Hypnotized by the rhythmic pitter-patter of the spitting drops of water as they hit the tiles stained with mildew and God knows what else, Dylan forgot that his body existed. With his petrified hands clamped tightly to his mouth, he stared in silence and absorbed the scene that lay sprawled on the floor of the stall. For three whole minutes of eternity, he was motionless; he could neither breathe nor blink. Even the pounding of his heart had slowed, and the heavy reverb of its kick drum sound drowned out by the screeching shower head above. The steam in the air soaked his skin like a morning dew. He never even noticed the churning in his gut, or the small acidic butterflies that burned inside his throat.
Asphyxiation. His starving lungs gasped desperately for oxygen, letting out the pig squeal of a shallow breathe. When at last he inhaled, he felt the air sift through the cracks between his fingers and softly tickle his skin, just enough to tear him from his daze and alert him to the truth before his eyes.
(To Be Continued)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A Letter to the Boston Police Department
Dear BPD,
Remember the time that an evil, crooked man attempted--several times, mind you--to kill me today? I called you up on telephone, using that "911" number I received from you at the ball all those weeks ago, and told you all my horrifying experience biking along Massachusetts Avenue when the evil, crooked man in question tried repeatedly to drive his dark green Toyota Camry (Massachusetts license plate #67Z G73) into my bicycle like some kind moving target. We had a lovely conversation--your silky smooth alto was so full of empathy, and really helped to calm me down after this horrifying attempt on my life. Although I was fine, you offered to call an ambulance or other such service for me. I gave you the direction that the driver was heading, as well as a physical description of the man. You even asked me for my phone number, so that someone from the BPD could call me and gather information for an official report.
But alas, more than six hours passed, and I did not receive any such phone call. And what's more, when I called the Police Headquarters and inquired as to the status of the incident report, I was informed that no such report existed! My outgoing call log insists that I made a 3 minute 911 call at 11:43 this morning, there was no proof of this communication. Why, there were no hit-and-runs reported at all today!
Sweet Lady Justice, how would you do this to me? In my most vulnerable moment, where my life flashed before me only seconds earlier, you manipulated me and made me believe that I could trust you. Just like a woman! I should like to see you hanged in the square for such treachery, but I'm told that this is an antiquated practice, apparently much like THE FUCKING BOSTON POLICE DEPARTMENT DOING THEIR GODDAMN JOB FOR ONCE INSTEAD OF FEIGNING INTEREST AND ALLOWING MY WOULD-BE MURDERER TO ESCAPE WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A SLAP ON THE FUCKING WRIST.
I do hope you would show me such kindness the next time that you confront me for being drunk in public
Sincerely, me
Remember the time that an evil, crooked man attempted--several times, mind you--to kill me today? I called you up on telephone, using that "911" number I received from you at the ball all those weeks ago, and told you all my horrifying experience biking along Massachusetts Avenue when the evil, crooked man in question tried repeatedly to drive his dark green Toyota Camry (Massachusetts license plate #67Z G73) into my bicycle like some kind moving target. We had a lovely conversation--your silky smooth alto was so full of empathy, and really helped to calm me down after this horrifying attempt on my life. Although I was fine, you offered to call an ambulance or other such service for me. I gave you the direction that the driver was heading, as well as a physical description of the man. You even asked me for my phone number, so that someone from the BPD could call me and gather information for an official report.
But alas, more than six hours passed, and I did not receive any such phone call. And what's more, when I called the Police Headquarters and inquired as to the status of the incident report, I was informed that no such report existed! My outgoing call log insists that I made a 3 minute 911 call at 11:43 this morning, there was no proof of this communication. Why, there were no hit-and-runs reported at all today!
Sweet Lady Justice, how would you do this to me? In my most vulnerable moment, where my life flashed before me only seconds earlier, you manipulated me and made me believe that I could trust you. Just like a woman! I should like to see you hanged in the square for such treachery, but I'm told that this is an antiquated practice, apparently much like THE FUCKING BOSTON POLICE DEPARTMENT DOING THEIR GODDAMN JOB FOR ONCE INSTEAD OF FEIGNING INTEREST AND ALLOWING MY WOULD-BE MURDERER TO ESCAPE WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A SLAP ON THE FUCKING WRIST.
I do hope you would show me such kindness the next time that you confront me for being drunk in public
Sincerely, me
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
A Letter to Tom DeLonge
Dear Tom DeLonge,
First let me begin by saying that I have always defended you whenever some self-righteous hipster asshole knocks on Blink182; truth be told, if you're between the ages of 18 and 25 and you DON'T own a copy of either "Enema of the State," or "Take Off Your Pants and Jacket," then you probably never, ever had friends growing up. Yes, I realize that now it's uncool, and most self-respecting 18-to-25-year-olds have outgrown it, but still: it was a significant part of most of our adolescent lives.
I had the misfortune of seeing your new band, Angels and Airwaves, this past week and feel like the few happy memories I have of adolescence have been brutally raped and slaughtered. No longer will I be able to look back on those days spent in Andrew's attic bedroom, rocking out to "Dammit" and playing Dreamcast after school. No, Tom DeLonge, your latest attempt at "Blin182-does-'Disintegration'" is an abomination. Did you really need all of the ridiculous strobe lights trained on the audience, flashing wildly to cover up your mistakes? And why the fuck were you prancing around the stage twirling glow sticks during one of the few moments of darkness when my eyes finally had a break? I'm all about performance art when done with a purpose, but extending your arms and hanging them in crucifixion position, or mounting green laser light goggles for 8 bars and looking frantically around the auditorium for the lone sorry sap that actually gives a shit about what you're doing, is hardly art; it's masturbation.
To be honest, I kind of miss the days when you were all about masturbation, and were damn proud of it. Now I suffer from horrible visuals of your beer-bellied, pushing-40, black-nail-painted self running around naked like in the video for "What's My Age Again?" in my head, and every time I think about it I throw up in my mouth. At least you accepted the fact that you can't even play guitar, but to make up for it you spent most of the set frolicking across the stage and posing like that creepy old guy that goes to the same karaoke bar every goddamn week and sings shitty 80s ballads way too over-dramatically, hoping desperately that someone will "discover" him (or like me when I'm singing Meat Loaf...which is intentionally meant to be ironic...really...)
When Blink182 broke up 4 years ago (why do I remember that?), it was as if they had died for the collective sins of everyone who had been a teenager in the early '00s. Do us all a favor and lose the fucking martyr complex; I'd like to salvage at least one happy memory of ignorant, innocent, adolescent bliss.
Sincerely,
"Dude Ranch" was better
PS Robert Smith called. He wants his shtick back.
PPS My pupils still aren't dilating properly and I'm sending you the optometry bill, asshole.
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Sound of Silence
Carey always had a sharp ear--her mother was an opera singer-turned-voice instructor who raised her girl to always stay in tune with the sounds of places and words and the world around her. As she grew older, she found comfort in the lingering baritone reverb of a man's voice, and the sultry sounds of thoughts sneaking past pursed lips and hanging softly in the air, leaving a trail of audible bread crumbs behind. Even her own mezzo-alto echo could glide with the weight of a hummingbird's song.
It was the complete absence of an echo, however, that made Ben's adverse reaction to her news so shocking. The cavernous boom of his refusal was hardly a tickle in Carey's mind compared to the sight of him catching her words in mid-air and crushing them in his hand, letting the syllables sift lie sand through his clenched fingers. There was nothing more haunting to her than the absence of sound; nothing more isolating than the feeling of still, silent air on her skin. Carey felt asthmatic; without the vibrations of soundwaves and frequencies, the air tasted thin and dead. She looked down and saw every plosive and sibilant shattered like glass fall and sprinkle the ground. That was when she knew that she never taste the resonant tones of Ben's sweet voice again.
Spirit Weak
Mrs. Bartleby was never one for mystical events, and when rumors spread of the spiritual wildfire that had consumed the other parishes in the region, her skepticism held fast and strong. That's not to say that she never had faith--she had plenty to go around--but she simply found those wild spiritual gifts and fits of holy enlightenment to be somewhat absurd and exaggerated.
Imagine the look of surprise on the parishioners' faces on that Sunday morning when Mrs. Bartleby stood up after writhing like a dying snake on the floor of the pew. She nonchalantly patted off the gathered dust from her best blue dress, trying hard not to acknowledge that mere moments earlier, her heart had become a fault line, casting wild tremors through her body. Mrs. Bartleby simply wiped the spilled silva from her chin, pulled her dress back down, and neatened her hair.
When she finally surveyed the scene, hoping no one noticed her, she was greeted by a sea of wide, frozen, lemur eyes, all aimed unflinchingly towards her. She stammered for a moment before turning back to face the altar and lifting her face up ever so slightly. Sensing the collective eyes still trained her, she waited a moment before announcing, "I had a bad cough this week. That must have been the last of it."
Satisfied with her response, the parishioners looked away, and Father Bailey continued on with the mass as if nothing had happened.
"At this time--especially in such a sensitive and tumultuous climate," he boomed through the house PA, "it is important to ask yourselves: who would Jesus vote for, if he were able? Now, I cannot answer this query for you, but I should not have to remind you all that the Lord is with us everyday, and we need only to open our hearts and listen and we will find the answers and the guidance that we need to make such difficult decisions in even more difficult times..."
When the congregation rose shortly thereafter, Mrs. Bartleby excused herself, hiding in the shuffle, and slipped away to the bathroom to fix her hair.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Here's Your Future
SETTING:
A dimly-lit public house, where everything is made of whiskey-stained wood. The bar is an island or penninsula, with patrons on at least three sides and racks of upside-down glassware overhead.
PAGE 1
1/1 WIDE-NARRATOR’S POV
The narrator brings a glass of beer down from his mouth towards the bartop; his face is not seen, though his speech indicates that he’s a bit drun. The bartender is cleaning glasses. Seated on a different side of the bar from Cain is ADAM NG, an Asian male, about 26 years old. A Grad student at MIT, Adam is wearing a striped sweater or possibly a polo and looks like he’s been here for a while, drowning himself in a glass. The rest of the bar is populated by regulars/townies and a group of Adam’s peers, all wrapped up in celebration. A “Congratulations” banner hangs across the ceiling over a large booth.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
So this is then.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Now. Whatever.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
This is...what’d you call this?
1/2 MEDIUM CLOSE
The bartender looks up at the narrator with a baffled, incredulous expression tinged with a slight hint of annoyance. He is still cleaning glasses.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Despite a few changes in its archaic aesthetic, it’s really not much different when I’m from.
BARTENDER
Guinness.
1/3 CLOSE
The Narrator holds the glass up to his eye, observing its deep opaqueness and creamy head. For the most part, the glass obscures his face.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
People don’t change. Not really, anyway.
BARTENDER
Where’d you say you were from again?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
There’s a comforting consistency in the way that people interact, no matter when or where you go.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
Where?
1/4
Close on Adam Ng, moping, completely oblivious that he is the focal point. Cain and the Bartender continue their conversation in the background, unnoticed. The Narrator’s face is still somewhat obscured and/or lacking in detail.
NARRATOR
Around. I guess.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
Gulp
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
Guinness. Huh. Wish they still made this stuff. Don’t know why they’d ever stop.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Adam Ng might be the smartest guy in his class, though he’s far from the top.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
By the fall of his sophomore year, he was the TA for a seminar class in Nonlinear Optics.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Now?
1/5 CLOSE
Adam sits up drowsily and tries to get the bartender’s attention for another drink. JAE, one of Adam’s peers, comes up behind him. Jae is much more hip and fashionable than Adam.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Supersymmetry.
JAE
C’mon, man. Hang out with us over here for a while. What, are you gonna spend the whole damn night hunched on a bar stool?
PAGE 2
2/1 MEDIUM WIDE-TWO SHOT
Jae helps Adam off his stool and drags him begrudgingly to join the rest of the group beneath the “Congratulations!” sign.
JAE
Hey--I’ll even buy you a drink. You deserve it, after all. Hey, sound good? Hey! Adam?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
They’re celebrating the culmination of a directed study project that they’ve been working on for over a year now. Adam actually came up with the idea while he was still an undergrad.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Together, they organized the First Annual Time Traveler’s Convention.
2/2 SAME ANGLE
Jae and Adam look up or squint or shield their eyes as a blinding light from outside bursts through the windows and consumes the inside of the bar.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
They advertised the event by slipping invitations into time capsules, library books, and anything else they think of, in hopes that they might be found by the technologically savvy denizens of a future time.
2/3 SAME ANGLE
The bright light subsides; Adam and Jae look on as their pupils adjust to the sudden change.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Everything went smoothly and according to plan--there were lecturers from across the globe, bikini-clad models wearing fake Vulcan ears, and all the best food that the early aughts could offer--but there was still something missing. There was one minor detail that went overlooked:
2/4
The bottom half of the page reveals a man in futuristic garments entering the bar, with parking lot flood lights spilling in behind him; this is CAIN. His clothes should be fashionable, functional, and realistic as far as futuristic garments are concerned, but they should also be somewhat on-the-nose and stereotypical: an aluminum-looking jumpsuit with racing stripes the side, etc. It should be clear that he is from the future, or at least that he’s supposed to be; if one were to cast doubt on him because of his attire, it would be a valid argument.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
There were no time travelers.
CAIN
Uh, hey.
CAIN (SMALL) (CONT’D)
Am I late?
CAIN (SMALLER) (CONT’D)
Dammit.
PAGE 3
3/1 CLOSE
The Narrator takes another drink from his glass.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Right on time.
3/2 SAME ANGLE
The Narrator wipes his mouth after putting the glass down.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Well, relatively speaking.
JAE (O.S.)
Can I help you?
3/3 MEDIUM TWO-SHOT
Jae approaches Cain, offering help; Adam is nearby, disgruntled and clearly not amused by the stunt. Cain wears something on his wrist that is blinking wildly.
CAIN
Yeah. I came for the time travelers’ convention?
CAIN (CONT’D)
(Wow, this is embarrassing)
JAE
Sorry, man. That ended a few hours ago.
3/4 MEDIUM
Cain recoils in frustration and looks to the device on his wrist. Jae is curious and looks on, trying to help, but Adam throws his hands up, completely over the whole thing.
CAIN
Dammit!
JAE
Did you travel far, or...?
CAIN
Yeah. Right.
CAIN (CONT’D)
It’s this stupid thing. Never works how or when I want it to.
ADAM (SMALL)
I can’t believe this.
JAE
What is that thing?
PAGE 4
4/1 CLOSE
The Narrator looks at his own wrist, which sports a device that is remarkably similar to Cain’s. It, too, is blinking and beeping frantically.
CAIN (O.S.)
It’s a Tachyon Compression Gauge
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
You are such an idiot.
CAIN (O.S.)
When it works, at least.
CAIN (O.S.) (CONT’D)
It’s supposed to read and monitor stringent and derivative particles in divergent timelines . Or something like that, I don’t know.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Now or then. Doesn’t matter.
4/2 MEDIUM CLOSE
Cain hits the device on his wrist, hoping it will work.
CAIN
Stupid thing...!
CAIN (CONT’D)
Work, dammit!
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
It’s our fault. It’s our fault that it’s flipping out. It’s our fault that it’s out of control.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
The NavDeck onboard is picking up my presence in the room and the Aparadox meter is trying to warn you:
4/3 MEDIUM
Cain sits down at the bar, a few seats away from Adam. He is frustrated and disappointed with his failure. Jae follows him in attempt to inquire more, though he remains standing. The Narrator sits across the bar from Cain, and manages to obscure his face once more. The Bartender is also present, making drinks or cleaning glasses, etc.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
We are dangerously close to a potentially disastrous breach of the space/time continuum.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Don’t you get it? We could end it all, right now, right here!
JAE
So you’re a...time traveler?
ADAM (SMALL)
Oh, give it up.
JAE
But you’re--correct me if I’m wrong--but you’re not on time. Is that what you’re trying to say?
4/4 MEDIUM-BARTENDER’S POV
The Bartender looks away from Cain, rolling his eyes as he continues about his work. Cain, Adam, and Jae are visible in the background, continuing their exchange.
CAIN
...
CAIN (CONT’D)
It’s not an exact science, you know.
CAIN (CONT’D)
In the grander scheme of things--of history--a day is the equivalent of a second in our own lives.
4/5 SAME ANGLE
The Bartender looks at the Narrator is an intensely curious expression; the gears in his mind are clearly hard at work. Meanwhile, in the background, Cain takes notice of Adam Ng.
CAIN
But yeah. My name’s Cain. I’m a time traveler, who apparently can’t get anywhere on time.
CAIN (SMALL) (CONT’D)
Laugh it up.
CAIN (CONT’D)
...
CAIN (CONT’D)
Hey, aren’t you Adam Ng?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Oh no. Please don’t.
4/6 SAME
The Bartender quickly turns his head to look at Cain; he’s made the connection between the two of them. Cain, meanwhile, addresses Adam..
ADAM
I’m Adam.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Please don’t say anything. Please. The structural integrity of space/time depends on it. Please don’t acknowledge us.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Although...
PAGE 5
5/1 MEDIUM TWO-SHOT
Adam turns around on his bar stool to talk to Cain. In the background, the bartender continues his sequence of curious looks exchanged between Cain and the Narrator. The Narrator raises his glass, asking for another drink, in an attempt to distract him.
CAIN
You’re him? You’re Adam Ng!
ADAM
...
ADAM (CONT’D)
Yeah. Listen. I get what you’re doing. And I appreciate it, guys. Really. But it’s cool, you know?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
The last time that I lived through this, the bartender must have noticed the exact same thing. And yet, he didn’t do a thing about it.
5/2 MEDIUM CLOSE
Adam sits front and center, making exaggerated and dramatic motions with his hands as he tries to discard the obvious truth of the situation.
ADAM
You hired some guy to show up and pretend he’s from the future, which will, in turn, make me feel better about today’s event.
ADAM (CONT’D)
At least that’s what you’re going for.
ADAM (CONT’D)
And I get it. I do. But it’s totally unnecessary.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
This whole scene has played out, exactly as it’s going to.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
For reality’s sake, I don’t want to change it. And even if I did--would I really have a choice?
5/3 MEDIUM
The Bartender fills up drinks for the gathering of Adam, Jae, and Cain.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Could I jump up right now and yell, ‘It’s true! We’re from the future, see?’
ADAM
It’s not the end of the world, Jae. You know, we get credit for the conference, and in the meantime, we keep working on it in the lab.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Am I paralyzed by the fear of breaking down existence? Or am I paralyzed by pre-destination, by the fact that this is already written?
ADAM
And someday, somewhere down the line, it’ll go from purely theoretical to actual research, with practical application.
CAIN
No!
5/4 MEDIUM WIDE-NARRATOR’S POV
The Narrator perks up as the scene across the bar gets heated. Cain tries to explain his point, but Jae won’t have it.
JAE
I swear to you, I’ve never seen this guy-
CAIN
Adam. You’re the one. Don’t you get it? Everything I’ve read--everything I’ve learned about time travel, it all starts with you! It all starts with now. With today.
CAIN (CONT’D)
Edison. Franklin. Ng. That’s like, the trinity of science in my time!
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
It’s a strange sensation: you know the endgame, and yet you just can’t help but watch as each move plays itself out, exactly as imagined.
5/5 MEDIUM
Cain gets up from his seat and bar and walks away towards the door, throwing his hand up in disbelief, defeat, and irritation. Adam and Jae look on in shock
CAIN
You know what? Forget it.
CAIN (CONT’D)
I’ll just recalibrate and try again.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Wow.
CAIN
And you know what? I don’t even care if it creates another divergent time stream. I really don’t.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
How come no one told me I was such a prick?
PAGE 6
6/1 SAME ANGLE
Adam and Jae look on as Cain exits the bar; the same blinding light from before consumes the panel.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Was a prick?
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Ah, who am I kidding.
6/2 SAME ANGLE
Adam and Jae look at each other in disbelief.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Not too long ago, that was who I am, and I suppose it still is.
6/3 CLOSE
The Narrator puts his glass down on the bar.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Loose time.
6/4 WIDE-OVER-THE-SHOULDER--NARRATOR’S POV
The Narrator rises from the bar stool as he observes Adam and Jae.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Things aren’t as specific as they were before. History leaves some wiggle room now.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
But only some.
6/5 MEDIUM
The Narrator approaches Adam and Jae with his hand extended for a shake. For the first time, we see his face clearly--it is Cain, with a five o’clock shadow and slightly messier or longer hair, wearing an outfit salvaged together from Goodwill over his jumpsuit.
NARRATOR
Hi, excuse me, um--I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but, well--
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
I’d like to talk to you about time travel.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
I think we’ve met before, in some form or another. My name is Cain.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
I was born in 2137, and this is my Tachyon Compression Gauge...
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
So here’s your future.
A dimly-lit public house, where everything is made of whiskey-stained wood. The bar is an island or penninsula, with patrons on at least three sides and racks of upside-down glassware overhead.
PAGE 1
1/1 WIDE-NARRATOR’S POV
The narrator brings a glass of beer down from his mouth towards the bartop; his face is not seen, though his speech indicates that he’s a bit drun. The bartender is cleaning glasses. Seated on a different side of the bar from Cain is ADAM NG, an Asian male, about 26 years old. A Grad student at MIT, Adam is wearing a striped sweater or possibly a polo and looks like he’s been here for a while, drowning himself in a glass. The rest of the bar is populated by regulars/townies and a group of Adam’s peers, all wrapped up in celebration. A “Congratulations” banner hangs across the ceiling over a large booth.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
So this is then.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Now. Whatever.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
This is...what’d you call this?
1/2 MEDIUM CLOSE
The bartender looks up at the narrator with a baffled, incredulous expression tinged with a slight hint of annoyance. He is still cleaning glasses.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Despite a few changes in its archaic aesthetic, it’s really not much different when I’m from.
BARTENDER
Guinness.
1/3 CLOSE
The Narrator holds the glass up to his eye, observing its deep opaqueness and creamy head. For the most part, the glass obscures his face.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
People don’t change. Not really, anyway.
BARTENDER
Where’d you say you were from again?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
There’s a comforting consistency in the way that people interact, no matter when or where you go.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
Where?
1/4
Close on Adam Ng, moping, completely oblivious that he is the focal point. Cain and the Bartender continue their conversation in the background, unnoticed. The Narrator’s face is still somewhat obscured and/or lacking in detail.
NARRATOR
Around. I guess.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
Gulp
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
Guinness. Huh. Wish they still made this stuff. Don’t know why they’d ever stop.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Adam Ng might be the smartest guy in his class, though he’s far from the top.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
By the fall of his sophomore year, he was the TA for a seminar class in Nonlinear Optics.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Now?
1/5 CLOSE
Adam sits up drowsily and tries to get the bartender’s attention for another drink. JAE, one of Adam’s peers, comes up behind him. Jae is much more hip and fashionable than Adam.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Supersymmetry.
JAE
C’mon, man. Hang out with us over here for a while. What, are you gonna spend the whole damn night hunched on a bar stool?
PAGE 2
2/1 MEDIUM WIDE-TWO SHOT
Jae helps Adam off his stool and drags him begrudgingly to join the rest of the group beneath the “Congratulations!” sign.
JAE
Hey--I’ll even buy you a drink. You deserve it, after all. Hey, sound good? Hey! Adam?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
They’re celebrating the culmination of a directed study project that they’ve been working on for over a year now. Adam actually came up with the idea while he was still an undergrad.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Together, they organized the First Annual Time Traveler’s Convention.
2/2 SAME ANGLE
Jae and Adam look up or squint or shield their eyes as a blinding light from outside bursts through the windows and consumes the inside of the bar.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
They advertised the event by slipping invitations into time capsules, library books, and anything else they think of, in hopes that they might be found by the technologically savvy denizens of a future time.
2/3 SAME ANGLE
The bright light subsides; Adam and Jae look on as their pupils adjust to the sudden change.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Everything went smoothly and according to plan--there were lecturers from across the globe, bikini-clad models wearing fake Vulcan ears, and all the best food that the early aughts could offer--but there was still something missing. There was one minor detail that went overlooked:
2/4
The bottom half of the page reveals a man in futuristic garments entering the bar, with parking lot flood lights spilling in behind him; this is CAIN. His clothes should be fashionable, functional, and realistic as far as futuristic garments are concerned, but they should also be somewhat on-the-nose and stereotypical: an aluminum-looking jumpsuit with racing stripes the side, etc. It should be clear that he is from the future, or at least that he’s supposed to be; if one were to cast doubt on him because of his attire, it would be a valid argument.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
There were no time travelers.
CAIN
Uh, hey.
CAIN (SMALL) (CONT’D)
Am I late?
CAIN (SMALLER) (CONT’D)
Dammit.
PAGE 3
3/1 CLOSE
The Narrator takes another drink from his glass.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Right on time.
3/2 SAME ANGLE
The Narrator wipes his mouth after putting the glass down.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Well, relatively speaking.
JAE (O.S.)
Can I help you?
3/3 MEDIUM TWO-SHOT
Jae approaches Cain, offering help; Adam is nearby, disgruntled and clearly not amused by the stunt. Cain wears something on his wrist that is blinking wildly.
CAIN
Yeah. I came for the time travelers’ convention?
CAIN (CONT’D)
(Wow, this is embarrassing)
JAE
Sorry, man. That ended a few hours ago.
3/4 MEDIUM
Cain recoils in frustration and looks to the device on his wrist. Jae is curious and looks on, trying to help, but Adam throws his hands up, completely over the whole thing.
CAIN
Dammit!
JAE
Did you travel far, or...?
CAIN
Yeah. Right.
CAIN (CONT’D)
It’s this stupid thing. Never works how or when I want it to.
ADAM (SMALL)
I can’t believe this.
JAE
What is that thing?
PAGE 4
4/1 CLOSE
The Narrator looks at his own wrist, which sports a device that is remarkably similar to Cain’s. It, too, is blinking and beeping frantically.
CAIN (O.S.)
It’s a Tachyon Compression Gauge
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
You are such an idiot.
CAIN (O.S.)
When it works, at least.
CAIN (O.S.) (CONT’D)
It’s supposed to read and monitor stringent and derivative particles in divergent timelines . Or something like that, I don’t know.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Now or then. Doesn’t matter.
4/2 MEDIUM CLOSE
Cain hits the device on his wrist, hoping it will work.
CAIN
Stupid thing...!
CAIN (CONT’D)
Work, dammit!
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
It’s our fault. It’s our fault that it’s flipping out. It’s our fault that it’s out of control.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
The NavDeck onboard is picking up my presence in the room and the Aparadox meter is trying to warn you:
4/3 MEDIUM
Cain sits down at the bar, a few seats away from Adam. He is frustrated and disappointed with his failure. Jae follows him in attempt to inquire more, though he remains standing. The Narrator sits across the bar from Cain, and manages to obscure his face once more. The Bartender is also present, making drinks or cleaning glasses, etc.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
We are dangerously close to a potentially disastrous breach of the space/time continuum.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Don’t you get it? We could end it all, right now, right here!
JAE
So you’re a...time traveler?
ADAM (SMALL)
Oh, give it up.
JAE
But you’re--correct me if I’m wrong--but you’re not on time. Is that what you’re trying to say?
4/4 MEDIUM-BARTENDER’S POV
The Bartender looks away from Cain, rolling his eyes as he continues about his work. Cain, Adam, and Jae are visible in the background, continuing their exchange.
CAIN
...
CAIN (CONT’D)
It’s not an exact science, you know.
CAIN (CONT’D)
In the grander scheme of things--of history--a day is the equivalent of a second in our own lives.
4/5 SAME ANGLE
The Bartender looks at the Narrator is an intensely curious expression; the gears in his mind are clearly hard at work. Meanwhile, in the background, Cain takes notice of Adam Ng.
CAIN
But yeah. My name’s Cain. I’m a time traveler, who apparently can’t get anywhere on time.
CAIN (SMALL) (CONT’D)
Laugh it up.
CAIN (CONT’D)
...
CAIN (CONT’D)
Hey, aren’t you Adam Ng?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Oh no. Please don’t.
4/6 SAME
The Bartender quickly turns his head to look at Cain; he’s made the connection between the two of them. Cain, meanwhile, addresses Adam..
ADAM
I’m Adam.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Please don’t say anything. Please. The structural integrity of space/time depends on it. Please don’t acknowledge us.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Although...
PAGE 5
5/1 MEDIUM TWO-SHOT
Adam turns around on his bar stool to talk to Cain. In the background, the bartender continues his sequence of curious looks exchanged between Cain and the Narrator. The Narrator raises his glass, asking for another drink, in an attempt to distract him.
CAIN
You’re him? You’re Adam Ng!
ADAM
...
ADAM (CONT’D)
Yeah. Listen. I get what you’re doing. And I appreciate it, guys. Really. But it’s cool, you know?
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
The last time that I lived through this, the bartender must have noticed the exact same thing. And yet, he didn’t do a thing about it.
5/2 MEDIUM CLOSE
Adam sits front and center, making exaggerated and dramatic motions with his hands as he tries to discard the obvious truth of the situation.
ADAM
You hired some guy to show up and pretend he’s from the future, which will, in turn, make me feel better about today’s event.
ADAM (CONT’D)
At least that’s what you’re going for.
ADAM (CONT’D)
And I get it. I do. But it’s totally unnecessary.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
This whole scene has played out, exactly as it’s going to.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
For reality’s sake, I don’t want to change it. And even if I did--would I really have a choice?
5/3 MEDIUM
The Bartender fills up drinks for the gathering of Adam, Jae, and Cain.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Could I jump up right now and yell, ‘It’s true! We’re from the future, see?’
ADAM
It’s not the end of the world, Jae. You know, we get credit for the conference, and in the meantime, we keep working on it in the lab.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Am I paralyzed by the fear of breaking down existence? Or am I paralyzed by pre-destination, by the fact that this is already written?
ADAM
And someday, somewhere down the line, it’ll go from purely theoretical to actual research, with practical application.
CAIN
No!
5/4 MEDIUM WIDE-NARRATOR’S POV
The Narrator perks up as the scene across the bar gets heated. Cain tries to explain his point, but Jae won’t have it.
JAE
I swear to you, I’ve never seen this guy-
CAIN
Adam. You’re the one. Don’t you get it? Everything I’ve read--everything I’ve learned about time travel, it all starts with you! It all starts with now. With today.
CAIN (CONT’D)
Edison. Franklin. Ng. That’s like, the trinity of science in my time!
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
It’s a strange sensation: you know the endgame, and yet you just can’t help but watch as each move plays itself out, exactly as imagined.
5/5 MEDIUM
Cain gets up from his seat and bar and walks away towards the door, throwing his hand up in disbelief, defeat, and irritation. Adam and Jae look on in shock
CAIN
You know what? Forget it.
CAIN (CONT’D)
I’ll just recalibrate and try again.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Wow.
CAIN
And you know what? I don’t even care if it creates another divergent time stream. I really don’t.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
How come no one told me I was such a prick?
PAGE 6
6/1 SAME ANGLE
Adam and Jae look on as Cain exits the bar; the same blinding light from before consumes the panel.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Was a prick?
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
Ah, who am I kidding.
6/2 SAME ANGLE
Adam and Jae look at each other in disbelief.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Not too long ago, that was who I am, and I suppose it still is.
6/3 CLOSE
The Narrator puts his glass down on the bar.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Loose time.
6/4 WIDE-OVER-THE-SHOULDER--NARRATOR’S POV
The Narrator rises from the bar stool as he observes Adam and Jae.
NARRATOR (CAPTION)
Things aren’t as specific as they were before. History leaves some wiggle room now.
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
But only some.
6/5 MEDIUM
The Narrator approaches Adam and Jae with his hand extended for a shake. For the first time, we see his face clearly--it is Cain, with a five o’clock shadow and slightly messier or longer hair, wearing an outfit salvaged together from Goodwill over his jumpsuit.
NARRATOR
Hi, excuse me, um--I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but, well--
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
I’d like to talk to you about time travel.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
I think we’ve met before, in some form or another. My name is Cain.
NARRATOR (CONT’D)
I was born in 2137, and this is my Tachyon Compression Gauge...
NARRATOR (CAPTION) (CONT’D)
So here’s your future.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
The Beginning of the Fall
Anna brought the telescope down from her eye, observing the tumbling autumn landscape outside through the thin glass veil of bedroom window instead. One hand grasped nervously for the sill at the bottom, while the other reached for the lock above and deliberated; she unlocked the window with her top hand, but couldn’t bring herself to lift it up. Anna recoiled in fear and fell amongst the junkyard of books that filled her bedroom: thesauruses, dictionaries, and collections of all the classics, like Shakespeare, Milton, Marlowe, Hawthorne, Dickens. A pile of pages like feathers, torn from volumes of Dickinson and Plath, cushioned her fall as she grabbed for her telescope and brought again to her eye, spying on the world outside of her room.
Anna hated the fall.
She felt that its name was indicative of its disposition—death, decay, and collapse, the end of the things. As Rome had fallen, so does Mother Nature and the world outside that Anna loves so well. She found comfort in the cyclical quality of life, knowing that, after being covered in a white quilt of serenity for months, the vibrant colors that she loved so much would return to her life, new and fresh and good. She refused to leave her room during these months, for fear that she, too, would wilt and crumble in that chilling autumn breeze that tears each leaf from its stem and sounds it crashing to the hard, cold ground below. Gone was the sensual, seductive show of skin, replaced instead with chapped fingers and lips and necks hidden under scarves. Purples and pinks and blues and greens become shades of grey and all the squirrels and birds run far, far away.
She threw away the telescope once more and bounded for her bed, fumbling to fit her glasses on her nose, as she pulled out her diary and tried to capture all the colorful words that she could before the day was done and the summer gone for good. She knew that she should be outside, enjoying these last hours of summer as they transitioned into fall, but she was afraid of being caught in the change herself, so she opted instead to capture all the thoughts and images she could and horde them in her notebook.
And then the doorbell rang.
Like a squirrel hearing giant footsteps approaching, breaking twigs as they march, Anna perked her head up, extending her neck longer than she thought she could, and looked around. The doorbell sounded again. Cautiously, she put her notebook down and placed her pen in the fold of the spine between the pages and went to the door. She looked first through the small peephole, which reminded her of the telescope from which she watched the world whither, but she saw no one. She turned the deadbolt and opened the door as far as the chain would allow and saw a sliver of a child in a brown dress. But Anna looked beyond this and saw the pigments of fire—oranges, reds, yellows—sprinkled sparsely throughout the sea of green that surrounded her home. For a moment, Anna felt warmed and comforted by this sight, but almost immediately thereafter found herself overcome once again by the fear of that fire spreading, killing each bract and blade and signaling the End.
“Would you like to support Troop 621 and buy some cookies, ma’am?” asked the girl outside, with the sweet, curious naivety that only a child can provide. With a gentle smile of relief, Anna undid the chain lock and welcomed the young girl’s sale as she realized that perhaps the gentle wind that shook her hair would quell the fire, which in turn might give her solace in the coming chill.
Anna hated the fall.
She felt that its name was indicative of its disposition—death, decay, and collapse, the end of the things. As Rome had fallen, so does Mother Nature and the world outside that Anna loves so well. She found comfort in the cyclical quality of life, knowing that, after being covered in a white quilt of serenity for months, the vibrant colors that she loved so much would return to her life, new and fresh and good. She refused to leave her room during these months, for fear that she, too, would wilt and crumble in that chilling autumn breeze that tears each leaf from its stem and sounds it crashing to the hard, cold ground below. Gone was the sensual, seductive show of skin, replaced instead with chapped fingers and lips and necks hidden under scarves. Purples and pinks and blues and greens become shades of grey and all the squirrels and birds run far, far away.
She threw away the telescope once more and bounded for her bed, fumbling to fit her glasses on her nose, as she pulled out her diary and tried to capture all the colorful words that she could before the day was done and the summer gone for good. She knew that she should be outside, enjoying these last hours of summer as they transitioned into fall, but she was afraid of being caught in the change herself, so she opted instead to capture all the thoughts and images she could and horde them in her notebook.
And then the doorbell rang.
Like a squirrel hearing giant footsteps approaching, breaking twigs as they march, Anna perked her head up, extending her neck longer than she thought she could, and looked around. The doorbell sounded again. Cautiously, she put her notebook down and placed her pen in the fold of the spine between the pages and went to the door. She looked first through the small peephole, which reminded her of the telescope from which she watched the world whither, but she saw no one. She turned the deadbolt and opened the door as far as the chain would allow and saw a sliver of a child in a brown dress. But Anna looked beyond this and saw the pigments of fire—oranges, reds, yellows—sprinkled sparsely throughout the sea of green that surrounded her home. For a moment, Anna felt warmed and comforted by this sight, but almost immediately thereafter found herself overcome once again by the fear of that fire spreading, killing each bract and blade and signaling the End.
“Would you like to support Troop 621 and buy some cookies, ma’am?” asked the girl outside, with the sweet, curious naivety that only a child can provide. With a gentle smile of relief, Anna undid the chain lock and welcomed the young girl’s sale as she realized that perhaps the gentle wind that shook her hair would quell the fire, which in turn might give her solace in the coming chill.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Night Rainbows
When Mother asks him where he’s been, he’ll tell her
he was busy stealing lightning from a lightning bug.
His fingers will fidget, fumbling anxiously, trying
to keep the light from escaping and she will tell him that
it’s not nice to steal. In turn, he will try to retract
his response or explain, while the colors refract
ff his palm and just lay waiting restless under glass,
anticipating the innocent removal of his hand,
the magician's great reveal that allows them to escape (although
no one expects it, colors can be quite clever and conniving, too).
With disappointment, Mom will look at him—no words
are necessary with that glare the way she does it—
and he’ll try and try to verbalize the sheer divine
splendor of the epic arc of pigment, spilling every shade
and every hue of every color ever known, that had sprung
up from the same creek where he had once held court. But
he knows she’ll never listen, so he’ll just let the colors go
before he even gets home and then tell her
he was busy stealing lightning from a lightning bug
and let it go.
he was busy stealing lightning from a lightning bug.
His fingers will fidget, fumbling anxiously, trying
to keep the light from escaping and she will tell him that
it’s not nice to steal. In turn, he will try to retract
his response or explain, while the colors refract
ff his palm and just lay waiting restless under glass,
anticipating the innocent removal of his hand,
the magician's great reveal that allows them to escape (although
no one expects it, colors can be quite clever and conniving, too).
With disappointment, Mom will look at him—no words
are necessary with that glare the way she does it—
and he’ll try and try to verbalize the sheer divine
splendor of the epic arc of pigment, spilling every shade
and every hue of every color ever known, that had sprung
up from the same creek where he had once held court. But
he knows she’ll never listen, so he’ll just let the colors go
before he even gets home and then tell her
he was busy stealing lightning from a lightning bug
and let it go.
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Company Bow
A sundial, sitting at the edge of a skirt, is feeding
on decay from proscenium walls. The crumble of
its majesty is Grecian in its tragedy, but hardly
as memorable as the long forgotten luster
of the golden laurel leaves that adorn the façade.
The space below is filled with rows
of wine-stained lips, each frozen in
a petrified reach to kiss the sky
and hide its eyes from the dying
desolation that they themselves
once wreaked upon the stage.
If only these mouths were open, they could taste
the stuffy air staled by every clapping palm,
every whistle, every pleading whisper, and every
last recited line whose echoes fill the space—
they are always trying desperately to escape
but only can reverberate off of
floorboards drenched with rain
and tears, cleverly constructed
arches that have failed to do their job,
and of course, the final curtain.
on decay from proscenium walls. The crumble of
its majesty is Grecian in its tragedy, but hardly
as memorable as the long forgotten luster
of the golden laurel leaves that adorn the façade.
The space below is filled with rows
of wine-stained lips, each frozen in
a petrified reach to kiss the sky
and hide its eyes from the dying
desolation that they themselves
once wreaked upon the stage.
If only these mouths were open, they could taste
the stuffy air staled by every clapping palm,
every whistle, every pleading whisper, and every
last recited line whose echoes fill the space—
they are always trying desperately to escape
but only can reverberate off of
floorboards drenched with rain
and tears, cleverly constructed
arches that have failed to do their job,
and of course, the final curtain.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Starboard Port
EXT. GRASSY FIELD - AFTERNOON
A cool autumn day in an open field, the grass blowing slightly in the wind. The soft babble of a distant creek might be heard. In the middle of the field towards upstage right sits a small Arc, with the loading ramp opened down to the ground. The boat is lavish in its design and decor, but still traditional-almost archaic or biblical-in appearance. Excess wood parts and scraps, along with various tools and a small stool, and strewn about-it is a workshop frozen in the middle of a project.
KATIE and JOSH are both in their mid-20s. Katie’s quirkiness and spunk is immediately apparent in her appearance--somewhat hippy, somewhat hip, somewhat punk, her hair is short, and she wears wild colors and designs and though she is dressed more for spring than the fall, it doesn’t seem to bother her. Josh is much more conservative by comparison--he is attractive, though somewhat generic, and dressed casually, with a hoodie or light jacket.
Katie and Josh enter from the right.
KATIE
(motioning towards the boat)
Well. Here it is. What do you think?
JOSH
It’s very...flamboyant.
Katie gives Josh an incredulous look.
KATIE
...flamboyant?
JOSH
Well, no, I mean, like-
KATIE
What, you think my boat is gay? You think it’s gonna flick its fucking wrist in your direction, what the fuck does that even mean, flamboyant? It’s a fucking boat!
(beat)
God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-that was out of line, I’m sorry.
JOSH
No, it’s okay, really-
KATIE
No, I-I really need to work on-that, you know-
JOSH
Seriously, it’s okay. Maybe you’re right, maybe flamboyant’s not the right word. It’s more...I don’t know...eccentric?
(Katie gives him a look again)
Cute?
(Katie continues to stare silently)
Idiosyncratic? Non-sequitur even! It’s just very...you.
KATIE
So you’re saying I look like a fucking boat.
(Josh has no response to this)
I’m kidding. This time. Mostly.
JOSH
Oh...
(beat)
Well, either way, very Noah-an.
KATIE
See, now you’re just making shit up.
JOSH
No! It’s-I guess-Noah-esque would be the appropriate-
KATIE
Josh, just say whatever it is that you’re trying to say.
JOSH
It’s very...Noah, like the arc guy. You know, two-by-two, animals and all that. I don’t know how to quantify the cultural whatever academia crap name of the appropriate art historical period relevance whatever.
KATIE
I think it’s just called “BCE.” Like, “Before Common Era”?
JOSH
Oh. Really?
KATIE
Really.
JOSH
I thought that was “Before Christ”?
KATIE
No. You left out the “E.”
JOSH
Huhn.
(beat)
“Before Christ Everything?” You know, like everything that happened before-
KATIE
Uh-uh.
JOSH
“Before Christ’s Era,” there we go!
KATIE
Nope. Although, “Biblical” would suffice. Are you saying it looks like a zoo?
Katie and Josh both turn to look at the boat in this new light.
JOSH
Yeah.
KATIE
Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re kinda right.
(she sits down on the ramp or the stool, leaving Josh standing alone)
Not really big enough for that many animals though. I could get a puppy though. Ooh, or a snake! Or maybe-
JOSH
A parrot?
KATIE
Yeah, a parrot! That’d be cool. Keep me company. Though I guess that in the end it’s just like talking to yourself.
JOSH
Or you could bring another person along. That’d be nice.
KATIE
Yeah maybe. But what if you get sick of each other? Sure, there’s physically room enough, but once you’re out there on the water, man. You’re stuck with each other for the long haul. Keel haul, man.
JOSH
What does that-?
(Katie shrugs and diverts her attention the boat)
Yeah...
(beat)
Um, Katie? If you don’t mind my asking-what do you plan on doing with this thing, with this arc?
KATIE
What do you mean? I’m gonna ride it. Or drive it. Or whatever verb you do with a boat.
JOSH
Yeah, but...how?
KATIE
How? I don’t know, how do you drive a boat? I’ll be the captain, or the navigator, or...or fucking first mate or whatever.
JOSH
Well normally, I think you’d steer it, or I guess drive, but you can’t-
KATIE
Hey-Chicks can be mates, mate!
JOSH
I’m not saying you can’t be a mate! Let me finish a sentence for once! God! I’m saying...you built a boat in the middle of a field without any way to get it to the water.
(beat)
KATIE
Dude, there’s a creek right over there-
JOSH
But you can’t take a boat this size on a-on a little creek!
KATIE
Okay, so I won’t take it on the creek. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about water preservation.
JOSH
Katie, listen.
(staccato, punctuated)
You can’t use a boat without water. That’s the whole point of a boat. You do realize this, yes?
KATIE
Man, whatever. I don’t even know why I brought you here in the first place. I’ve spent like six fucking months working on this thing and I thought it’d be cool to share, you know? I thought you’d appreciate it or something. I didn’t think you’d be popping my balloons all over the place.
JOSH
Popping your whatnow?
KATIE
My balloons, you know. Like, little thought balloons, like in cartoons when somebody’s thinking, or daydreaming, they got the detached little dots and they’re all poofy around the edges and then someone else-someone like you-comes along with a little needle a little something and then, bam! Popped. You popped the balloon.
JOSH
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Katie turns away angrily. Josh quickly realizes that his response was not the correct one
JOSH
Look, I’m sorry if that’s what it seems like, but that’s not what I’m trying to do. Honest. I just wanted to know how you were going to take the boat out on the water-I don’t care if it’s with a dog or a cat or person or a-or a unicorn-take the boat out on the water and do whatever it is you want to do out there, if you’re currently landlocked without any major body of water for hundreds of miles.
(Katie starts to respond but he cuts her off)
And creeks don’t count.
(She starts again)
And neither do bathtubs. Or kitchen sinks, or any other witty little retort I’m sure that you’ll come up with.
KATIE
There’s water all around us.
JOSH
Forget it!
KATIE
No, think about it. Human beings are made up of like two-thirds water. The Earth is seventy percent water. Or maybe those facts are switched, I don’t know. But either way, that’s a lot of fucking water.
JOSH
So you’re going to ride people, is that what you’re going to do?
KATIE
Man, why do you gotta do that? That’s the kind of attitude that keeps these kind of things from ever being truly fucking realized. Who’s to say that I can’t take this boat through a meadow, or through a pasture, dirt, and find my way to the sea? Huh?
JOSH
Well, physicists, ecologists, rational human-
KATIE
Most of this shit is made up of water. Boats travel in water. Okay, sure, it’ll be a little slow for the first leg of the journey-I get that. Earth’s not as fluid as water. But it’s more than halfway there, don’t you get it?
JOSH
Okay, Katie. Fine. Whatever.
KATIE
Listen, I appreciate the bravado sentiment, but I’m not gonna need someone to save my life this time. It’s totally sweet and all, but man, you gotta get over that.
JOSH
Get over it?
KATIE
It was one fucking time! Obviously, you know, I’m glad you were there to pull me out, but Jesus Christ, that was like three years ago, man. I’m pretty sure I’ve learned how to swim since then
JOSH
Yeah but Katie, I just think-
KATIE
Think what, that I’m a lousy swimmer? Hello! That’s what the boat’s for! Don’t chastise me because I almost drowned in that shit-infested eye-burning chlorinated cess of a pool you call a...pool. It was one time, you know? Whatever. I don’t need you there to-
JOSH
Look, for the last time, I’m sorry I kissed you, alright?
(beat)
There. I said it. Sorry. We’ve been through this already. I probably shouldn’t have done it, you’re right, okay, but at the time it seemed...heroic. Romantic. Chivalrous, I don’t now. But it’s happened. It’s done. Whatever. I thought we’d moved on. This has nothing to do with us or with the flood you’re apparently waiting for.
Silence. Katie refuses to look at him.
JOSH
Or the flood that’s apparently arrived.
He finally tries to leave when:
KATIE
You know, there was a time I thought you’d make a great first mate.
(beat)
Thought you’d look cute with a little bandana tied around your head-goofy cute, you know, like you do-and you’d always be scrambling around to tie some knots or tighten ropes and shout out crazy words like “bow” and “aft,” and maybe-just maybe-every now and then a little “starboard port.”
JOSH
But then?
KATIE
I don’t know. You went all “Old-Man-And-The-Sea” on me. Jumped ship.
JOSH
I think you’re uh, you’re mixing your metaphors there. Again.
Katie goes back to the boat and touches it, examining her handiwork with nostalgia and morose self-importance. Josh watches her for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head and walks away. Katie does not pay any attention to his departure and continues to check the boat for leaks and holes.
KATIE
She doesn’t look like much. Got a little wear and tear about her. But she’ll fly true. Nothing a little love can’t keep afloat.
Katie walks up the ramp into the boat as the lights fade.
END
A cool autumn day in an open field, the grass blowing slightly in the wind. The soft babble of a distant creek might be heard. In the middle of the field towards upstage right sits a small Arc, with the loading ramp opened down to the ground. The boat is lavish in its design and decor, but still traditional-almost archaic or biblical-in appearance. Excess wood parts and scraps, along with various tools and a small stool, and strewn about-it is a workshop frozen in the middle of a project.
KATIE and JOSH are both in their mid-20s. Katie’s quirkiness and spunk is immediately apparent in her appearance--somewhat hippy, somewhat hip, somewhat punk, her hair is short, and she wears wild colors and designs and though she is dressed more for spring than the fall, it doesn’t seem to bother her. Josh is much more conservative by comparison--he is attractive, though somewhat generic, and dressed casually, with a hoodie or light jacket.
Katie and Josh enter from the right.
KATIE
(motioning towards the boat)
Well. Here it is. What do you think?
JOSH
It’s very...flamboyant.
Katie gives Josh an incredulous look.
KATIE
...flamboyant?
JOSH
Well, no, I mean, like-
KATIE
What, you think my boat is gay? You think it’s gonna flick its fucking wrist in your direction, what the fuck does that even mean, flamboyant? It’s a fucking boat!
(beat)
God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-that was out of line, I’m sorry.
JOSH
No, it’s okay, really-
KATIE
No, I-I really need to work on-that, you know-
JOSH
Seriously, it’s okay. Maybe you’re right, maybe flamboyant’s not the right word. It’s more...I don’t know...eccentric?
(Katie gives him a look again)
Cute?
(Katie continues to stare silently)
Idiosyncratic? Non-sequitur even! It’s just very...you.
KATIE
So you’re saying I look like a fucking boat.
(Josh has no response to this)
I’m kidding. This time. Mostly.
JOSH
Oh...
(beat)
Well, either way, very Noah-an.
KATIE
See, now you’re just making shit up.
JOSH
No! It’s-I guess-Noah-esque would be the appropriate-
KATIE
Josh, just say whatever it is that you’re trying to say.
JOSH
It’s very...Noah, like the arc guy. You know, two-by-two, animals and all that. I don’t know how to quantify the cultural whatever academia crap name of the appropriate art historical period relevance whatever.
KATIE
I think it’s just called “BCE.” Like, “Before Common Era”?
JOSH
Oh. Really?
KATIE
Really.
JOSH
I thought that was “Before Christ”?
KATIE
No. You left out the “E.”
JOSH
Huhn.
(beat)
“Before Christ Everything?” You know, like everything that happened before-
KATIE
Uh-uh.
JOSH
“Before Christ’s Era,” there we go!
KATIE
Nope. Although, “Biblical” would suffice. Are you saying it looks like a zoo?
Katie and Josh both turn to look at the boat in this new light.
JOSH
Yeah.
KATIE
Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re kinda right.
(she sits down on the ramp or the stool, leaving Josh standing alone)
Not really big enough for that many animals though. I could get a puppy though. Ooh, or a snake! Or maybe-
JOSH
A parrot?
KATIE
Yeah, a parrot! That’d be cool. Keep me company. Though I guess that in the end it’s just like talking to yourself.
JOSH
Or you could bring another person along. That’d be nice.
KATIE
Yeah maybe. But what if you get sick of each other? Sure, there’s physically room enough, but once you’re out there on the water, man. You’re stuck with each other for the long haul. Keel haul, man.
JOSH
What does that-?
(Katie shrugs and diverts her attention the boat)
Yeah...
(beat)
Um, Katie? If you don’t mind my asking-what do you plan on doing with this thing, with this arc?
KATIE
What do you mean? I’m gonna ride it. Or drive it. Or whatever verb you do with a boat.
JOSH
Yeah, but...how?
KATIE
How? I don’t know, how do you drive a boat? I’ll be the captain, or the navigator, or...or fucking first mate or whatever.
JOSH
Well normally, I think you’d steer it, or I guess drive, but you can’t-
KATIE
Hey-Chicks can be mates, mate!
JOSH
I’m not saying you can’t be a mate! Let me finish a sentence for once! God! I’m saying...you built a boat in the middle of a field without any way to get it to the water.
(beat)
KATIE
Dude, there’s a creek right over there-
JOSH
But you can’t take a boat this size on a-on a little creek!
KATIE
Okay, so I won’t take it on the creek. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about water preservation.
JOSH
Katie, listen.
(staccato, punctuated)
You can’t use a boat without water. That’s the whole point of a boat. You do realize this, yes?
KATIE
Man, whatever. I don’t even know why I brought you here in the first place. I’ve spent like six fucking months working on this thing and I thought it’d be cool to share, you know? I thought you’d appreciate it or something. I didn’t think you’d be popping my balloons all over the place.
JOSH
Popping your whatnow?
KATIE
My balloons, you know. Like, little thought balloons, like in cartoons when somebody’s thinking, or daydreaming, they got the detached little dots and they’re all poofy around the edges and then someone else-someone like you-comes along with a little needle a little something and then, bam! Popped. You popped the balloon.
JOSH
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Katie turns away angrily. Josh quickly realizes that his response was not the correct one
JOSH
Look, I’m sorry if that’s what it seems like, but that’s not what I’m trying to do. Honest. I just wanted to know how you were going to take the boat out on the water-I don’t care if it’s with a dog or a cat or person or a-or a unicorn-take the boat out on the water and do whatever it is you want to do out there, if you’re currently landlocked without any major body of water for hundreds of miles.
(Katie starts to respond but he cuts her off)
And creeks don’t count.
(She starts again)
And neither do bathtubs. Or kitchen sinks, or any other witty little retort I’m sure that you’ll come up with.
KATIE
There’s water all around us.
JOSH
Forget it!
KATIE
No, think about it. Human beings are made up of like two-thirds water. The Earth is seventy percent water. Or maybe those facts are switched, I don’t know. But either way, that’s a lot of fucking water.
JOSH
So you’re going to ride people, is that what you’re going to do?
KATIE
Man, why do you gotta do that? That’s the kind of attitude that keeps these kind of things from ever being truly fucking realized. Who’s to say that I can’t take this boat through a meadow, or through a pasture, dirt, and find my way to the sea? Huh?
JOSH
Well, physicists, ecologists, rational human-
KATIE
Most of this shit is made up of water. Boats travel in water. Okay, sure, it’ll be a little slow for the first leg of the journey-I get that. Earth’s not as fluid as water. But it’s more than halfway there, don’t you get it?
JOSH
Okay, Katie. Fine. Whatever.
KATIE
Listen, I appreciate the bravado sentiment, but I’m not gonna need someone to save my life this time. It’s totally sweet and all, but man, you gotta get over that.
JOSH
Get over it?
KATIE
It was one fucking time! Obviously, you know, I’m glad you were there to pull me out, but Jesus Christ, that was like three years ago, man. I’m pretty sure I’ve learned how to swim since then
JOSH
Yeah but Katie, I just think-
KATIE
Think what, that I’m a lousy swimmer? Hello! That’s what the boat’s for! Don’t chastise me because I almost drowned in that shit-infested eye-burning chlorinated cess of a pool you call a...pool. It was one time, you know? Whatever. I don’t need you there to-
JOSH
Look, for the last time, I’m sorry I kissed you, alright?
(beat)
There. I said it. Sorry. We’ve been through this already. I probably shouldn’t have done it, you’re right, okay, but at the time it seemed...heroic. Romantic. Chivalrous, I don’t now. But it’s happened. It’s done. Whatever. I thought we’d moved on. This has nothing to do with us or with the flood you’re apparently waiting for.
Silence. Katie refuses to look at him.
JOSH
Or the flood that’s apparently arrived.
He finally tries to leave when:
KATIE
You know, there was a time I thought you’d make a great first mate.
(beat)
Thought you’d look cute with a little bandana tied around your head-goofy cute, you know, like you do-and you’d always be scrambling around to tie some knots or tighten ropes and shout out crazy words like “bow” and “aft,” and maybe-just maybe-every now and then a little “starboard port.”
JOSH
But then?
KATIE
I don’t know. You went all “Old-Man-And-The-Sea” on me. Jumped ship.
JOSH
I think you’re uh, you’re mixing your metaphors there. Again.
Katie goes back to the boat and touches it, examining her handiwork with nostalgia and morose self-importance. Josh watches her for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head and walks away. Katie does not pay any attention to his departure and continues to check the boat for leaks and holes.
KATIE
She doesn’t look like much. Got a little wear and tear about her. But she’ll fly true. Nothing a little love can’t keep afloat.
Katie walks up the ramp into the boat as the lights fade.
END
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