Christopher's Snippets

[scarecrow]

I'm so glad this section has been created. It's like they made a part of the site just for me. So often do I get enthused about an idea one day, and make some sort of start to it, then for some inexplicable reason the inspiration just leaves me.

So I figured I'd make a thread for all the snippets that I've just left abandoned, never to be completed. This one was a concept for a drama about the ups and downs of random people living in a rural location. I was going to call it "The Bush People". Here's what I did.



St. Margaret’s Village, like any of the several villages that make up this third-world nation of Belize, is just the name of one of those places you pass on your way to somewhere else. Nothing about it will particularly strike your eye as you zip down the Hummingbird Highway on your way southward to the hectic, urban bustle of Dangriga, or the northward to the peaceful, suburban capital Belmopan. The fading brown of the thatch houses, the dull greens of the orange trees, the murky cream of the dirt roads and the intermittent faint rustle of the mossy creeks all mesh into a hazy blur as you zip by in your car, or truck, or bus, or whatever, and you’ll be dimly aware as you stare unseeingly out the window that you’ve left somewhere and you are somewhere else. You’ll absentmindedly notice the odd barefooted boy pedaling his peeling, rusting bicycle for a quarter of a mile to the nearest store for a few pounds of flour for the tortillas, or the middle-aged woman and her daughter or daughters scrubbing their laundry on the rocks by the little river under the bridge, or the dirt-streaked boys and men in the farms filling the sacks with the citrus fruits for their meager restitution in the on season. You’ll forget everything you’ve seen just as soon as you’ve seen it as you pass by the only gas station, and the odd restaurant, and the run-down school buildings and the far-reaching stretches of vegetation because, damn it, if you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it too many times, and you step on the gas on the lonely stretch of road to hurry to avoid seeing it again.

Of course, like the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together, and like all villages of its kind the unabashed ruralness of St. Margaret’s is surrounded by none other than more of the same sort, and hurrying past it will only lead you to the next village with uncanny similar thatches, orange trees, dirt roads and incessantly babbling brooks. And those villages are bordered by, what else, more thatches and brooks and orange trees and dirt roads, and so on, and so on, and so on. Just when it seems like you’ll be driving a never-ending highway past an interminable, maddening series of barefooted locals and rickety bridges and noisy mountains, the intolerable stench of the juicy mangoes, summer showers and crisp leaves on the slight breeze give way to the sweet hot stink of the burning garbage on the outskirts of the capital, where the ambiguous, polygonal and toothache-inducingly modern statue welcomes you to Belmopan, or the inebriating foul of the rotting orange waste at the chillingly silver monstrosity of the citrus plant just outside Dangriga fills your nostrils like the warm-goodness of so many apple pies. Congratulations, you’re back to civilization. Ain’t it grand.

Yes, my friends, St. Margaret’s Village is not much to look at. When you’ve lived in Belize as long as I have passing by it or any village like it is a reminder that life in this country ain’t no crystal stair, and the radio personality who coined this country “this beautiful jewel of ours” certainly couldn’t have meant places such as this forgotten reminder of just what life can really be like. Yet, even as I say that it is without conviction, because even for all its unremarkableness, this little town is a staple of this land and every land even, and for every semi-evolving metropolis of Belize City and gleaming paradise of San Pedro, there are a hundred St. Margaret’s stretching over this small expanse of land we call a nation. If this country is the sum of its parts I’m afraid Belize is the son of a man working too hard just to put bread on the table with the ridiculously futile hope that his children will have it better than he did. So, where in the midst of this hopeless cycle of working class begetting working class did some crazy old fool see this jewel, and is St. Margaret’s Village one of the flaws on an otherwise priceless gem? Or is it one of many shards that makes that gem a whole?

[scarecrow]

This snippet was a vague idea about a guy who got caught up in an adventure when this guy and this girl with weird powers find him and tell him that he's been prophesied to have powers the likes of which the world has never seen. Here it is:


When my mind comes to grips with what’s happening to me, it seizes up. I can actually feel it painfully clenching in terror, and tautening with it every muscle in my body as I start plummeting downwards. My eyes start watering from the air rushing past me, but I can’t stop looking down because it’s registering that sooner or later I’m going to stop falling. I don’t think I could close them if I wanted to, because my body is so rigid I could pass for a plank. All I can think of suddenly is Wile E. Coyote, and how he always leaves a spread-eagled shaped hole as he smashes powerfully into ground from insane heights in some stupid, hare-brained scheme to catch the roadrunner.

Then I remember that unlike my friend the coyote, my life won’t cut to the next scene where I’m either in a full body cast or miraculously intact in my next complicated ploy, because ... I’m not going to leave a Dane-shaped hole somewhere in the concrete jungle that is quickly zooming at me from below. I’m going to splat like a bug in a windshield, and that’s it. I’m going to die. I’m ... going ... to die.

It is this disturbing thought that jars me out of my stupor and into the only reaction my brain can come up with.

“Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaah, aaaaaah, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OHMYGODOHMYGOD –“

“DANE!”

“ - OHMYGOD, AAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“DANE!”

A hand takes a hold of my left shoulder, and I instinctively clasp on to it and start pulling myself on the person for dear life, not taking my eyes off the ground for a second, screaming all the while.

“DANE, DANE, WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU – GET OFF ME!” I’m given a sharp prod in the stomach and I lose my grip of the person, wheeling around in a barrel roll now, all the colors around swirling into a bluish-green shade that’s quickly making me nauseous.

“AAAaaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAAAH!”

“DANE! DANE!” the person yells my name again, but I can hardly hear it over the rushing wind and the shrill sounds of my own bellows. “DANE, WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP FOR A SECOND!”

The hands suddenly grab a hold of my legs, bringing my personal tornado to an abrupt stop. I’ve got a view of the sky now, a periwinkle blue with a smattering clouds. A nice day, except for the whole, you know, freefalling-from-unfathomable-heights-without-a-parachute thing.

“NOW, WILL YOU JUST CALM DOWN AND LISTEN TO ME ?”

I turn to face the person who’s falling above me, and my heart leaps when I see the freckled face that’s squinting back at me, his red hair seemingly standing straight up from the force of the wind. I’m saved!

“CLIFF, OH CLIFF, GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Cliff yells something at me that I don’t quite get.

“WHAT?”

“NO CAN DO!” He reiterates, shaking his head for emphasis.

“CLIFF, GET US OUT OF HERE!”

“WHAT?”

I grab on to Cliff’s hand and pull myself up to him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

“CLIFF, I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’VE NOTICED,” I yell in his ear, my voice already hoarsening, “BUT WE ARE HURTLING TOWARDS THE CITY FROM SEVERAL HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF FEET ABOVE IT, AND I’D REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU GOT US OUT OF HERE BEFORE WE BECOME BLOODSTAINS ON INDEPENDENCE AVENUE!”

Cliff turns me around forcefully, and I can again see Belmopan sinisterly looming in the distance, growing slowly and steadily like dough with too much yeast. If only that were the case.

“SEE THAT BUILDING?”

While the place was beginning to take form, it was still too high up to distinguish any identifiable shapes. I gave Cliff a forceful look that told him exactly that.

“OK, MAYBE YOU CAN’T SEE IT NOW. BUT THERE’S A CIRCULAR BUILDING WITH A BLACK GLASS-LOOKING CEILING COMING UP BENEATH US.”

“WHAT, THE HOTEL?”

“YEAH.”

“SO, WHAT, I’M GOING TO SPLATTER MY INNARDS ON THE TOURISTS IN THERE?”

“THAT’S WHERE THEY’RE KEEPING CAMILLA.”

I turned to squint back at Cliff, trying to follow what Cliff was telling me. Normally I’d be asking, “Why are they keeping her there?” “What are they planning to do with her?” and some other common sense questions like that. But as you could imagine, at that moment I’d much rather be safely tied up in some broom closet of the hotel like Camilla probably was than speeding towards it at insane speeds like I was now.

“I’M NOT FOLLOWING THE TRAIN OF THOUGHT HERE.”

“THE PERIMETER OF THE HOTEL IS HEAVILY GUARDED, AND THERE’S SOME KIND OF BARRIER AROUND IT THAT’S KEEPING ME FROM GETTING IN.” Cliff was gesticulating wildly at that point to emphasize what he was saying. Unlike me, as I was doing it reflexively to try and ... take off and fly away or something. Crazy, yes, but you try being rational when you know in a couple of seconds you would be squeegeed off the roof of the Circle A Hotel. “THAT GLASS LOOKING MATERIAL, IN THE MIDDLE THERE, TURNS OUT ITS SOME KIND OF MAGICALLY FORTIFIED CRYSTALLINE STUFF, ABOUT TEN TIMES AS HARD AS DIAMONDS.”

“CLIFF, ARE YOU HEARING YOURSELF? WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, MAGIC GLASS?”

“DANE, YOU’RE FALLING AT IT FROM THE SKY WITH VISIBLE METHOD OF GETTING UP HERE AND YOU STILL DON’T BELIEVE?” I opened my mouth to counter, but Cliff held out both his hands in a shut-up gesture. It was just as well, because I don’t know what I could have possibly said to that anyway. “IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU BELIEVE IT OR NOT, OK? THAT STUFF IS JUST TOO STRONG FOR ME TO BREAK THROUGH IT ON MY OWN, AND I NEED YOUR HELP.”

“AGAIN, NOT FOLLOWING.”

“IT’S TOUGH, BUT IT SEEMS LIKE OUR BEST SHOT TO GET IN AND OUT OF THERE WITH CAMILLA BEFORE THE GUARDS CAN TEAR US TO PIECES.”

“THIS IS OUR BEST SHOT, CLIFF? US TRYING TO CRASH THROUGH AN ‘IMPENETRABLE’ CEILIING SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA TO YOU?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘US’?”

I couldn’t stop my eyes from bulging involuntarily at that. A ready stream of tears flittered across my temples, some seeping their way into my ears. “WHAT?”

“I SAID, WHAT DO YOU –“

“I HEARD THAT, BUT – WHAT, ARE YOU GONNA DISTRICT THESE ALLEGED GUARDS WITH MY DEAD BODY OR SOMETHING, BECAUSE I’M NOT GETTING THE POINT HERE.”

“LOOK DANE,” Cliff takes both my shoulders and turns me to face him at this point, in some kind of strange heart to heart. At the time, it sort of freaked my out, ‘cause it seemed like a final goodbye the way he looked so earnestly at me. “CAMILLA THINKS THAT YOU’RE THE JUGGERNAUT. IF SHE’S RIGHT, THEN YOU CAN DO THIS. YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN; YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS ENOUGH POWER. YOU’LL CRASH THROUGH THAT CRYSTAL AND LAND IN THAT HOTEL WITHOUT A SCRATCH ON YOU. IT’S GONNA BE A PIECE OF CAKE, OK?”

“CLIFF, I’M NOT THIS ... THING THAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. I’M – I’M NOT INVULNERABLE, OK? I – I – THE ROOF OF MY MOUTH GETS CUT EATING CAPTAIN CRUNCH, ALRIGHT? AND I CRY WHEN IT HAPPENS TOO.”

“LOOK, THERE IT IS,” Cliff points again, and I turn and I see it quite clearly. The large cream structure is directly beneath us, and the glass material is sort of glittering softly in the afternoon sunlight.

“CAN’T WE JUST TAKE OUR CHANCES WITH THE GUARDS?” I plead, on the verge of tears.

Now it’s Cliff’s turn to bulge his eyes. “THOSE AREN’T ORDINARY GUARDS, DANE. TRUST ME, THIS WAY IS SO MUCH SAFER. IT REALLY IS,” he adds when I glare at him again. “SO, ARE YOU READY?”

“HELL NO!”

“CAMILLA SAYS YOU’RE THE JUGGERNAUT, DANE. WHICH MEANS YOU CAN DO THIS. YOU’LL KNOW WHAT TO DO WHEN THE TIME COMES. IT’LL BE INSTINCTIVE. YOU’LL SEE, EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE. TRUST US.”

“AND WHAT IF SHE’S WRONG? YOU DIDN’T THINK I WAS THIS THING, REMEMBER?”

“BUT CAMILLA DOES.”

“BUT WHAT IF SHE’S WRONG?!?”

At this, a beat passes, and Dane pats me firmly on my left shoulder. “THEN IT WAS MY HONOR TO KNOW YOU.”

“CLIFF!”

“KIDDING!”

“CLIFF, PLEASE, LET’S JUST - ”

He gives me a little mock salute then, and I know what he’s going to do next.

“CLIFF, CLIFF, DON’T LEAVE ME HERE, I’M BEGGING YOU!“ Again, I reflexively try to catch a hold of him. And for an instant, I do, and I’m pulling him in and trying to grip him in a bear hug. But one moment I’ve frantically dug my fingernails into his arms, and the next it’s just me plummeting downwards with fistfuls of air. Cliff has done his thing. He’s gone.

“OH MY GOD, OHMYGODOHMYGOD!” I scream at no one, taking another look at the hotel again. The circular crystal in the center seemed like an enlarged pupil, that was glaring at me so wholly, so menacingly, so ... amusedly. And who could blame it? It was going to kill me. It was going to freaking kill me! I kept trying to think of some kind of way to get out of all this, but this was it. I was going to slap down on that thing like a sledgehammer on a watermelon. As the last few meters zipped by me, I curled myself up in the fetal position, praying to every deity I could think up to save me now as I whammed into diamond-esque ceiling of Belmopan’s premier hotel and said my last word.

“AAAAAAAAAAH!”

Let me stop you here. Before I give you the fascinating details of how just how my entrails exploded, and very likely sizzled like a barbeque on the heated structure before the proper authorities could get there to examine my remains properly, let’s really delve in to my story from the beginning, or you won’t really get what’s going on here until we do that. Heck, I’ve been in it from the beginning and I still don’t get it, but ... that’s just me. So, here we go.

[Brokenhearts]

ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!!!!!!!! ;D i didnt gt it @ first, bt i LIKE IT!!!!

[scarecrow]

This was supposed to be a comedy about a school where parents send their gay children to be sorted out. It's a bit more than a snippet, but whatever.


Jonathan's sleep-heavy, tired eyes opened slowly to find the world around him rattling violently. Though his vision was still bleary, he could tell someone from the front seat of this car was shaking him awake. As he sat up, groaning, the person with drew his hand, and Jonathan collected himself, trying to remember where he was.

After some eye rubbing, Jonathan could see that he was in a cab, an unusually clean one at that. He felt something cold on his chin, and was mortified to find that it was dribble. Judging from the soaked spot on the chair, he had been sleeping for a while. Jonathan turned his attention to the cabbie, who unfortunately had followed his gaze to the chair, and was looking particularly disgusted. Jonathan grinned nervously and said, "Looks like I had a little accident, huh?"

The rotund, irate cab driver, just turned back to face forward, and pulled the lever to pop the trunk. He had probably wanted to say that a little accident wouldn't rival that disgusting scene in the Beethoven movie, but he just got out of the car and walked over to the trunk to get Jonathan's luggage. Jonathan turned his gaze to his right side, and was delighted to find that they had arrived. He was home. The long, black bars of the entrance gate almost shimmered in his bleary sight, like a beacon beckoning him home. Jonathan quickly got out of the car, and ran up to the gates.

Through the bars, he could see everything. The picnic tables, the dormitories, the big oak, the teacher's quarters, the cafeteria. He was here. He was home. Jonathan sighed, exhaling a wisp of frosty air, visible in the cold night. He looked as far left of the gate as his eyes would permit, where he could see a light coming from the guard booth. Dan must be asleep, Jonathan thought to himself, not realizing how much he had missed the night watchman, firm and old-fashioned as he was. "Yo, Dan!"

The rapid shuffle of feet, and the breaking of what must have been a coffee cup told Jonathan that Dan had indeed been sleeping, startled from his dream by his voice. Dan hurried over to the gate, and Jonathan could help but chuckle at his bewildered state. A tall, handsome man in his mid 40's, Dan didn't have the beer gut or chubbiness of most others in his profession. Chunky he was, but in a muscular sort of way. He was also the only man, besides Carson Daly, who he knew sported a five-o'clock shadow every day, all day. "Johnny boy?"

"The one and only."

"Whatcha doing here so late? I figured you'd come tomorrow," said Dan, yawning as he rifled through his keys for the one that unlocked the gate.

"Yes, well, things at home got a little heated, so I couldn't wait to get out of there," replied Jonathan, adding to Dan's quizzical look, "I think I'm gonna have to take you up on that job offer this year."

Dan's face fell. He already knew what that meant. "You left?"

"I left."

Dan sighed as he turned the large iron key in the gate, and swung it open. "I had hoped you'd be able to stick it out with them."

"They gave me an ultimatum I couldn't refuse," said Jonathan, trying to joke it off, not quite pulling off the line. "Besides, I'm glad I was here to catch you getting some z's on the job. Come on, help me with -"

The cab driver, who had seen fit to dump Jonathan's suitcases on the ground, sped off just then. Again, Dan looked at Jonathan for answers, a confused look on his face.

"Um, I - there was an incident in the car."

"You know, they sell special diapers for people like that."

"Oh, ha ha."

* * * * * * * * * *

"He's totally an 8."

"Please, look at him."

"He totally looks awesome," said Lenox, and to him, it was true. Golden calves, wavy brown hair, cute freckles, trim body. Nothing bad there. He'd certainly have to give that guy a call someday, and stared after him. He saw the kid make his way unsurely into room 23 across the way, and made a mental note of it. He paid attention to Louis again, and his friend was still in full tow about what was wrong with him.

"... and that chin, oh, Jay Leno must be feeling vindicated wherever he is right now."

"Hey, Jay Leno is a handsome man."

Louis turned and face his friend, an incredulous look on his face. "Jay Leno, handsome? Next you're gonna tell me Paris Hilton is a virgin, right?"

Lenox shook his head amusedly, and turned his attention back to the gate, where Stefan Ridgeston was now entering. "Do we rate Stefan too, or just give him the usual 9?"

Louis' eyes darted to the gate. Blond, tall, clean cut Stefan. Lenox could tell Louis had a soft spot in his heart (and a hard one in his pants) for the golden boy of the academy. Athletic, friendly and loved by everyone, Stefan was easily the most beautiful boy on campus. "Yeah, the usual. I just wish he wasn't so cocky."

"Oh, really? How do you know how 'cocky' he is?" Lenox immediately dodged a bit of scrambled egg that Louis threw at him for his awful pun.

"You know what I mean. He ... there's the way he enters a room."

"What's wrong with it?" asked Lenox, frowning as he took a sip of O.J. He watched Stefan stalked off out of sight, down to the senior dormitories.

"It's like ... it's the part of a movie, where the beautiful girl makes her first appearance, and all eyes are on her," said Louis, and Lenox choked on the O.J. he was drinking. Louis giggled too, continuing. "Like, the music is swelling, and wind is blowing her hair sexily about even though she's indoors."

"And everything is in slow motion," said Lenox hoarsely, setting down his plate on the balcony floor. He got up and started demonstrating, moving as slowly as he could while tossing his head from left to right as if tossing his hair, and then laying a sexy gaze on Louis, who was cracking up.

It was the perfect first day, Lenox thought to himself at that moment. It followed the tradition he and Louis had started back in their first year there. In fact, it had been this way that Louis and himself had met, both alone on the balcony staring at the arrivals. Louis had said something vindictive about someone dressed in full orange, and Lenox had promptly agreed. They had continued that all morning, rating each new person a number out of ten, bonding in the process. They had now become inseparable, like two halves of the same coin. They even had an occasional sexual relationship, but for the most part where nothing but friends. Nothing like being back at CCA to make him forget his family troubles. Dangerously close to rehashing the summer, Lenox quickly got a grip on reality, focusing on the black car stopping at the gate. "Do you know if Jared's bringing the goods we wanted for the Orientation bash?"

"Yep. He called this morning. This bash is going to be the greatest."

"Well, taking into account who's planning it, it was inevitable it was going to be good."

"What, suddenly we're P. Diddy?"

"P. Diddy has nothing on us."

Sid had hobbled out of his booth over to the black car, eventually helping the lad with his many suitcases. "How about that guy?" Lenox asked, pointing to the young man who was obviously not thrilled at walking next to Sid, who was already huffing and puffing from carrying two little suitcases a few feet.

Louis turned and took a good look, chewing on a piece of toast. His brow furrowed at what he saw. Prominent jaw line, intense eyes, slim build, dark-skinned, superior looking. And he could see all this from the balcony he was at, more than 100 yards away. This guy was obviously intense ... and worse, familiar. "I know him from somewhere."

"Oh?"

"Well, I don't 'know him' know him," said Louis, still looking puzzled, as he watched Sid take a break, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping some sweat from his face. The young man turned to look at the gate, a mere 12 feet from them, and sighed exasperatedly. Louis could see he was wondering how the hell someone could be so goddamned weak. "I - He looks familiar, like I've seen him before."

Lenox looked at him again. The guy was sort of tall, just under six feet. He had short, close cropped hair, the default choice for most black people. He was wearing a white tee, khakis and sandals. Real simple clothes. "Hmm. So, what do we rate him?"

"I'd say a 7," said Louis, as he watched Sid catch his second wind and start with walking again. "But he looks as if he has potential."

"I know what you mean," said Lenox, finishing his O.J. "I'd give him a 7 too, but he could do better. He's like, Taye Diggs trying to drab down. If only he'd get rid of the acne. Come on, let's get these plates back to the caf."

"Hold on," said Louis, still looking at the guy. Sid was taking another break, and it seemed the guy had had enough, stalking off angrily, leaving Sid in his furious wake. Something about that guy was familiar, and there was something strange about him that didn't fit. "Let's go," said Louis, sticking his last piece of toast in his mouth, and he and Lenox went down the stairs and off to the cafeteria, for the traditional second breakfast.

* * * * * * * * * *

If Sebastian were a vindictive person, the fat, useless lump at the gate would already be looking for another job. He couldn't walk a few feet without wanting to keel over. He had ended up lugging his many bags all on his lonesome in rage. Sid, the lump, was the kind of guy who'd have sex with his wife and fall asleep in the midst of it. Too lazy for his own good.

Sebastian had only glanced at his room minimally, and set off exploring the grounds. Sure, the rooms where smaller than he'd have liked, and he realized by the bunks that he'd be sharing it at that, he was not one to complain about things that couldn't be helped. Not like that Sid, who he wished could be tossed out on his ass. Sebastian took a calming breath, trying to concentrate on the landscape around him.

It was beautiful, he could give it that. Rose bushes in full bloom, the beautiful trees, especially a gargantuan oak around the picnic table area. The buildings themselves were freshly painted, and clean for the most part. The morning sun shone softly, hidden beneath a thin layer of patches of brittle clouds. If it hadn't been for the fact that it was Shelley's doing that got him here to seduce herself into his father's heart (and pocket), he'd actually enjoy it.

Shelley. He hated her. He hated the mention of her. It wasn't bad enough that he'd never met his mother, but he had to get a money-grubber for a step mom. No, he reminded, trying to keep his blood from racing like so many mice with a cat at their tail. She's not your step mom yet. And Sebastian was ready to do anything it took to keep it that way. He'd tried walking in on them when they were getting busy, and often insisted to his father that he'd needed help with his homework. He'd tried stealing Shelley's birth control pills and his father's condoms. Useless methods all. His father had now taken to locking their bedroom door, and sometimes plotted to have their tussles at hotels and motels. As for the missing birth control methods, Shelley had been convinced for a time that it was someone on the housekeeping staff who had a love for five finger discounts, and poor Maria had found herself without a job. Shelley had also found the pills in his closet where he'd hid them, and not only had she told his father, but she know knew that he was actively trying to break them apart, and kept a close eye on his tactics since then.

Spying a particularly secluded bench under a shady tree, Sebastian went over. It was perfect. A little ways away from his dorm building, away from the crowd where he could lull in peace. He sat and pulled out his IPOD and sat, just taking in the place around him as he continued thinking about the big-bosomed devil incarnate.

She'd won that last battle. After all, how could he stop them now, while he was hundreds of miles away? There was no way to convince Maxwell to let him come back, and he and Shelley could now have their trysts uninterrupted. That was all the little gold digger needed. She'd get down on her knees, flat on her back, into Maxwell's heart and bank account before the month was over if something wasn't done; Sebastian was sure of that. He wasn't ready to admit defeat, however. After all, he was a McAllister. His father had made the McAllister name infamous for conquering all the little law firms in his territory, removing the competition when it was just a little fledgling. And as many people had told him before, he was nothing if not a McAllister.

"You there!"

Sebastian snapped out of his daydream about what Shelley's head would look like as a hood ornament, and turned over to the left to see some guy sprinting over. Average height, slightly muscular, short black hair, early 30's. He had all the features of Viggo Mortensen, right down to the 'stache, but with all the coldness of a robot. He was dressed in a white tee and dockers, and brown shoes and a green hat. It was a wild guess, but Sebastian would bet that this guy was a gym teacher. He was carrying a clipboard under his arm, and his face was downright cemented in displeasure.

"Yes, you!" he bellowed as a he came to a stop in front of Sebastian, who must have portrayed some kind of confusion on his face. "Name."

"What?"

"I need a name, kid. What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm Sebastian."

Robocop picked up his clipboard, scanning for his name on the pages. "I have a Benson, Sebastian, a Fredericks, Sebastian, and a McAllister, Sebastian ..."

"That's me."

"Ok, McAllister," he said, checking something off the clipboard, and tucking it safely back under his arm. He bent down until his nose was inches away from Sebastian's own, and Sebastian caught a faint whiff of sweat and bourbon. He began to talk swiftly and precisely in that husky manner of his. "I am Mr. Drew Burton. I am going to be your gym teacher for what I'm sure will be the four of the most wretched years of your life. You can call me Mr. Burton, you can call me Coach Burton, you can call me teach. What I'm sure of is that you're going to call me when my back is turned is a pain in your ass, because that's exactly what I plan to be. If you find yourself in a spot, please hesitate to call me, because I'm going to tell you what I tell every other of the sorry pansies who drag their saggy asses through those gates here. I say, you make your bed, and you lie in it. You screwed up, you ended up here, and you're going to deal with it. The Orientation assembly will be held in the auditorium tomorrow morning at 9 sharp. I expect to be there, and I'm going to expect you to be on your best behavior or I'll be all over you like ugly on your mother."

At this point, Sebastian's face hardened ever so slightly at this buffoon's slight. First that fatass at the gate, and now this dickwad. While he hated Shelley with an unmatched ferocity, he had to admit that this guy would place in the hate race. He wondered why it was that people like this seemed to end up in his life.

Burton picked up on the displeasure that crept into Sebastian's face, and he curled his metallic facial features into a smirk. "Did you wanna say something, dipstick?"

Sebastian pondered the situation. He knew that making trouble with this guy now could come back to hurt him later. If he put on a Mother Theresa act now, he could probably get on this guy's good side. He couldn't afford to tip the scales now, when he didn't know just how powerful an enemy this robot could be.

And then again ....

"Yes, I did wanna say something."

"What?"

Nonchalant as could be, Sebastian stared him down in his narrowed, brown eyes. "Could you repeat that part about you being a pain in my ass, 'cause I think that's worth reiterating."

Burton chuckled then, a truly amused chuckle from his gut. "Oh, I'm going to have fun with you." With a last malevolent look in his eye, he turned heel, and proceeded to bark at some other first year in the other direction.

Great, just great, thought Sebastian. Just the first day, and I've already got the jackass patrol riding me. He shook his head as Burton yelled so loud at the new guy that he dropped his suitcases, and slipped back on his headphones, wondering how priceless it would be to put Burton and Shellie in a room together. With some napalm to keep them company.


* * * * * * * * *

"Whew," said Brick, taking a breather from the whopper of a kiss he'd just laid on Derrick.

"You're telling me," said Derrick, laughing slightly as he panted, out of breath from his salacious greeting. He'd never figured Brick for such a firecracker.

"Yeah, well, it's been a long time since we've last seen each other," said Brick meaningfully, and planted another one on Derrick, slamming him against the wall. His quick fingers had already flitted to the top buttons of Derrick's shirt, and were undoing them like there was no tomorrow. Derrick open his eyes for a second at the sound of the crunching sounds of stones underfoot, and hastily removed Brick from his face.

"Burton," he said, quickly buttoning back up and smoothing down his hair and shirt. As much as his boner was aching for a little action, Burton was not one to be messed around with. Especially not on the first day. And seeing as how he was Burton's least favorite person, it was much more imperative that he not be naughty. Just yet. "He's about 20 paces away, you can break for it."

Brick picked up his suitcase, and moved in for a last heady kiss. "Ok," he panted, "I'll catch you later?"

"Supply closet. I'll meet you at the party."

"Later," said Brick, and ran up the nearby stairs to the second floor, where he was rooming, as quietly and as quickly as his bony feet could take him. Derrick turned to his dorm door, and tried to get it open quickly, before -

"Well, look who's back." Derrick spun to see Burton's buff person behind him, arms crossed and smiling at him in the most dangerous way. Burton was looking at him with a seemingly friendly face, but the chill down Derrick's spine told him that Burton would rather use his picket fence teeth to grind his bones to mush than to smile that wicked smile. Derrick gratefully saw the last speck of Brick's white shoes go up the steps to his dorm out of the corner of his eye. Burton edged towards Derrick slowly, his bitter smile widening a bit more.

"Well, Burton, hi there," said Derrick nervously, turning his attention back to the key in the lock. Why the heck was the goddamned thing acting up now? "What's ... what's up?"

"Funny thing, Chauncey. I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Well, nothings up here. Just dull, dull, dull," said Derrick quickly, fidgeting with the key. Was he turning it the wrong way? Was it the wrong key? Could he break in the door? What, what, what? "Yeah, same old. You know me."

"Oh, I know you all right," said Burton in a low voice, leaving no doubt that he knew exactly what Derrick was like. He inched even closer to Derrick as the door finally sprang open. Derrick picked up his bags, and tried rushing in, but Burton clasped a hand on his shoulder, wheeling him around as if he were a mannequin. "What's the rush, Chauncey, we haven't even caught up yet."

"W-well, I have all that unpacking to do, and ... and stuff," blurted Derrick, slowly twisting out of Burton's grip and getting inside. "If it's not a problem, maybe we should - catch up some other time." Derrick tried closing the door then, but Burton stuck his black steel toe boots in between the doorway, and then shoved the door wide open with his muscular hand, flinging Derrick out of his way and stepped inside. He grabbed Derrick's shoulder, and with one swift movement pulled him back up to an upright position and brought him in close to his face.

"Why are you back so early? The orientation is only for new students."

"I - I didn't know that the other students couldn't come too."

"They can," said Burton, his glare locked on to Derrick's flitting eyes, "but I'd rather a choice few didn't." He let this statement slip out slowly, enunciating every word, and let it hang in the air between them, before going on.

"Seeing as how you're so busy, I'll make this short. I don't want a repeat of last year, and I'm not going to get one. No parties, no fooling around, no nothing. If I ever see you so much as look at another classmate, I will shove your dick in a pencil sharpener and make you eat the shavings, is that clear Chauncey?"

"Yes, sir."

He flung Derrick on the bottom bunk, and started his way out the door. "Oh, you haven't seen Flemming, by the way?"

Derrick gulped. Had Burton seen Brick before he was able to get away? "Fl - Flemming, sir?"

Burton stopped at the door, and took a long, hard look at Derrick that made him suddenly wish he was wearing diapers. Burton pointed at his eyes, and then pointed at Derrick, in his classic "I'm-watching-you" fashion, and with the fading sounds of thunderous footsteps, he was gone. Derrick exhaled, a long sigh that seemed to empty him from the tips of his toes. Drew sure knew how make a guy sweat.

"I see you haven't changed."

Derrick whirled around with a new fright in his heart, which quickly gave way to joy as he saw that it was only Jonathan making his way out the bathroom. Judging from the white foam around his mouth, he'd been brushing his teeth. "Jon-Jon, what's up man?" Derrick picked himself up off the bed and rushed over to give his pal a big hug. He and Jon had been roomies last year, and had become good friends.

"Ah, nothing much," said Jonathan, turning back into the bathroom to finish with his dental care.

"How long you been here?" Derrick started rummaging through his bags for something, throwing clothes all over the place.

"Got here early this morning. It was a long trip, so I just slept for a couple of hours."

"So I'm guessing you haven't seen Lenox or Louis yet."

"Nope," said Jonathan spitting the toothpaste into the sink and wiping the froth from his mouth. "I'd meant to, but I guess I fell asleep for a little too long."

"Good summer?" said Derrick distractedly, tossing aside his now empty suitcase and picking up his other bag, rummaging through that too.

"Not particularly."

"Oh?"

"I got ... busted."

Derrick sprang up, looking amusedly at Jonathan's shamed face. "No!"

"Yep."

"Well, well, well, Jonathan has a bad side." He turned his attention back to his search. "I'm rubbing off on you."

"You wish," said Jonathan, flopping down on the bed. "Anyway, Chris and I were fooling around and -"

"Where?"

"Huh?"

"Where were you guys doing it?"

"Uh," Jonathan pondered how much to tell his friend. The truth could probably be used against him, and Derrick was not the kind of guy who'd try hard to keep your secrets. Still, Jonathan couldn't think of a good lie at the moment, and Derrick would probably know if he was lying anyway. "In his garage."

"NO!"

"Yeah."

"Oh my god," laughed Derrick, pulling out a bottle of spirits from his bag. "If I could have been a fly on that wall."

"His dad busted us, told my old man, and ... well, long story short, I am no longer living at home."

"Sorry, man," said Derrick, pulling out two shot glasses from his bag too. He plunked them down on the night table next to the bed, and started pouring some drinks. "What are you gonna do?"

"Sid's already given me the night shift job, and I'm going to talk to Principal Cartman about me staying on for the holidays."

"Well, here's to your newfound independence," said Derrick, giving Jonathan a glass of the liquor he'd just poured. "I only hope that you have sex in many more kinky places in future."

Jonathan couldn't help but smile, and lifted his glass to clink with Derrick's. They downed their snifters in celebration of this new oath.

[scarecrow]

This is an old screenplay that I started writing, a series about this dead guy who is given a mission to draw his family closer together. It is among the first pieces I've ever written for the old guild. I don't like it much, what with it being a bit cliche and lacking in the subtlety department, but here it is:


Afterlife
A miniseries by Christopher Reid

Episode One – Pilot (Death’s Purpose)

Teaser
Episode starts with Bernard, Catherine, Daniel and Richie all around the dinner table. Catherine is sitting at the end, Daniel is on her left, Bernard sits on her right, and Richie is on Bernard’s right. They are all having dinner, and Catherine is in the middle of a rant.

Catherine: I cannot believe this, Bernard. This is the third time. How … how could you not learn from your previous mistakes? Are you … deliberately throwing your life away or are you just retarded?

Daniel: (setting down his utensils; he is finished with his food) Catherine …

Catherine: (rounding on him) Don’t you dare defend him. Have you seen these grades? A monkey could do better than this.

Richie: (snorting into his plate with laughter) Daniel’s a retarded monkey.

Catherine: Why do you have to make things so difficult for yourself, Bernard? I know you can do better than this. (she sets down her utensils and picks up a slip of paper) C+, C-, D, D, D+, F! I don’t understand how you could be doing so poorly; you used to be head of your class in primary school.

Bernard: (glumly) Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m a retarded monkey. (Richie snorts again, Catherine eyeballs Bernard and her jaw drops)

Daniel: (a bit roughly) Ok, that’s enough. (He picks up Catherine’s plate and his and takes them to the kitchen)

Catherine: Well, for a mentally challenged primate, you sure have a smart mouth on you.

Bernard: (directly looking at his mother in anger) For what passes as an acceptable parent, you sure are a childish name caller.

Catherine: (inhaling sharply) Oh my god.

Daniel: (angrily) Bernard!

Bernard: (sighing and dropping his gaze to his plate) I’m sorry.

Catherine: That you are.
Daniel: (coming back from the kitchen) Where do you get off disrespecting your mother?

Richie: (chuckling to himself) Retarded monkey.

Catherine: You’re problem is that you always think that people are trying to hurt you because we’re saying things you don’t want to hear, but we are just looking out for your best interests. And you repay this by attacking me?

Bernard: I said I was sorry.

Daniel: (standing with his arms on his hips) You bet your ass you’re sorry. All you are is sorry. Sorry for wasting our efforts to give you an education, sorry for causing problems for the people who make sure that you have all the opportunities in life …

Richie: (tugging his father’s sleeve) I’m done with my food, Dad.

Daniel: Not now, Richie.

Catherine: I swear one of these days, I’m going to leave you to run on this … this self-destructive path that you have mapped out for yourself, then you’ll be sorry. I swear, if there’s a way for you to screw up anymore, I don’t know what it is. You are pushing me to my limits.

Richie: Last week, Danny Johnson licked a frog he found in the bushes.

Catherine: (a little too harshly) Not now Richard! (sweeter) Go and … get yourself cleaned up, sweetie.

Richie shrugs in Daniel’s direction and mouths, “I tried.” Richie picks up his plate and leaves.

Daniel: What do you have to say for yourself?

Bernard: I’d say I’m sorry, but apparently that’s not a good thing right now. (Daniel huffs, shakes his head and walks away)

Catherine: (glaring at Bernard and talking in a deadly soft voice, that only she and Bernard can hear) God, you are such a disappointment, you know that Bernard? You’re going to end up shivering in some garbage can somewhere with other homeless people, and I won’t be sorry when you do.

Bernard just stares at her looking hurt, unable to say anything. Margaret comes into the kitchen with her arms laden with papers.

Margaret: Ok, people, let’s move it. We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.
Catherine: (to Bernard) We’ll continue this conversation when we come back. (in general) Grab the keys there, honey. (loudly) Richie, let’s go. (to Bernard) Don’t forget to lock up if you go anywhere.

Margaret: How do I look?

Bernard: Perfect. You’ll blend right in with the other debate geeks.

Margaret: Yeah, well, at least I won’t end up a retarded monkey in a garbage can, now won’t I? (Richie snorts out laughter again)

The Dalton’s leave through the front door for Margaret’s debate, and Sabrina comes in, wearing what appears to be brand new roller blades. She has on headphones and all the necessary skating gear)

Sabrina: Hey Bernie. (She does a clumsy turn and ends in a pose) What do you think? (She topples backwards and lands hard on her behind)

Bernard: (with a sad smile) Well, I wouldn’t tell Michelle Kwan to eat her heart out yet. (he reaches out to help her up) So, what’s up?

Sabrina: Well, my keen instincts told me that since yesterday was report card day, you would need a picker upper.

Bernard: How right you are.

Bernard holds her up and guides her towards the couch.

Sabrina: So, I figured we could go out to the park and you could help me break in my new skates.

Bernard: And how is that gonna help me get over report card day? (He sets her down on the couch)

Sabrina: (She takes off her helmet and her headphones) You get to see the repeated contact between concrete and my butt.

Bernard: You know me too well. Count me in.

Sabrina: Yay! Ok, grab your blades and meet me outside. (She picks up her helmet, gets up unsteadily to her feet and skates to the door, knees buckling and holding on to anything she can get a hand on)

Bernard: Actually, I’ve got some stuff to finish up around here. Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll just meet you at the park.

Sabrina: Ok, but if you leave me hanging, there will be consequences mister. (Sabrina goes out the door and Bernard sighs)

Sabrina skates unsteadily over to the steps of the porch, and holding on to the railing shakily makes her way down. She sits on the bottom step and straps on her helmet. She realizes that she’s forgotten her headphones, and grumpily struggles back up the steps. She opens the door.

Sabrina: I forgot my … (she stops short as she sees Bernard with a gun to his head)

Bernard: (a tear streams down his cheek) I’m sorry.

Sabrina: Bern …

The gun fires and Sabrina topples backwards. She quickly gets to her knees and looks in Bernard’s direction. Her mouth just hangs up for a while, and then she gives a loud scream.

Theme Song

Act One
Bernard is shielding his eyes with his hand as he is surrounded by a bright light. The light slowly fades away, and when he can finally see he is sitting on a moderately high hill. The grass is green and it goes on for miles in every direction, all the same length. The sun is out, and the sky is cloudless. Bernard looks around, and there is a man on his left and a woman at his right. The man is white, wearing a crisp, neatly pressed, black business suit, complete with black tie and shimmering black shoes. His hair is neatly combed and moussed. The woman is black, wearing a school nurse’s garb, white from head to toe.

Man: Go ahead, ask your question.

Bernard: (tentatively) How did you know I wanted to …

Man: Oh please. You just shot yourself in the head and found yourself here sitting next to us and I’m supposed to assume that you don’t want to know anything?

Woman: (smiling) Don’t mind him. He’s a bit cranky today. Actually, he’s always cranky.

Man: Yes, well that happens when my mommy doesn’t give me my bottle.

Bernard: Am I in Hell?

Woman: No sweetheart.
Bernard: (taking another look around) I must say that this isn’t what I imagined Heaven to be.

Woman: That’s because this isn’t Heaven.

Bernard: Oh. (slight pause) Where is here exactly?

Woman: This is … the gate.

Bernard: Gate to …

Man: (malevolently, relishing the word) Hell.

Bernard looks shocked.

Woman: (looks at the Man disapproving, saying pointedly) And Heaven.

Bernard: Whew. And what are you people, like my guides?

Man: You watch too much television.

Woman: We’re … more like the Gatekeepers.

Bernard: You say I watch too much TV, and then you go and call yourself Gatekeepers to Heaven and Hell?

Man: Shut up. We’re immortal. We have a right to be threatical.

Bernard: Ok, I get it. You two are deciding where I’m supposed to go.

Man: (makes a beeping noise) Sorry, wrong answer. See, you killed yourself, so that qualifies as an automatic burn in hell.

Bernard turns to the lady.

Woman: I’m sorry, he’s right.

Bernard: And there’s nothing I can do to get out of it?

Woman: Well, no (Bernard sighs) but we need your help anyway.

Bernard: I’m afraid to ask what you need help with.

Woman: It’s a bit complicated.

Man: See, it’s like this. You kicked the bucket a little earlier than expected. (Bernard is aghast) See, you went and shot yourself a bit sooner than you were supposed to.

Bernard: Let me get this straight. You took me out of my life too soon.

Man: Oh no, kid, that’s all your fault. You made the decision to pull the trigger all on your own. Free will, and all that jazz.

Woman: And we knew you were going to do that.

Man: But you had to be the rebellious one and killed yourself before you had a chance to achieve your life’s purpose.

Bernard: Which was …?

Woman: To bring your family together.

Bernard: Come again?

Man: Well, you know better than anyone that everyone in your family is oh-so-perfect, but they still aren’t a family per se.

Woman: And your death was supposed to draw them together.

Man: Unfortunately, your death came at an inopportune time …

Woman: and instead of drawing them together, it has broken them apart.

Bernard: Stop with the psychic twins routine. What has that got to do with me? I’m dead, aren’t I? (Bernard lights up) Wait, maybe I’m not. It’s … it’s not my time yet, and you’re sending me back, right?

Man: Wrong again, kiddo. Like I said, too much TV.

Woman: I’m afraid you’ve been dead for some time now.

Bernard: Well, what can I do?

Man: Look, time’s running out. We need an answer, now.

Woman: I’m sorry about the pressure, but we really do need your answer now.

Bernard: But …

Man: No, no more questions. Just answer now and questions will be answered later.

Bernard: I don’t suppose I have much of a choice.

Woman: Is that a yes?

Bernard: Will this change whether I go to Heaven or Hell?

Man: What don’t you understand about right now?

Woman: No, it won’t. Haven’t you heard that a good deed is its own reward?

Bernard: Ok, fine.

Man: Well, glad that’s over.

Woman: Goodbye, Bernard, and good luck.

The man and the woman stand. Bernard sees them do this, and quickly stands up.

Bernard: Wait. What am I …?

Bernard is suddenly in a darkened room and a loud voice is screaming next to him. Bernard holds his ears, and notices the bed next to him. A girl is under the covers, flailing and screaming with all her might. Bernard takes a closer peek at her and sees that it is Sabrina.

Bernard: Sabrina? Sabrina! (he walks up next to the bed, and tries to get a hold of her, but she is too strong for him) Sabrina, wake up! Sabrina!

The door of Sabrina’s room opens, and a blonde woman in her early forties, dressed in a floral nightgown comes into the room.

Bernard: Mrs. Threshard, I ... she just started screaming and I …

Bernard steps out of the way and Mrs. Threshard sits next to Sabrina on the bed, taking no notice of Bernard. She takes off the sheets and gently shakes her daughter.

Mrs. Threshard: Wake up honey.

Sabrina abruptly opens her eyes.

Mrs. Threshard: Are you okay?

Sabrina starts to cry, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her mother.

Mrs. Threshard: Oh, it’s okay honey. It was just a bad dream. A bad dream.

Bernard: I’m really sorry, Mrs. Threshard. I can explain. (Slight pause) Well, I can’t explain, but … something weird is happening to me and I … (he registers that Mrs. Threshard isn’t noticing his presence and waves his hands in front of her face) Mrs. Threshard? (He taps her lightly on her face, and she still doesn’t notice him) Mrs. Threshard? (He gives her a hard slap on the face, but she doesn’t even flinch or move with the blow) What the hell …

Sabrina: (still sobbing) Oh, mom. He’s dead. He’s dead!

Mrs. Threshard: Shh, it’s all right sweetie. It will get better with time. I swear it will.

Bernard: This is beyond ….

Bernard again finds himself somewhere different, and a closer look around tells him he is in his kitchen at home.

Bernard: … weird.

Bernard hears footsteps, and he turns towards the door to see his mother coming into the kitchen. She seems to have come from a long sleep, judging from her barely conscious demeanor. She goes right past Bernard, who can just stand there looking at her, and gets herself a glass from the cupboard. She goes to the sink and pours herself a glass of water.

Bernard: (softly) Mom?

Again, Bernard is ignored, as Catherine goes into the dining room with her water, and takes a seat around the table. Bernard follows her, just watching her sorrowfully. Catherine takes a sip of her water, and looks around, seeing a picture of her family on the wall, and a tear streaks down her cheek.

Catherine’s voice: Oh, it’s all my fault. (she puts her head in her hands)

Bernard is taken by surprise, as he has just heard his mother’s voice, but she didn’t speak the words. He comes closer to her, leaning on the table and staring closely at her face.

Bernard: Mom, did you say that?

Catherine’s voice: (Bernard springs back when he once again hears a voice from nowhere) I shouldn’t have been so harsh to him. I just wanted the best for him, but all I managed to do is drive him to …. (she stops short)

Bernard is bewildered by the voice, and unnerved at hearing it say that it is sorry for his death. Catherine dries her eyes, and takes her glass back into the kitchen, Bernard at her heels.

Catherine’s voice: If only I could tell him that I loved him.

Catherine sighs, and walks out of the kitchen. Bernard stands still for a second, then as he makes to follow her, he finds himself somewhere else: somewhere loud and full of people. He is again flustered, but regains his composure as he looks around to see that he is just in a bar.

Bernard: Ugh, I am sick of this already.

Daniel’s voice: (slurred and overly loud) Hey, bartender, another beer here!

Bernard spins around to look for the source of the voice, and sees his father around one of the tables by himself. Daniel’s eyes are red and unfocused, and coupled with his uneasy wobbling its not hard to see that he’s drunk.

Bernard: (amazed, not in a good way) Dad?

Daniel: Hey, whose ass I gotta kick to get another beer in this place, huh?

The bartender shakes his head in pity, and with a snap of his fingers he gets the bouncer’s attention, and points out Daniel. The bouncer makes his way to Daniel, and lifts him out of his seat.

Bouncer: I think you’ve had enough.

Daniel: (struggling in the bouncer’s grip) Hey, I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough, alright? Get your hands off me.

Bouncer: I said you’ve had enough. Now get out before I throw you out.

Bernard: Hey, don’t talk to my dad like that!

Daniel: You think you’re so tough, huh? I bet I could take you. (the bouncer scoffs, and starts dragging Daniel out) Hey, let go of me!

Daniel takes a swing at the bouncer, badly off. The bouncer punches him in the stomach, and Daniel doubles over.

Bernard: Dad!

Bouncer: Let’s go. (he grabs Daniel from the back of the neck and rushes him out) I don’t get paid enough for this.

Bernard runs behind both men, and gets out just in time to see the bouncer hurl his father into some garbage bags across the street.

Bouncer: I don’t wanna see your face in there again for tonight, alright? (the bouncer gets up and walks back into the bar)

Bernard: Jackass!

Bernard turns to his father, who is unsteadily getting to his feet.

Daniel: (muttering to himself) Jackass.

Daniel gets to his feet, but he can’t keep himself up, and collapses back into the garbage bags, where he just lies. Too much to drink.

Bernard: Dad?

Bernard tries shaking and hitting his father, but like Mrs. Threshard he is unable to move anything. Two teenage girls pass by and see Daniel.

Girl #1: Ugh, look at that.

Girl #2: Pathetic.

Bernard closes his eyes, and clenches his mouth closed, frustrated and emotionally tired.

Bernard: Why is this happening to me? (sighs) I must be in hell. This … this has got to be hell.

Man: Hell? Get real. (Bernard wheels around) This doesn’t even hold a candle to that place. I know, I’ve been.

Bernard: You can see me?

Man: (sarcastically) No, I just like saying random phrases to myself.

Bernard: What do you want?

Man: To do my job, which is to help you.

Bernard: Help me what?

Man: Let’s not do this here.

The man swiftly takes Bernard’s hand, and they suddenly disappear from the lane.

[Brokenhearts]

i remember this ;D it's awesome

[scarecrow]

This was one of the most ambitious ideas I think I've ever had. It was meant to be a touching story about this guy who finds out about this film contest for his friend, thinking that the contest will help his friend rise above the path to nowhere he's been born into. His plan goes awry when the prize for the contest turns out to get the chance to shadow a prominent director on the set, and his friends tells him that he will not come back to his broken home if he gets the chance to go to Hollywood. Here's what I did.



“Amazing isn’t the word,” said Brian, his eyes twinkling in delight at his friend’s good fortune. It was always nice when the fates came through for Roy, who’d had enough bad luck to last a lifetime. He deserved a little fun.
“You’re telling me.” Roy had a faraway look in his eye, and Brian swore that if his friend had turned to face him that moment, he’d have seen an almost corporeal hope that muddled the amber, withdrawn eyes that he knew so well.
“What do you think you’re going to get when you win?” Brian said, his subtle way of saying that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d lose. Roy had been making home movies for as long as Brian knew him, and as far as he was concerned, they’d all been spectacular. He had this contest in the bag, and he should know it.
His ploy worked. The dry corners of Roy’s mouth curled, like old pages in flame, and the little joy that sparked in his eyes was kindled that much more. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, the flat tones he preferred giving way to a strange contentedness, and gave a sense that wherever his mind was, it wasn’t there on the branch of the old oak in Brian’s backyard. “So long as I win, I couldn’t care less what the prize is.”
“Well, if its cash, remember who was the one who turned you on to it. Credit where credit is due, if you know what I mean,” teased Brian, rubbing his fingers together. Roy laughed a little then, a low husky sound that turned the air to razor-blades, filling Brian’s insides with a delicious pain as he breathed it all in. God, how sweet the sound. He could die just then, his lifeless body toppling from the uppermost limbs of the old tree, under milkshake skies in the slight morning breeze, and he’d swear he’d die at peace. How long had it been since he’d heard Roy in such a mood? Never. Never before, and he’d make sure it’d last. Squeeze every drop.
“Seriously, what do you think you’ll win? Cash, gift certificates?”
“Relax. I haven’t won yet.”
“A new camera? Editing equipment?”
“Brian ...”
“A directorial position in the latest DreamWorks production?” said Brian, nudging Roy in the ribs. Another laugh escaped him as he nudged back, and again Brian could almost swallow the palpable perfection in the air. He’d imagine it tasted syrupy sweet, canned peaches, but fantastic nonetheless.
“Stop it,” Roy’s ashen, cloudy face had reddened in his embarrassment, and he could probably cook an egg on his cheeks. Brian wanted to touch them, and feel the radiant joy coursing through his fingers. He turned to look at Brian, chewing some particular spot on the inside of his mouth, a sure sign that he had already begun mapping out what his award-winning movie, his first public showing, was going to be about. His eyes were almost quivering, as if they were anxious to get started. If they’d ever pop out of his head, this’d be the time. “You’re sure of what you heard?”
“I’m telling you, it’s true.” In fact, Brian had never been sure of anything more in his life. He’d wanted to rush right over and tell him the news as soon as he’d heard it, but he’d hardly thought Roy would appreciate being woken up at 11 p.m. to hear news that could have waited till the next day, no matter how wondrous it was. He’d ruled out calling too, as Roy’s father would most likely answer it shouting obscenities in his drowsy rage at being roused from his sleep. Besides, he’d wanted to be there to see the look on Roy’s face, to be there when the tides finally seemed to be turning in his favor. That had been something worth waiting for.

* * * * * * * * * *

His family lived in the second floor of a building owned by his father, the entire first floor of which was a bar that did fairly regular trade. He’d been helping out, cleaning tables and whatnot, as he sometimes did when he was bored, or when it was busy and his father needed an extra hand. He’d been doing a little sweeping, and had return to the bar to find his father and some guy deep in barely conscious conversation, both of them half in the bag.
“But for the most part, I like it here,” the man slurred, looking like he’d like nothing better than to fall asleep for a couple of days. “I wouldn’t live here though, but it’s ... it’s a nice place to visit.”
“Why’re you here in the first place?” my dad scratched his gut, a hairy mess that protruded from under his white tee, and made you wonder when his water was gonna break. At first, Brian had been a little ashamed for him because of that bulbous appendage, and had made many a covert escape from the bar and let Matchbox Twenty lull him to sleep upstairs. In fact, he’d been planning to do just that, had what the man next said had been something less fascinating.
“Film contest,” he said, then yawning in a silent roar that probably shook him down to his toes. “Yeah, I’m ... I work with this company that hosts film contests in different schools, scouting for fresh talent sort of thing. I’ll be the officiator of it.”
Brian stopped in mid-step, his interest piqued. Could it be possible? Could be talking about New Georgetown Comprehensive? His ears suddenly became super-sensitive, and if his heart had so scurried before like so many mice with a cat at their tail, he’d never known it.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, yeah, and I’m ... I’ll be a judge, on a panel, who gets to ... to decide which one of them is the best.” He kept pausing in the middle of what he was saying, a sure sign that he’d be sleeping soon. Sure enough, his bleary eyes had shut when Brian turned around, his head drooping on his fist, sound asleep. Desperate to hear more, Brian put his hands on a nearby table, noticing they had gone ghastly white in the fervor of his grip on the broom. He lifted the heavy wooden structure a little, and let it go. The resulting bang worked, and the oaf’s eyes sprang open, and his head snapped up. He worked his eyes feverishly, as if trying to clear his intoxication.
“Be a little more careful with those tables, son.”
“Okay, dad.”
“What was I going on about?” said the man again, eyes wide in overcompensation for the heavy burden of the beat monkey on his back.
“A film contest.”
“Yeah, we’re ... we’re going to announce the contest tomorrow. The contestants are gonna have a week to ... get their footage, and submit it on Monday for a screening, to see if ... if they’re suitable for ... if they’re suitable. You know, no ... no sex or drugs or stuff like that. Then we’ll give them two more days to make necessary changes or whatnot, and then the films will be shown on the Thursday. The judges will make their decisions, and the winner will be announced the next day.”
Brian’s nerves were on edge. This – this was how he was going to save Roy from himself. He had to know if his school would be one of the participants. He prayed that his father would pursue the conversation. He nibbled at the pockmarked flesh around his fingernails, as was his wont when he was nervous.
“What school are they having it at?” He could kiss the grotesque man behind the bar. The pressure in his chest, already a helium balloon in heavy sunlight, mounted significantly.
“Oh, I forget. Just one or the other in the area.”
“New Georgetown?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said the old man, turned his almost chubby facial features in my direction. He held his want to scream in check as his father motioned at him with his sausage fingers. “My son goes there.”
“Huh.” Apparently the Hugh Laurie wannabe couldn’t care less, as if he was any more interesting. “Anyways, I thought since I’m gonna be stuck here for almost two weeks, I’d drag my girl down here with me and we’d make a trip of it.” Before that, I hadn’t even noticed the bored looking woman sitting beside him, who he now threw his arm around. Tanned and made-up, every part of her seemed as artificial as the crimson on her lips, and even as she made the tiniest motion of a smile as he brought her into the conversation Brian could see that every fiber of her being expressed involuntary disgust at her surroundings, and the people in them.
“Yeah, I didn’t wanna be without her for so long, so I told her to pack herself up, and we’d go on this trip together,” the man smiled at her, as genuine a smile as a drunk could make, completely oblivious to what she was really telling him behind that seemingly meek face. It was painfully obvious to Brian, as she took his sallow hand off her shoulder and gently put it back on the counter. He probably never noticed a thing. “Like I said, it’s not that I’d wanna live here, because ... my hometown, that’s ... you know, that’s ... man, that’s my hometown you’re talking about. But it’s a pretty kind of place, and it’d be a good trip, so why the hell not shouldn’t she come?”
Brian could tell that the subject had been dropped at this point, and after putting the broom back in the closet, he darted back upstairs to ponder and revel in what he had just heard in the sloppy comforts of his room. New Georgetown Comprehensive was having a film contest. It was like a miracle. It was just what he’d needed. The normal bustling noises of the late night streets metamorphosed into a droning song and it sung the vague promise of the fruits of tomorrow’s pleasant morn.

* * * * * * * * * *

They just sat in silence for a while, Brian unable to pry his eyes of Roy’s faraway look. What wouldn’t he give to hear what Roy was thinking right now? He knew a bit, of course. Roy was obviously ecstatic. No, beyond ecstatic. He was in heaven. Brian tried imagining it, tried feeling it. He willed the blood the rush to his head, his skin to tauten and spring goosebumps, his mouth to salivate. He could almost feel himself slipping into drunkenness, into sweet giddy release, so poignant it made his body ache in its jubilation. He could feel all this, and knew that it wasn’t even a fragment of what was welling up in Roy. If he could feel this for his friend, what must he be feeling for himself?
Roy would never say how monumental this was for him. He’d never voice his fragile hopes. He just wasn’t used to good things happening to him. Ever since he’d known Roy, Brian had never heard him be optimistic about anything. He was, to be sure, and Brian could see the tell-tale signs just as he was seeing now. The crimson flush on his arms and face, the fidgeting fingers on his left hand, the nimble bites on his bottom lip. Roy wanted it, and wanted it so bad he could hardly sit still, but he’d just never say it. Maybe he didn’t want to jinx himself. ‘If you say it out loud, it won’t come true.’ Brian could understand that, but if that was all, he didn’t understand why Roy couldn’t tell him that. Brian could guess at it, and guess well. He’d known Roy all his life, after all. He probably knew him wholly, better than anyone else could. But he just wanted, for once, for Roy to tell him. To open up to him and just say something.
However, it obviously wasn’t going to be this time. Roy came back to earth from whatever dream he’d been in, and turned his attention back to Brian. “What?” he said suddenly, leaving Brian out of sorts.
“Huh?”
“What is it?”
“What’s what?”
The subtle joy that had crept into Roy’s face had given way to a furrowed brow, and there was a pity and suspicion in the eyes looking so intently at him that hadn’t been there before. Where did these come from all of a sudden? Roy was looking at him as if he were a beggar on the street just then. Brian didn’t understand it. “What is it?” he asked playfully, trying not to look as discomfitted as he felt.
Roy sighed at that, closing his eyes as he did so, and just looking at him do so made Brian feel old and weary. “Nothing. Forget it.”
He then hastily started climbing down from the tree. Brian was surprised he was leaving so quickly. He’d expected they’d have spent the day joshing in the limbs of the try of the lazy day. “What, you’re going already?”
“I’m gonna get a jump start on my movie.” He leapt from the tree at that, landing softly on the springy grass. “I wanna take my time with it, make sure it’s a good one.” He flashed a meager smile Brian’s way, and waved a callous hand. “I’ll catch you later.”
Brian wanted to call after him, to tell him to chill a little more. They’d done nothing but sit around, but it had been the tops to Brian. He’d finally given his friend the only thing he’d ever wanted: a means to rise above all the circumstances that held him down. He’d hoped that they’d wallow around in the marvel that had fallen into Roy’s lap, and speculate about how great it was that Roy finally had a way to show the world what he was made of. He’d show them the thoughtful, worldly mind that hid beneath the mediocre grades, the broken life, the shy attitude. He’d spit on the label he’d been typecast into, and break free and away from the chains obscurity used to hold him. He’d have what he’d always wanted: recognition.
But Roy had already started to leave, and Brian could do no more but watch him trot away to make his mark. Yet, he decided that it was ok. After all, there’d be time to do all that yet, when Roy had won the contest. Yes, when he’d finally ... get something, to show that he could be great. Then they’d have much to linger over, and they’d do so right on the very same branch in the same tree, and sit in their silence as the minutes flew by all too fast, and let their inner satisfaction do all the talking in the faint gleam of the dying sun.

[scarecrow]

Two entries in a spoiled rich girl's diary. I was trying my hand at writing for a female lead. Here we go.



Significant Entry No. 1
September 19th, 2005

DEAR DIARY

I hate Darcy! I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! I wish she was dead! What kind of classless whore thinks that a stupid dime-shop diary makes a better present than a 14K Gold Necklace? Next she'll be suggesting I start wearing generic label clothing. Gag me! And then she has the balls to defend it too! "I just thought that a diary would make much more intimate present than jewelry, dear." Says the slut with the yellow diamond necklace and matching earrings that she can't stop flashing ever since Daddy bought them for her! I wish I could have told her to shove her stupid old diary where the sun won't shine, and mind what she knows about. Like Lipo.

I hate her! That necklace would have gone so good with everything, especially that new Gucci and my black strappies I was going to use for the Tiff's Sweet 16, but no! All I got was this flimsy thing that's practically falling apart when I just look in it's direction! And orange too! Tasteless and tacky, not to mention that diaries are so not with it! I bet ol' Butterball would just love it if she saw me with this ratty thing. Oh, I could die! I hate her! I bet it just killed her that Daddy wanted to spend some money on someone who wasn't her! I hope he comes to his senses soon and drops her like the bad habit she is. God, I hate her! I hate her, I hate her, I hate her!

As if this wasn't bad enough, Janet had to be there to see the whole thing! Big mouth Janet. I bet she's already called everyone and told them everything. "Oh my god, like, Kelsey, like, you'll never guess, like, what Kelsey's Dad did. Oh my god, like, he totally like dissed her, and like got her a totally like lame birthday diary. Like." And then she'll be all, "Oh, like, I'm so sorry that happened to you," with me tomorrow at school. Her mouth runs worse than that leaky faucet in the servant's quarters, that fugly frump. And then, out of nowhere, she goes blubbering home like the little snot-nosed baby she is. She's all, "Like, why are you, like, yelling at me!" As if! I really should have tore into that Asswich and given her something to cry about for embarrassing me like even more. I didn't need any retards like her at messing up my party even more!

And Daddy, he's so clueless! Why can't he see that Darcy's just using her silicone talents to grab his wallet and hold on tight! I'm betting the ink will be hitting the divorce papers faster than you can say 'golddigger'. Ever since he's met Darcy, it's like his good sense has taken a spa day or something. "You know, that's a good idea Darcy." "I was just thinking that, Darcy." "You're right, Darcy, let's do that." Her own little monkey boy, that's what he is. How could he choose her over me, and she's the one wrecking my birthday! "Blah blah blah Darcy, blah blah blah diary, blah blah blah I agree!" When does taking advice from a Skinemax reject seem like a good idea, I ask you! And then he picks up on the Janet thing too, like that's my fault. "Sweetie, blah blah blah, Janet, blah blah blah, apologize!" Ha! I'd rather eat at Wendy's than say anothe word to that backstabber. And I so didn't even raise my voice at her, and everyone is making such a d*mn big deal. Especially Darcy. I hate her!

Significant Entry No. 2
September 22nd, 2006

Dear Diary,

Why is everyone being so heinous? Ever since my party, everyone's been so chill towards me I'm catching a cold. Everything is so wrong, and people just wanna blame me for what happened. I guess I could apologize and everything, but I refuse to bend over just so everyone else can get past this thing that wasn't even my fault in the first place, and I'd rather toss my Manolo Blahniks than admit I was wrong when I know I wasn't.

First of all, Janet went and blabbed to everyone in school, just like I knew she would, that sow. She told them all just how wretched my party had been, and about how Darcy and I got into that fight. And then, she had the gall to lie, and say that I yelled at her too, and called her all kinds of names, which I so didn't. Putrid worm, that Janet. And worse of all, they're all swallowing every word that crybaby is spewing, and now everyone is getting on my case. All my ex-friends are siding with her, and they said that they aren't going to speak to me until I admit what I did and asked her to forgive me. Tiff even kind of uninvited me to her own party, and in front of everyone else too! Vindictive fashion reject! Janet, forgive me! Well, they can all burn in hell, because I so didn't do anything to warrant being treated like last season's wardrobe, and if they think I'm going to reduce my fabolous self to cowing down to that lying skank Janet, they've got another thing coming. It's bad enough that Butterball has ammo to shame me with now. I can tell she's been practicing just how to put me down about it all. "Oh, I heard you got a diary for your birthday, Jessica, giggle giggle, that's so nice, all I got was this diamond encrusted watch. See, isn't it just to die for, giggle giggle,". Spoiled little b*tch.

And speaking about this stupid diary, Daddy is being so stubborn. I gave Lupe the diary yesterday to get rid of after I'd vented in it, and you know the idiot actually threw it in the trash! Darcy found the stupid thing in the trash, she read it, and then (probably to get back at me) she went and acted all hurt to Daddy I think. The next thing I know, Daddy is having it out with me. "Blah, blah, blah, gift from Darcy, blah, blah, blah, supposed to take care of it, blah, blah, blah, so disappointed in you, blah blah blah." Then Darcy told him what she'd read, and when he read it himself, things got even worse. I'd never seem him so mad. He said that if I didn't start changing my sour attitude towards Darcy things were going to change, and I wouldn't like it. And to prove some kind of point, he took all my credit cards, and he's instructed Martin not to drive me anywhere for a month! How am I supposed to get around now, take a taxi? And even more, he's given me back the stupid diary (he ripped out the other pages) and he's told me that I'm going to keep it or he'll cut me out of the will. His own daughter! Of course I kept it, 'cause can you imagine what Darcy would do to me if he died and he didn't leave me anything! She'd probably ... make me get a job or something! It's enough to make me dry heave. All this could have been avoided if the stupid maid had just burned the thing or something. I've decided that I'm going to get her deported; it's the least she deserves after ruining my life.

Long story short, though: Daddy won't even look at me anymore, Tiff and I aren't speaking, Janet dares to give me the cold shoulder, the gang snipes in my direction, and for some reason, Darcy keeps pretending to be upset. What more does she have to gain by acting that way, she's already gotten me in trouble. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that she really was hurt by what she read, but I'm pretty sure she's just up to something. No one with that much ice in their veins could get hurt by anything I said, or wrote as the case may be. I just hope she's not trying to get Dad to donate some of my clothes to another charity drive, or I'm going to be seriously ill.

[scarecrow]

This one was meant to be a soap opera spoof. It was really a terrible peace, with only cheap laughs and irrational characters, but it's still a guilty pleasure of mine to read once in a while. Here it is.



Clayton was more than eager to get off at the bus stop. Riding a bus from Belmopan to Melodrama had been a taxing trip indeed. Every joint and every muscle ached with exhaustion, and it was all he could do not to just let go of his body and plop right down on the ground in deep slumber. However, his stomach was rumbling, and he still wasn’t too sure about where his grandfather lived. He sighed as he lifted his bags, and started walking along the pathway.

As he took a little look around, he couldn’t help smiling. It was just the kind of day he liked. The late evening sun was warm, but a layer of clouds shielded the world below from its full blast. Granted, there wasn’t any breeze, but it was cool enough to be comfortable. Songbirds tittered from their perches, and the lush plant life about the place was almost intoxicating with joy.

Even the houses added to the mood. Spotless, perfect rows of bright colored abodes littered the streets. There were cars in a few driveways, all glittering in the scant sunshine. It was sort of weird there weren’t more people around, but –

Wham! Clayton toppled over a fence and onto a nearby lawn, after being impacted by something that was apparently in great hurry.

“Aw, man!” He groaned, as he shook his head and took stock of himself. Except for the throbbing pain at the back of his head, and the sharp shooting pain in his left side where he’d been hit by the bumbling object, he was fine. He lifted himself up to a seated position, and turned to see what oaf had knocked him over.

The prettiest blonde thing he ever did see lay beside him, sprawled in a spread eagled position. Full red lips, red nails, white slippers, diamond earrings, tight blue jeans and a short white blouse only complimented her already stunning natural countenance, and it was plainly obvious that she came from parents with means. Judging from the way her mouth was hanging ever so slightly, she seemed to have been knocked out in the fall.

It seemed a shame to have to wake her. She was so peaceful in her unconsciousness. It was almost like she was in a coma.

“Are you all right?” he asked in hoarse tones, barely able to speak because of the stitch in his side. He got to his feet slowly, and was relieved to find that nothing was broken, except his pride. He walked over to her slowly, and bent down to examine her better and got a better perspective of her beauty from an overhead position. He could hardly pry his eyes away from her wondrous chest, straining inside that oh-so-miniscule top. He reached down and prodded her on a portion of her exposed cleavage.

“Hello?” he said in loud tones, torn between hoping she was okay and hoping that she wasn’t. Hoping that she was so that he wouldn’t have to lift (or drag, as he was much too tired and strained at that moment to carry her) to where help was available, and hoping that she wasn’t so that he could continue poking her breast until she did wake up.

“Hello?” he said again, and again nudged that lightly bronzed, bulging part of her anatomy. He gave up trying to wake her with his voice altogether at that point, and figured it would be much more effective and enjoyable to just increase the pressure and tempo of his prodding. He marveled at how firm the flesh under his finger was.

“You bastard!” came a shrill cry from out of nowhere, and Clayton had just enough time to spring to an upright position and look around before a flung hand snapped his head sideward. He almost toppled over from the force of the blow, and he had to blink his eyes several times to clear them out. He turned a surprised face to the formidable (but also very hot) woman before him. A long, black dress, long black hair, and an angry face (with unbelievable cheekbones and general facial structure) was before him. She was a bit shorter than him, but he was certain to keep an arm’s length away from her. The little firecracker packed a wallop.

“Stay away from my daughter!” she yelled again, and Clayton leapt backwards a little in fear of a repeat of the aforementioned slap. The woman cast an evil glance at his direction, and seemed to seriously contemplate slapping him again. However, she abandoned her furious stance and thrust herself down towards her unconscious daughter, her face instantly melting into one of the utmost sorrow.

“Mary Beth,” she said, touching the girl’s face ever so slightly. Her voice had lost the piercing firm tone, and had melted to give way to one that was almost breaking, with a sadness that could melt butter. “What have you done to her?” she wailed at him, and Clayton could swear he saw tears pooling in her eyes. “Mary Beth, please wake up!” She gripped both of the girl’s peachy shoulders, and shook her powerfully. The girl’s teeth ground together audibly from the force of the vibration.

“Um, miss?” Clayton said tentatively. He was certain that the young woman’s eyes would pop out of her head from the lady’s fervor, and wanted to prevent her any more harm than she had already befallen. “Miss?”

“Shut up!” she roared at him, dropping her daughter back onto the lawn from the sitting position in which she held her with an unnerving thud. She stood up lightning fast, and her face was all but violet in fury. “You’ve killed her. You’ve killed her!” She lunged at him, and grasped him round the throat, and started shaking him. Clayton could now appreciate how much Advil that Mary Beth was going to need later. That is, if she ever awoke. It was very much possible that if her mother shook her as hard as she was shaking him, she was among the angels. Or if she was anything like her mother, burning in hell.

Clayton grabbed wildly at the lady’s shoulder, and succeeded in throwing her off. He coughed in air as he rubbed at his now sore throat, never taking his eyes of the angered brunette. He managed to ask, in a small, hoarse voice, “Lady, what’s your damage?”

She stumbled backward towards the fence, and regained her balance as she thumped against it. She charged again, ready to renew her attack, but Clayton was ready for her, and easily sidestepped her wild lunge. She whirled around, huffing like a bull at a matador’s cape. “You’ll pay for what you did to her!” she shrieked, at even higher pitch than before if possible, and lunged again.

“What’s going on?” said a drowsy voice, and the woman stopped mid-plunge, abandoning her ploy to maim Clayton and turned her attentions back to her daughter. Mary Beth was awake, and clutching her head with a pained expression on her fantastic face. She sat up, closing her eyes and groaning, then got up slowly. “What happened?”

Clayton could hardly understand what happened next. As he turned his attention back to the woman, who was obviously the most threatening to his health, despite the fact that her daughter had slammed him over a fence and unto his head, and saw the queerest thing. The woman’s fury, already at an impressive high, seemed to increase tenfold at seeing her daughter conscious and functioning. If looks could kill, then at the moment the lady’s eyes were as deadly as nuclear missiles. But Clayton figured the girl would be alright, because if she hadn’t sustained injury from the savage shaking, then she was d*mn near invincible.

Mary Beth winced once she was fully upright, and then slowly opened her eyes. Periwinkle blue and glassy bright. Her salacious figure, which had been somewhat obscured by the flailing position which she’d landed in, and which her mother had tossed her haphazardly back into to resume her attack, now fully hit Clayton, and in the back of his mind reproved himself for only concentrating on the upper parts of her body while she was indisposed. Mary Beth looked first at him, and then at her mother, whose anger slid off her face so fast that Clayton was tempted to look for it on the ground.

“Oh, Mary Beth, thank goodness you’re all right!” she said, rushing forward and clasping her daughter in tight embrace. Mary Beth still looked nonplussed as she let go of her mother, and peered at her surroundings, as if to gain some perspective of what had passed. “I’d thought that this boy here had – had - ” she burst into tears then, and quickly gripped the blonde bombshell in another hug, sobbing on her shoulder. This lady changes moods like she changes underwear, thought Clayton to himself, and at the mention of undergarments reproved himself for not sneaking a peek at what Mary Beth had been wearing underneath. He secretly resolved to be prepared to fully take advantage of the next opportunity to check out a comatose hottie.

“What happened?” Mary Beth asked, absently patting the older woman on her back. The sound of a nose blowing erupted from the wailing woman, and she lifted her head off her daughter’s shoulder to reveal a blotch of dripping mucus on her face and on Mary Beth’s scant blouse. Clayton was suddenly glad that he hadn’t eaten during the long bus trip, and Mary Beth’s disgusted face quivered even more violently than when her mother had been jiggling her.

The woman reached into her brassiere, and after a certain amount of tugging pulled out a wad of tissue, which she had apparently been using to enhance herself. With a few strokes, she got rid of the mucus buildup on her face, and catching sight of the muddle she’d left on Mary Beth’s blouse, she offered the soggy tissue to her daughter. Mary Beth, not about to use that disgusting splotch of used paper, reached over to the other side of her mother’s bra, and started yanking at its contents. Not for the first time, Clayton was able to appreciate how many guys would like to see what he was seeing. Mary Beth finally got out another wad of tissue, and started wiping away at the nasty spot above her ample rack.

“Well,” the woman started explaining, still sobbing every now and again, “I’d – I’d been searching the house for you after that – that conversation we’d had.” Her eyes were flitting like gnats, and she seemed to struggle to recall the details. “I’d – I heard the sound of your sandals clacking along outside, and I ran to the window, and saw you leaving. I came out of the house to see where you were going, and why you’d left there in such a hurry. And when I came out, I didn’t see anything around at first, the streets were bare. Then this – this young man stood up from behind the fence, and I was coming over to see if he knew where you’d gone.”

“When I started walking over I saw him bend over,” she whimpered, her voice falling dangerously close to crying territory again, and Clayton couldn’t help but notice Mary Beth taking a few obscure steps backward, probably lest the mood swinger needed the other shoulder to weep on. “And it was then I noticed – I noticed ... that someone else was there, lying unconscious on the ground, and he was jabbing at it mercilessly! It was then I discovered that it was you lying there, and he had somehow incapacitated you!” She leveled an accusatory finger at Clayton.

Again something inexplicable happened to Clayton. The moment the woman had pointed at him, a gargantuan sound had leapt from nowhere, and he’d crouched down and shielded himself in fear. He wasn’t too sure, but he felt that it had sounded somewhat like, “bum-Bum-BUM!” It died away as quickly as it came, and Clayton slowly stood back, warily looking around for the source. He turned back to Mary Beth and her mother, who had shown no sign of having heard it. “What was that?” he said, still looking around for where it could have come from.

“What was what?” asked Mary Beth, done with her wiping. Her shirt was now as clean as if she’d put it in the washing machine, and she tossed her magnificent coiffeur before turning her attention back to the conversation.

“Don’t listen to him,” said Mary Beth’s mother, swinging her head to face her daughter again. “He’s just trying to distract you from the fact that he almost murdered you.”

“Murdered her?” said Clayton, completely forgetting the sound at this ridiculous accusation. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Lions would probably quail at the sound of her abrupt explosions. “You tried to do away with my daughter, and I caught you red-handed, you pervert!” She drew her hand back quickly, preparing to slap Clayton again, who, having little time to react, covered his face as fast as he could, bracing for a blow that never came. Peeking through his fingers, he saw that Mary Beth had grabbed her mother’s hand before she tried to bean him again, and was wearing a most puzzled expression on her face.

“Wait a minute!” said Mary Beth, her perfect, thoughtful face darkening. She was staring resolutely at the ground as she held her mother’s hand fast, but was surely not seeing anything, lost in thought. “How did you say you knew that I was outside?”

“I – I heard the sound of your slippers. On the sidewalk.”

“That’s a lie, Olivia,” Mary Beth flung her mother’s hand to one side, causing her mother to gasp as if scandalized. “You never heard my slippers on the sidewalk, because I was riding a bicycle!”

“What?”

“That’s right,” said Mary Beth matter-of-factly, and started circling her mother, who was looking trapped, fingering with a gold necklace around her neck. “I’d decided to take a ride this afternoon, and I was just gotten on the bike when something hit me on the back of the head, and I was knocked out!”

“Well, that – that must have been him!” said Olivia desperately. “He must’ve ... knocked you out in the yard, and – and dragged you over here!”

Mary Beth stopped her circling in front of her mother, who averted her eyes from her daughter’s accusatory glare. Mary Beth inched closer. “There’s only one way to tell. The person who knocked me out smelt like cheap perfume and bourbon.” Mary Beth plunged her nose into her mother’s neck, and took a big whiff.

“Get off me!” said Olivia, shoving Mary Beth back. Too little too late, though, as Mary Beth’s face had now contorted into one of shock.

“It was you!” she said, in a deep husky voice.

“This proves nothing!” Olivia tossed her head defiantly, with so much vigor that sound of her neck cracking was plain as day. Rubbing her now sore neck, she continued, “Anyone could have been wearing Channel No. 5 and stinking of liquor. Why does everyone automatically think it’s me when they smell those things?”

“You’re right. That could have been anyone,” said Mary Beth. “But what about the bicycle? You said that you saw me running away from the house, but I distinctly remember a bicycle.”

“You’re obviously delirious from your fall. You weren’t riding a bicycle.”

“Then what’s that?” Mary Beth pointed over to the picket fence, and all three of them turned to see a pink bicycle overturned against it, its rear wheel still turning rapidly. Again at that second, the sound boomed again. “bum-Bum-BUM!” Again Clayton ducked down, and again arose to the looks of the girls looking at him as if he were crazy. Which he did not appreciate, especially not from Olivia, who was either a paranoid schizophrenic with violent tendencies and erratic mood swings or having her period (which are really hard to distinguish from each other).

“Seriously, you didn’t hear that?” said Clayton, looking around again.

“I guess you’re not the only one in delirium from the accident,” said Olivia, putting a calming hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Come, let’s go home and figure this all out.”

“Oh, I don’t need your help figuring it out,” said Mary Beth, tossing her mother’s hand away from her shoulder, making a gasp escape her. “You’re trying to get rid of me, you scheming floozy!”

“How dare you!” screamed Olivia, reverting back to the anger that strangely became her.

“You’ve weaseled your way into my father’s heart and home, and you’ve somehow gotten rid of my mother!” said Mary Beth vindictively, her own anger rearing its sexy, sexy head. “And now you’re trying to get rid of me. Now, I don’t know who you think you are, but you are completely mistaken if you think that I’m going to let you get away with this. I will find out what has happened to my mother, and when I do, I’ll tell my father the truth, and he’ll toss your conniving a** back on the street to lick scraps out of garbage cans, b*tch!”

Clayton almost wasn’t surprised at what happened next. The following slap resounded in his ears, and he winced at impact. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Mary Beth clutching at her jaw in surprise. Judging from the red mark that was left, that was gonna hurt tomorrow.

Mary Beth’s incredulity lasted mere seconds. The moment she’d recovered her wits, she countered with a slap of her own. Olivia inhaled sharply, then gasped.

Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.

Bam! Olivia decided that slapping wasn’t getting anything done, and with an almighty punch sent Mary Beth flailing to the ground, where she was rendered comatose yet again. Olivia huffed.

“Now that that’s over, I can now get rid of you just like I did your mother. No one, not even a snot nosed brat like you, is going to stop me from getting your father’s money.” She soliloquized as she walked over to her collapsed daughter, and grabbed at her legs, preparing to drag her.

“Ahem.”

Olivia whipped her head around, to see that Clayton was still standing there. She stood up slowly and defiantly, smoothing down her black dress. She gave Clayton a nervous giggle, and walked over to Mary Beth’s side, and started rattling her until her teeth were knocking yet again. “Mary Beth. Mary Beth!”

Clayton was ... flabbergasted. To say the least. What in the world had he stumbled onto? He hadn’t the foggiest, and he didn’t want to know. He decided that perhaps it might not be too smart to be caught on the scene of a cataleptic young girl being tossed about by a sexy lady with homeopathic rage, and decided to take his leave softly and silently. He cursed himself when he realized that he had once again missed an opportunity to check out an unconscious girl, but not for too long, for as he scampered down the sidewalk, he could just hear the fragments of Mary Beth’s waking conversation.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

“Mary Beth, oh thank god you’re all right. I was just looking for you about the house ...”

[scarecrow]

A really old one, this one. Just about a bunch of mean people being mean. Be wary, barbed comments awry.

Samantha's black heels click-clacked rapidly as she made her way speedily towards her destination. Every step she took resonated in the school's hallway, and no one could help but turn to look to see where the noise was coming from. Even in something as simple as walking it semed that Samantha had found a way to command the attention of the people around her. Some might even say that she did it consciously. Whatever the case, she turned many heads as every step sounded like a miniature gunshot in the acoustic halls.

"Hey Sam," said a short, plump brunette girl cheerily as Sam and Dina whizzed past.

"Hey Beth. I love that top on you."

"Thanks."

Sam and Dina turned a corner and started descending down a flight of stairs. Sam turned to Dina and said mockingly, "I'd love any top that distracted me from her horse teeth."

Both girls giggled, and Dina added, "Well, it certainly doesn't distract from that roll of belly fat."

"Someone ought to tell her to shove a finger down her throat and be done with it, 'cause that pig will never trim down on her 'diet', and I am sick of watching that whale swell." They made it to their lockers, where they quickly opened them and took a good hard look at themselves in their mirrors, in preparation for the big day.

Samantha did all she could not to look smug. She took pride in how she looked in her little black dress, so tight that it left nothing to the imagination, and super short, so she could bare her tanned, long legs. Coupled with her black heels, killer makeup and oh-so-perfect dirty blonde hair, she had to admit she was a knockout. No girl in school could possibly match up to her.

Still, her friend Dina was a close second. White tankini, low cut blue jeans, and brilliant blonde hair in a ponytial, she looked like an innocent schoolgirl, the kind that drove the guys wild. A perfect foil for Samantha's bad girl, come-hither outfit.

Grabbing some books and slamming the locker closed, she turned to Dina. "So, be honest, how do I look?"

"Hot enough to fry eggs on," said Gina distractedly, applying some blush to her cheeks. Turning to Samantha to find an aghast look on her face, she contributed quickly, "Sorry, I just didn't have any breakfast this morning."

"Bet three-chins Beth never thought to skip a meal," laughed Samantha, and Gina closed her locker giggling, as the two set off to complete the day's mission. "Ok, now seriously, do I look ok?"

"You look amazing," said Gina pacifyingly, putting a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "If Abram doesn't snatch you up, he's probably playing for the other team."

"Don't even -" Sam said, but was interrupted as she turned a corner and bumped into a tall, dark-skinned guy she'd never seen before. She ricocheted backwards, dropping her books on the floor and sprawling flat on her a**. A couple of people in the area starting giggling at the sight, but were quickly silenced by the killing glare that Sam sweeped over the hall. A large callous hand strecthed down towards her.

"I'm so sorry," said the guy who'd knocked her down, offering to help her up. A shove in his chest told him that his help wasn't wanted, causing his beret to topple of his head.

"You clumsy ass, why don't you watch were you're going?" grumbled Sam loudly as she struggled to get up herself. Finally on her feet, she stared at the face of the stranger, which was now adorned with a look of befuddlement at her remark.

"I said I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"Oh, yeah? Well, I bet you didn't mean to look like a baboon's hindquarters or sound like a tranny, but somehow all that just happened too." Sam straightened a strap on her dress, and bent down again to pick up her books.

"Geez, who stuck the stick up your a**?" said the guy harshly, causing Samantha to snapup and stare at him again. This time the guy was looking a little annoyed. Why should he be the one getting angry, he was the one who made her look like an idiot. Samantha decided to let him have it.

"Listen to me, I have no time for a cuckold, pencildick jackass like you right now, so take your beret and your cue ball of a head and find someone else to push around." She snatched the beret from the floor and crumpled it in her hand, shoving it into his chest.

"Samantha, what's gotten into you?" said Ms. Ginger, the vice principal, who apparently had been walking with the guy. "What kind of language is that to use in school grounds, or at all?"

"Oh, don't mind her, Ms. Ginger," said the guy, still glaring at Sam. "It's not her fault. When you grow up as trailer trash, you sometimes can't help yourself."

"Dentention, both of you," said Ms. Ginger, as she pushed the guy ahead of her, continuing to wherever they had been headed. "Today, 3:30, don't be late."

"By the way, I love your hair color. Number 42 right? I know 'cause I've got this b*tch at home who uses it when her fur starts looking drab."

Samantha's teeth gnashed together in rage, unable to retort as Ms. Ginger was in the vicinity. "Mr. Clyde, how dare you?" said Ms. Ginger, grabbing the guy by the arm and dragging him down the hall. "You're making trouble on your first day? We're gonna have to see the principal about you."

"Just my luck, detention" grimaced Samantha, and stormed down the hall, Gina at her heels, her heels echoing down the hall with the ferocity of thunder. "Get out of my way, mamma's boy," shrieked Sam, shoving the janitor out of her way, toppling him and his mop bucket as she went thundering on her way to her first class, as she passed a puzzled Abram and posse.

Abram turned to his buddies, waves of soapy water hitting his shoes, and said, "Looks like someone's pms-ing."