyebrows furrow as he searches the rest of the house. He flicks light switches, checks clocks and tries to power up his computer. Nothing. With a vague understanding of their purpose, Marcus hits all of the fuses in the closet and checks again. Still nothing.

“Shit.” He mutters to himself. With his thirty minute morning routine in tatters, Marcus grabs a Clif Bar out of the cabinet and jogs out the door.

It’s unusually sunny and cold, though the two oddities seem to cancel each other out. Marcus walks briskly down the front walkway of his apartment building and notices that his father’s Chevrolet is still sitting on the side of street. His father had not overslept as the room was empty when Marcus checked it in his frantic search for electricity. Perhaps his father had caught a ride into work. Marcus pulled his cell phone out from his pocket as he resumed walking down the street. His father rarely put his phone on, but with the power outage this morning, he’d probably be reachable. Marcus rounds the corner on his block and his father’s phone goes straight to the answering machine.

“Shit” Marcus mutters again. He starts to dial his father’s office when his left foot suddenly goes cold. In his frustration, Marcus had failed to avoid the wide stream that was running along the curb. Shaking his foot of the excess water he continues on his way, walking in the direction of the water’s origin. More city blocks roll by and the stream seems to widen. Marcus has seen no one on the streets, only lonely cars parked along the curb, their tires sitting in a few inches of water. As Marcus progresses, the water rises, making his travels increasingly frustrating as his pants legs quickly dampen. The water is moving at quite a speed and a distant roaring sound can be heard around the corner. Marcus judges that a water main has burst just around the corner and the short remained of his walk should be dry once he passes it. Avoiding the more turbid areas, Marcus finds himself in the middle of the street and facing a high wall of spray. The temperature has dropped and a high wind pushes droplets of water into Marcus’s eyes. The wind, swirling around the high rises moves the cloud of mist around in an eerily animated dance. Squinting through the spray, Marcus searches desperately for the water main, hoping that by remaining in the center of the road he will avoid walking straight into it.

He takes a few steps forward and stops, no longer thinking about how his wet socks are clinging to his toes. The water continues to rush around him but he does not feel it. Standing in the center of the wide avenue, Marcus’s gaze turns upwards as the wind pushes the spray aside for just a moment. But in that gap Marcus finds the broken water main. Two blocks away, forty stories in the sky, water if pouring out of Crane Tower and crashing onto the street below. The waterfall is perfect in every way: the water is a healthy blueish green, a thin rainbow crosses in front of it and it falls smoothly, without division. It was almost beautiful.

The Call

Well that was awkward. Dropped phone calls, long breaks in dialogue, pushing forward a conversation that long ago had its legs broken. She doubts, she questions, she hesitates. Is she sure in her actions? The subsequent mental pause provides her with the answer. She moves into uncertain territory on uncertain feet. She had closed her eyes and exhaled as she hit “send”, teeth locked tighter with every ring. Fuck, this was a mistake.

“Hey”

Too late.

The voice on the other end is strange, unfamiliar. It makes her voice quiet and quake.

“Hey”

She replies with far less energy that she possesses.

She does not really remember the conversation. Something about snow, Tuesdays and long dog walks. All she had noticed was how his voice gradually began to trail as the conversation slowly died before it was over. When she presses “end,” she is filled with a unique blend of relief, regret and self-depracation. Finally, it was over, but it had gone terribly. She had fumbled for words, having only paid attention to half of what he had said. He had tried, she had not. Not deliberately or out of spite, but merely because her mind had shut off as it had become overwhelmed by its own self. Why? Why was she so stupid to make that call? She had been polite to a point but….

She made a vow to herself to find more self-control and singularity-of-thought. A vow she knew she would not keep even as she conjured it up. And so she was back to to square one: stuck between herself. Between one telephone tower and the other, broken into a thousand pieces of information, she is madly trying to find cohesion before she reaches the other end of the line.