Lucas awoke on the 22nd of December in a much greater mood than he had been in weeks. He had finally worked up the courage to ask out Margaret, and things were going great. "The Producers" was well on it's way to becoming the Sawmill Theatre's greatest performance yet. Lucas ate a quick breakfast and headed out the door to the Theatre.
For the first time in months, he was enjoying his work. This was of course, due to two reasons. First, the former owner of his half of the theatre died. The owner knew how much Lucas enjoyed the performing arts, and being rather humanistic, gave Lucas full ownership of the stage. He was glad that Heather, the owner of the cinema on the other half of the Sawmill Theatre, was courteous enough to abstain from screening movies while plays were being performed (and practiced). Maybe he would offer her a free ticket to "The Producers." She seemed nice enough. The second reason, of course, was that Margaret worked at the Theatre with him.
As soon as he stepped outside, he heard the faint ringing out a bell. Not wanting to seem to eager to get to work, he decided to investigate. He trudged through the thick snowfall and found the source of the ringing coming from outside of Isabella's Cafe. There, a man standing in a Salvation Army outfit, wearing headphones, was loudly clanging the bell. As he drew closer, he noticed that music was blaring from the man's headphones. Christmas music to be precise. "You better watch out, you better not cry..." The lyrics were floating around in a strangely disembodied manner. He tossed some change into the donation bucket, and started walking away. "What's your favorite color?" yelled the blind man. "What?" said Lucas. "Buddy the Elf, what's your favorite color?" he said back. It was a line from "Elf", a personal favorite Christmas movie for Lucas. And, he recalled, a favorite of Margaret's too. Maybe he'd invite her to watch it sometime.
When he got to Sawmill Theatre, Margaret hollered down from the catwalk. She needed him to adjust a few lights. He headed up the ladder as she headed down. He began adjusting the lights, letting his mind wander. It was a pretty easy task. He thought about being the owner of his half of the theatre, and how it really didn't mean anything. He still couldn't get a word in edgewise about the plays that went on, that was up to the producer. Unfortunately for Lucas, he was tragically distracted, and in the midst of his thoughts he accidentally pulled a cord half out of a socket. The lights he was working with were incredibly high voltage. That's when he electrocuted himself. Every muscle in his body tensed up and relaxed simultaneously. Then he slumped down on the catwalk. He lay there, in a half alive state, and the world around him seemed to stop. Every detail of his life became clear, and everything around him was intensified. He lay there, feeling like he was everywhere and nowhere all at once. The air seemed thick and nearly electric, his skin burned. Every individual slat on the catwalk seemed 10 feet wide and he felt like he was falling, eventually feeling the hard metal of the catwalk against his back once again. He heard swirls of voices, or a voice, he wasn't sure because the sounds surrounded him, while simultaneously seeming far away. Slowly the terrifying near death feelings faded, and he slipped back into reality. Margaret was crouched by his side, telling him that he was okay. The snow prevented any medical help from arriving on scene, but as minutes past, he felt better. Eventually he felt safe, the catwalk beneath him felt solid, and he could breath and control his thoughts. He had thoughts. The terrifying part of living on the cusp of death was the absence of thought, being replaced by mere feeling.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
cui prodest
A few days later, Lucas awoke to the sound of a loud murmuring accompanied by the scratchy noise of what sounded like a megaphone coming from outside. Confused and intrigued, Lucas decided to head outside to see what the noise was.
In the field next to the Apartments stood 11 Occupy protesters. Not that they really had anything to protest against in this town. "Sometimes people just want to be a part of something" thought Lucas. He really hated the Occupy protesters, because he knew that most of them had no idea what they were protesting for. In most cases, he thought, they were only making matters worse for themselves. The man with the megaphone was ranting nonsensically while the protesters stood around and cheered maniacally. What was odd to him was that there were only 11 people, but 12 tents. He snickered to himself when he remembered that a U.F.O sighting was reported weeks ago. "They were abducted, obviously" he thought sarcastically to himself. Lucas wasn't one to believe in the paranormal, "he probably just went to pick up some snacks for his little angry friends" he thought mockingly. While he thought such things regularly, he didn't have the courage to say his thoughts aloud.
Lucas went into the 24-hour coffee shop to grab a pastry for breakfast. Luckily, it was open again. When he entered, he noticed it was seriously understaffed. He asked the barista "so why were you guys closed the other day?" while he was ordering his food. "Haven't you heard? A big epidemic is going around, they think it's swine flu" said the barista. "Gee, I thought swine flu was over with a few years ago...well, at least you're open again. Have a good day" "You too!" said the barista.
While Lucas was walking back to his apartment, he passed the abandoned building, and slowed down when he heard strange metallic, banging noises coming from inside. They were almost rhythmic. He passed it off as nothing, blaming it on the nature of old buildings, and continued to his apartment. When he arrived, he noticed a new message was on his answering machine. "Hey Lucas, it's Margaret from the Theatre. I have awesome news for you! We're putting on a new play! And guess whose play it is!" That's all Lucas needed to hear, he dropped his pastry on the table and ran out the door to the Theatre. Unfortunately, Lucas didn't hear the rest of the message "Your favorite playwright, Mel Brooks! It's going to be The Producers! I can't wait to hear your reaction! See you tonight, ciao!"
Lucas's thoughts ran through his head faster than he could process them "finally I'll get my name in lights! I'll be a renowned playwright in this hellhole of a town!"
Dark clouds were forming on the horizon, quickly covering the sun and bringing huge amounts of rain.
When he arrived, Margaret was waiting for him at the door for him. "I can't believe it!" Lucas shouted, "my play! My play will be going on this stage for the whole town to see!" "Haha, well Lucas, I wouldn't exactly call it your play..." said Margaret. "Well what do you mean...I wrote it." "Oh Lucas...oh my...I'm so sorry, did you not get my whole message? We're putting on The Producers, your favorite play!" "Oh." said Lucas. "You thought it was your play? Don't worry, it will be someday...soon. If you do a really good job with this one, maybe the director will look at yours!" said Margaret. "Yeah, I'm sure if she's impressed with my light cues she'll want to read my fucking plays." "I'm sorry Luke! Don't get so angry...it's Mel Brooks after all." "Yeah. Okay, that's good at least." "See? Things aren't so bad. Put everything in perspective every once in a while. Otherwise you'll get lost in your mind." said Margaret. "Hah thanks, I'll start changing the bulbs in the lights."
After hours of terribly tedious work, Lucas decided that he needed to eat dinner. He left the theatre and headed to Casa d'Waffle to get a bite to eat, all the while walking in a torrential downpour. On the way back he noticed a warm glow coming from the building near the theatre. When he got closer, he saw the the entire Forever 21 was ablaze. Even the massive front wasn't making a dent on the raging fire. The fire department was working tirelessly on controlling the flames. "Someone probably doused the whole thing in gas and set it off. Too bad I didn't think of that" thought Lucas.
He entered the Theatre and once again, there stood Margaret. "Quite a downpour, eh?" she said. "Quite a fire, eh? I think someone set it off themselves" he answered. "Too bad I didn't think of that myself" "Haha that's exactly what I was thinking!" Lucas laughed.
In the field next to the Apartments stood 11 Occupy protesters. Not that they really had anything to protest against in this town. "Sometimes people just want to be a part of something" thought Lucas. He really hated the Occupy protesters, because he knew that most of them had no idea what they were protesting for. In most cases, he thought, they were only making matters worse for themselves. The man with the megaphone was ranting nonsensically while the protesters stood around and cheered maniacally. What was odd to him was that there were only 11 people, but 12 tents. He snickered to himself when he remembered that a U.F.O sighting was reported weeks ago. "They were abducted, obviously" he thought sarcastically to himself. Lucas wasn't one to believe in the paranormal, "he probably just went to pick up some snacks for his little angry friends" he thought mockingly. While he thought such things regularly, he didn't have the courage to say his thoughts aloud.
Lucas went into the 24-hour coffee shop to grab a pastry for breakfast. Luckily, it was open again. When he entered, he noticed it was seriously understaffed. He asked the barista "so why were you guys closed the other day?" while he was ordering his food. "Haven't you heard? A big epidemic is going around, they think it's swine flu" said the barista. "Gee, I thought swine flu was over with a few years ago...well, at least you're open again. Have a good day" "You too!" said the barista.
While Lucas was walking back to his apartment, he passed the abandoned building, and slowed down when he heard strange metallic, banging noises coming from inside. They were almost rhythmic. He passed it off as nothing, blaming it on the nature of old buildings, and continued to his apartment. When he arrived, he noticed a new message was on his answering machine. "Hey Lucas, it's Margaret from the Theatre. I have awesome news for you! We're putting on a new play! And guess whose play it is!" That's all Lucas needed to hear, he dropped his pastry on the table and ran out the door to the Theatre. Unfortunately, Lucas didn't hear the rest of the message "Your favorite playwright, Mel Brooks! It's going to be The Producers! I can't wait to hear your reaction! See you tonight, ciao!"
Lucas's thoughts ran through his head faster than he could process them "finally I'll get my name in lights! I'll be a renowned playwright in this hellhole of a town!"
Dark clouds were forming on the horizon, quickly covering the sun and bringing huge amounts of rain.
When he arrived, Margaret was waiting for him at the door for him. "I can't believe it!" Lucas shouted, "my play! My play will be going on this stage for the whole town to see!" "Haha, well Lucas, I wouldn't exactly call it your play..." said Margaret. "Well what do you mean...I wrote it." "Oh Lucas...oh my...I'm so sorry, did you not get my whole message? We're putting on The Producers, your favorite play!" "Oh." said Lucas. "You thought it was your play? Don't worry, it will be someday...soon. If you do a really good job with this one, maybe the director will look at yours!" said Margaret. "Yeah, I'm sure if she's impressed with my light cues she'll want to read my fucking plays." "I'm sorry Luke! Don't get so angry...it's Mel Brooks after all." "Yeah. Okay, that's good at least." "See? Things aren't so bad. Put everything in perspective every once in a while. Otherwise you'll get lost in your mind." said Margaret. "Hah thanks, I'll start changing the bulbs in the lights."
After hours of terribly tedious work, Lucas decided that he needed to eat dinner. He left the theatre and headed to Casa d'Waffle to get a bite to eat, all the while walking in a torrential downpour. On the way back he noticed a warm glow coming from the building near the theatre. When he got closer, he saw the the entire Forever 21 was ablaze. Even the massive front wasn't making a dent on the raging fire. The fire department was working tirelessly on controlling the flames. "Someone probably doused the whole thing in gas and set it off. Too bad I didn't think of that" thought Lucas.
He entered the Theatre and once again, there stood Margaret. "Quite a downpour, eh?" she said. "Quite a fire, eh? I think someone set it off themselves" he answered. "Too bad I didn't think of that myself" "Haha that's exactly what I was thinking!" Lucas laughed.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
graviora manent
The phone rang, Lucas picked up. "Hello?" said Lucas. "Hey, Luke, it's Lillian" "Oh, hey sis, how are you?" "I'm doing fine, I'm actually calling because I dropped by today, but you weren't home. I let myself in because the door was unlocked." "Oh, so did you leave that book on my bed?" "Yes...who else would've done it? I figured you should read one of the all time great tragedies. I thought it'd help your playwriting." "Thank you! I –" "Oh, sorry Luke, I have to run, the baby is crying. Talk to you soon!" "Okay, then, bye sis."
He hung up the phone and sat down at his typewriter. And he sat. His mind was blank. "This is stupid" he thought. He couldn't get past the coincidence between the homeless man and the book on his bed. Maybe, he thought, he'd write a story about a man caught between his perceived fate and his true fate. For tomorrow, perhaps, but now to bed.
Lucas woke up at 6:30, forgetting once again to turn off his alarm the night before. He wasn't upset though, the song playing on his old clock radio was coming from WTF, the local radio station. "Just 'cause you feel it, doesn't mean it's there..." sang the radio. "Hah, Radiohead on the radio...that's not that funny..." thought Lucas. That line resonated in his head. "Maybe I'm not supposed to be a writer," he thought, "just because I think I'm a writer, doesn't mean I am."
He looked in his fridge. No milk. He decided on his fallback breakfast plan, the 24-hour coffee shop down the street. They always served pastries and things that he liked. However, when he reached the coffee shop, it was closed. There was a small group milling around outside. A man who he'd seen in his building before was there. "What's going on here?" Lucas asked. "Who knows, I've been here for 30 minutes and there's no sign of life in there" said the man." An awkward silence ensued. "...I've seen you before, do you live in the Castle Apartments?" "Yeah. My name is Otis." "Otis..." Lucas tried to lead on to a last name, he liked knowing the full names of people. "Otis Baumer." "Nice to meet you...I'm Lucas Shaffer." He extended his hand for a shake, but Otis turned away. "I try to be nice and I get this" Lucas muttered. He shivered, it was colder than he thought it would be.
The blanket of fog that covered the town every morning seemed especially thick to him this morning, possibly because he was rarely outside before 7.
He saw a young looking girl standing outside the shop, immediately noticing her shifty eyes. "Excuse me," he said, "are you waiting for the shop to open?" "That's why I'm here, obviously. I shouldn't even be waiting, it's a 24-hour shop. Why is it closed?" said the girl. "I was about to ask you the same thing, sorry to bother you..." again, Lucas pressed for a name, he liked to know people's names. "Evie." "Sorry to bother you, Evie." Irritated by the cold reactions he got from his fellow coffee shoppers, he decided to go back to his apartment, and go without breakfast. He felt bad for the girl, she seemed upset, but he couldn't relate. Not without being incredibly awkward, at least.
Right before he opened the door to the apartment building, he noticed a bus stall on the corner of H street. He thought nothing of it and walked into the building and into his room. About an hour later, he looked out the window that faced H street, the bus was still there, and a woman was yelling at an exacerbated bus driver, who was smoking a cigarette. "Well, yelling won't fix it. He probably can't do anything about it. She's getting mad for nothing" thought Lucas, "I hate people who can't accept the bad things that happen to them."
"Hah, ironic" he thought.
_
He hung up the phone and sat down at his typewriter. And he sat. His mind was blank. "This is stupid" he thought. He couldn't get past the coincidence between the homeless man and the book on his bed. Maybe, he thought, he'd write a story about a man caught between his perceived fate and his true fate. For tomorrow, perhaps, but now to bed.
Lucas woke up at 6:30, forgetting once again to turn off his alarm the night before. He wasn't upset though, the song playing on his old clock radio was coming from WTF, the local radio station. "Just 'cause you feel it, doesn't mean it's there..." sang the radio. "Hah, Radiohead on the radio...that's not that funny..." thought Lucas. That line resonated in his head. "Maybe I'm not supposed to be a writer," he thought, "just because I think I'm a writer, doesn't mean I am."
He looked in his fridge. No milk. He decided on his fallback breakfast plan, the 24-hour coffee shop down the street. They always served pastries and things that he liked. However, when he reached the coffee shop, it was closed. There was a small group milling around outside. A man who he'd seen in his building before was there. "What's going on here?" Lucas asked. "Who knows, I've been here for 30 minutes and there's no sign of life in there" said the man." An awkward silence ensued. "...I've seen you before, do you live in the Castle Apartments?" "Yeah. My name is Otis." "Otis..." Lucas tried to lead on to a last name, he liked knowing the full names of people. "Otis Baumer." "Nice to meet you...I'm Lucas Shaffer." He extended his hand for a shake, but Otis turned away. "I try to be nice and I get this" Lucas muttered. He shivered, it was colder than he thought it would be.
The blanket of fog that covered the town every morning seemed especially thick to him this morning, possibly because he was rarely outside before 7.
He saw a young looking girl standing outside the shop, immediately noticing her shifty eyes. "Excuse me," he said, "are you waiting for the shop to open?" "That's why I'm here, obviously. I shouldn't even be waiting, it's a 24-hour shop. Why is it closed?" said the girl. "I was about to ask you the same thing, sorry to bother you..." again, Lucas pressed for a name, he liked to know people's names. "Evie." "Sorry to bother you, Evie." Irritated by the cold reactions he got from his fellow coffee shoppers, he decided to go back to his apartment, and go without breakfast. He felt bad for the girl, she seemed upset, but he couldn't relate. Not without being incredibly awkward, at least.
Right before he opened the door to the apartment building, he noticed a bus stall on the corner of H street. He thought nothing of it and walked into the building and into his room. About an hour later, he looked out the window that faced H street, the bus was still there, and a woman was yelling at an exacerbated bus driver, who was smoking a cigarette. "Well, yelling won't fix it. He probably can't do anything about it. She's getting mad for nothing" thought Lucas, "I hate people who can't accept the bad things that happen to them."
"Hah, ironic" he thought.
_
Monday, October 3, 2011
ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt
Lucas began his walk towards the Sawmill Theatre on his normal route down Poplar Avenue, when he noticed a man sitting on a small heap of old clothes outside the clinic. The man was quite disheveled, and he was holding a dented copper bowl. Lucas carried on his ordinary way to work, but suddenly stopped. Lucas knew he had change in his pocket. He could feel the dull edges of an old dime, and the smooth circumference of a nickel. As he crossed the street to make his petty donation, he noticed a red and white cane lying next to the man. Upon seeing this, Lucas realized that the man was blind. Lucas pitched his fifteen cents into the man's copper bowl, and quickly walked away. Lucas hadn't made it more than ten feet when he felt like he was being watched. He abruptly stopped and turned around. The blind man was standing up and facing him, silently. Lucas spun on his heel and briskly continued towards the Theatre. He heard the man shout a phrase, but he didn't pay attention, all he heard was something about silence. Lucas laughed to himself, "He probably has heat exhaustion, what kind of person wears a wool cap in this heat?" He rounded the corner onto H Street, and passed the Forever 21. Lucas wondered "Why the hell would anyone ever build a store like that in this town?"
Lucas pushed open the door to the Theatre, his mind wandering for a second to the eerie abandoned shed in the back. Maybe he would explore that tonight. But for now, it was time to work. He cut through the lobby into the access staircase that lead to the tech booth. Once there, he carefully placed his script "Whispers of Dawn" on a stool in the corner, and sat down in the old spinning chair to begin his work. Or, at least, what he considered work. Lucas would sit at the control board fiddling with the various switches and knobs until it was time for him to go, or until one of the other crew members asked him to do a job that they didn't want to do.
As Lucas was just beginning to get bored, he suddenly noticed a book laying open in the upper corner of the control board. He picked it up and looked at the cover, Oedipus Rex. He flipped back to the back it was open to and read the first line his eyes fell to. Immediately, his heart sank and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The line was so distinctly familiar to him, but to where he heard it was a mystery. His palms were sweaty, and his heart raced. He re-read the line "What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence." Lucas continued to stare at the words, until they ceased to look like words, or even letters. He stared until they looked like foreign, nonsensical jumbles of lines and curves. A theatre tech quietly entered behind Lucas. The techie squeaked "Hey Lucas." Lucas jumped, terrified. "Mother of God, Margaret. You scared the living hell out of me, don't do that again." "Oh, sorry...I just came in to ask you if you could fix a light on the catwalk, you know how I'm afraid of heights." Lucas heard her, but he wasn't listening. He was thinking about how beautiful she was. "Okay, I'll do that. Where is the light?" "...On the catwalk." "Ohhh, haha, right." said Lucas, "I'll go up there now." Lucas scrambled up the narrow staircase on the back wall of the tech booth through the hatch and onto the small, terrifyingly decrepit catwalk.
He walked out to stage light #17 and shimmied underneath it. The bulb had just come loose. As he unscrewed the access hatch, he had a terrible realization. "Holy shit" Lucas mumbled, "holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." "Lucas?!" Margaret yelled from the stage below, "are you okay?" "I'm fine! I just, um, burned my finger, that's all" Lucas continued his terrible epiphany, the phrase, that heart-sinking phrase that he read in the tech booth, was what the blind man had yelled to him. He knew it couldn't simply be a coincidence. He screwed in the light and quickly climbed back into the tech booth. He was shaking. He decided to leave early. He poked his head inside the theatre room before he left, "Hey, I'm leaving early tonight, I don't feel well." "Okay...well, feel better Luke, I hope you'll be here tomorrow." He exited the Sawmill Theatre and walked directly to Larry's Bar for something to calm his nerves. He walked in and saw that damn Augie Emerson bartending, then turned directly back out. Augie had tried to pick up his position at the school after he had been fired, but from the looks of it, he wasn't hired, at least.
Lucas decided to simply call it a night and headed towards the Castle Apartments. He saw a hazy figure in the distance, moving slowly away from him. Only as he passed the hazy figure on the sidewalk did he realize that it was the blind man. The man had headphones in, and he was loudly playing "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M. Lucas panicked and began walking briskly. The music behind him stopped. "What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence." said the man, solemnly. Lucas heard it, but didn't acknowledge him, he continued walking at his fast pace until he reached the doors of his apartment, he didn't even bother to wait for the elevator, he ran up the stairs to the eighth floor, to the last room on the hall.
He fumbled with his keys, then remembered that he hadn't locked up and entered. He began thinking about R.E.M.'s break-up as he walked into his bedroom.
He stopped.
There was a wrapped present sitting on his bed.
He tore the wrapping off and immediately felt dizzy.
In his hands was a copy of Oedipus Rex.
Lucas pushed open the door to the Theatre, his mind wandering for a second to the eerie abandoned shed in the back. Maybe he would explore that tonight. But for now, it was time to work. He cut through the lobby into the access staircase that lead to the tech booth. Once there, he carefully placed his script "Whispers of Dawn" on a stool in the corner, and sat down in the old spinning chair to begin his work. Or, at least, what he considered work. Lucas would sit at the control board fiddling with the various switches and knobs until it was time for him to go, or until one of the other crew members asked him to do a job that they didn't want to do.
As Lucas was just beginning to get bored, he suddenly noticed a book laying open in the upper corner of the control board. He picked it up and looked at the cover, Oedipus Rex. He flipped back to the back it was open to and read the first line his eyes fell to. Immediately, his heart sank and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The line was so distinctly familiar to him, but to where he heard it was a mystery. His palms were sweaty, and his heart raced. He re-read the line "What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence." Lucas continued to stare at the words, until they ceased to look like words, or even letters. He stared until they looked like foreign, nonsensical jumbles of lines and curves. A theatre tech quietly entered behind Lucas. The techie squeaked "Hey Lucas." Lucas jumped, terrified. "Mother of God, Margaret. You scared the living hell out of me, don't do that again." "Oh, sorry...I just came in to ask you if you could fix a light on the catwalk, you know how I'm afraid of heights." Lucas heard her, but he wasn't listening. He was thinking about how beautiful she was. "Okay, I'll do that. Where is the light?" "...On the catwalk." "Ohhh, haha, right." said Lucas, "I'll go up there now." Lucas scrambled up the narrow staircase on the back wall of the tech booth through the hatch and onto the small, terrifyingly decrepit catwalk.
He walked out to stage light #17 and shimmied underneath it. The bulb had just come loose. As he unscrewed the access hatch, he had a terrible realization. "Holy shit" Lucas mumbled, "holy shit, holy shit, holy shit." "Lucas?!" Margaret yelled from the stage below, "are you okay?" "I'm fine! I just, um, burned my finger, that's all" Lucas continued his terrible epiphany, the phrase, that heart-sinking phrase that he read in the tech booth, was what the blind man had yelled to him. He knew it couldn't simply be a coincidence. He screwed in the light and quickly climbed back into the tech booth. He was shaking. He decided to leave early. He poked his head inside the theatre room before he left, "Hey, I'm leaving early tonight, I don't feel well." "Okay...well, feel better Luke, I hope you'll be here tomorrow." He exited the Sawmill Theatre and walked directly to Larry's Bar for something to calm his nerves. He walked in and saw that damn Augie Emerson bartending, then turned directly back out. Augie had tried to pick up his position at the school after he had been fired, but from the looks of it, he wasn't hired, at least.
Lucas decided to simply call it a night and headed towards the Castle Apartments. He saw a hazy figure in the distance, moving slowly away from him. Only as he passed the hazy figure on the sidewalk did he realize that it was the blind man. The man had headphones in, and he was loudly playing "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M. Lucas panicked and began walking briskly. The music behind him stopped. "What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence." said the man, solemnly. Lucas heard it, but didn't acknowledge him, he continued walking at his fast pace until he reached the doors of his apartment, he didn't even bother to wait for the elevator, he ran up the stairs to the eighth floor, to the last room on the hall.
He fumbled with his keys, then remembered that he hadn't locked up and entered. He began thinking about R.E.M.'s break-up as he walked into his bedroom.
He stopped.
There was a wrapped present sitting on his bed.
He tore the wrapping off and immediately felt dizzy.
In his hands was a copy of Oedipus Rex.
Monday, September 5, 2011
aegri somnia
The day started with three heavy knocks on the door. Lucas awoke in a frenzy, thinking he was late, and forgetting, once again, that he had been fired from his teaching position at the public school. Three knocks again. Now Lucas remembered, it was a Tuesday morning, and his only job was that of a part-time lighting technician at the Sawmill Theatre. He opened the door to his apartment at the end of the hall on the 8th floor, room number 832. Standing outside was his landlord, a terribly impatient man. "I know, I know, I know!" Lucas yelled, "the rent is late! I was fired, okay? I'll have it to you by tomorrow, I swear." "You know you'll be out on the street if you don't, you're just a number to me" said the landlord, he then lumbered back down the hall to the elevator. How Lucas would get the money for the rent was completely beyond him.
As he walked into his kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal, he passed through the small living room of his apartment, completely cluttered with various papers, all containing ideas for plays. Stories of adversity, romance, comedy, music, everything he could think of, he wrote. Unfortunately for Lucas, he was tragically distracted. He couldn't write more than a paragraph without starting an entirely different story with new characters, places, and themes. He wrote on an old Sears typewriter. This was solely to save electricity. He opened the refrigerator, the contents of which were sparse, and poured a bowl of milk, followed by cereal. After his breakfast, Lucas went into his living room and began writing. This time it was a story about a struggling virtuoso, and that was all he had so far. He looked at the clock, it was 9:47, about seven hours until he would have to leave for his shift at the theatre. He knew nothing about lighting, he was only working there in desperate hopes of having one of his plays discovered. On occasion he would leave one of his rarely finished scripts at the office door of the head producer of the theatre. Yet another one of Lucas's problems was plagiarism. He always managed to copy someone else's work without any knowledge of it, or at least, he wouldn't notice until he finished the story. This story of the virtuoso was different though. This was original. He knew this because he was writing a story about himself.
Lucas stopped writing, it was hot, and he was uncomfortable in his non-air conditioned apartment. He had an A/C unit, but he decided not to use it, it cost too much to run. He got up and opened the window, and he was instantly hit by a terrible wave of an unidentifiable odor. It was an unpleasant smell, but it wasn't terrible. He knew he had smelled it before, but he couldn't recall where.
Now it was 10:22, and he was tired. He cleared the stacks of paper from the living room couch and lay down. He drifted off to sleep. When he woke up it was 4 o'clock. He went to the kitchen and ate a granola bar. He didn't have to work until 6, but he decided to leave early and explore the theatre before he had to begin work. He grabbed his new favorite play that he had finished, "Whispers of Dawn", and headed out the door. He had no knowledge of the jejune nature of the play, nor the cliché title. As he entered the street he realized that he had forgotten to lock up. He didn't care though, he knew there was nothing in his apartment to steal.
As he walked into his kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal, he passed through the small living room of his apartment, completely cluttered with various papers, all containing ideas for plays. Stories of adversity, romance, comedy, music, everything he could think of, he wrote. Unfortunately for Lucas, he was tragically distracted. He couldn't write more than a paragraph without starting an entirely different story with new characters, places, and themes. He wrote on an old Sears typewriter. This was solely to save electricity. He opened the refrigerator, the contents of which were sparse, and poured a bowl of milk, followed by cereal. After his breakfast, Lucas went into his living room and began writing. This time it was a story about a struggling virtuoso, and that was all he had so far. He looked at the clock, it was 9:47, about seven hours until he would have to leave for his shift at the theatre. He knew nothing about lighting, he was only working there in desperate hopes of having one of his plays discovered. On occasion he would leave one of his rarely finished scripts at the office door of the head producer of the theatre. Yet another one of Lucas's problems was plagiarism. He always managed to copy someone else's work without any knowledge of it, or at least, he wouldn't notice until he finished the story. This story of the virtuoso was different though. This was original. He knew this because he was writing a story about himself.
Lucas stopped writing, it was hot, and he was uncomfortable in his non-air conditioned apartment. He had an A/C unit, but he decided not to use it, it cost too much to run. He got up and opened the window, and he was instantly hit by a terrible wave of an unidentifiable odor. It was an unpleasant smell, but it wasn't terrible. He knew he had smelled it before, but he couldn't recall where.
Now it was 10:22, and he was tired. He cleared the stacks of paper from the living room couch and lay down. He drifted off to sleep. When he woke up it was 4 o'clock. He went to the kitchen and ate a granola bar. He didn't have to work until 6, but he decided to leave early and explore the theatre before he had to begin work. He grabbed his new favorite play that he had finished, "Whispers of Dawn", and headed out the door. He had no knowledge of the jejune nature of the play, nor the cliché title. As he entered the street he realized that he had forgotten to lock up. He didn't care though, he knew there was nothing in his apartment to steal.
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