FADE IN:

EXT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – NIGHT

A pleasant little home with a manicured lawn and digital window displays basks in the shallow moonlight. Around the lawn a string of nano-fence machines float in a lightly glowing red line.

Across the street, in a fabricated bush, sits MIN MCINTYRE (mid twenties, svelte with short cropped hair, usually wears worn jeans and a t-shirt, almost always has a bandana tied over her hair) with a strange hand held device in her hand.

The device looks somewhat like a PDA, only it’s clunkier and makes a horrible GRINDING noise. It is a QLAR (a Quasi-Legal-Automated-Reader).

Min smacks the machine.

MIN

Shut up.

The QLAR SPUTTERS, and stops grinding.

MIN (CONT’D)

Thar we go. Now, just gotta check their insurance…

Min pokes a few buttons on the digital display, and the machine a HUMS to itself for a moment. It BEEPS, and QLAR speaks, in a stilted British Accent.

QLAR

Scan complete. Owners are recorded as being covered by: Fire Insurance, House Insurance, Land Insurance, Bank Insurance–

MIN

Yeah, but are they covered by Police?

QLAR

Checking…

The QLAR starts making the horrific GRINDING sound again. Min smacks it.

MIN

Shut up!

The machine stops, then starts talking again.

QLAR

The residence are currently not covered by Police Insurance, or any crime prevention Insurance listed.

Min grins malevolently.

MIN

Awesome.

Min snaps shut the QLAR, and pockets it. She pulls out a pair of sunglasses looking goggles, and a crowbar.

MIN (CONT’D)

Let’s do this.

Min slings her bag over her shoulder, and stands up.

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

The living room is bathed in shades of dark blue. The shifting blinds cast a moving silhouette of light, sending the bars dancing and swaying across the floor.

Small lights float in the air, nano-computers twinkle and glisten in the soft light.

Suddenly, a crow bar SMASHES through the door near the locking mechanism. It waggles back and forth until the lock pops open.

Min opens the door and steps inside. A small machine hooked to the wall starts BEEPING.

SECURITY SYSTEM

Warning! Security perimeter has been breached. Warning! Security–

Min smashes the device with her crowbar, and taps her goggles.

MIN

Retinal camo activate. Set for human heat signature.

MIN’S POV

The Goggles switch to night vision, with infrared showing three sleeping bodies upstairs.

END POV

Min nods, and stalks up the stairs.

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – HALLWAY – NIGHT

Min slowly stalks down the hallway. She peeks through a slightly open door.

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – KID’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

MIN’S POV

A YOUNG KID rolls over, mumbling in his sleep.

END POV

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – HALLWAY – NIGHT

Min closes the door carefully, and continues down the hall.

From one of the rooms, a small CLEANING BOT rolls towards her, making an irritating WHIRRING noise.

Min kicks it over as it passes, and it lays on the side, it’s cleaning wheel still spinning.

Min shakes her head, and opens the next door.

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – MASTER BEDROOM – NIGHT

A MAN and a WOMAN lay sleeping on their side, facing away from each other. The Man mumbles to himself slightly while smacking his lips.

Min smiles, and steps back into the hall.

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – HALLWAY – NIGHT

Min pulls out the QLAR, and flips it on.

QLAR

Hello, and thank you for choosing–

MIN

(hissing)

Shut up.

Min peeks into the room. The woman snorts in her sleep, and rolls over, draping her arm across her husband.

Min leans against the wall and sighs deeply.

Min pulls up the QLAR again and whispers into it.

MIN (CONT’D)

Okay, scan for valuables, and be quiet godamnit.

The QLAR HUMS to itself in an irritating high pitched drone. Min glances back and forth nervously.

Suddenly the Qlar DINGS, causing Min to jump.

QLAR

Room scanned! Three hundred credits worth of jewelry is held in the box on the dresser.

Min nods, and starts to shut the QLAR.

QLAR (CONT’D)

As well as a forty thousand credit Holographic Watch.

Min stops.

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – MASTER BEDROOM – NIGHT

Min sneaks into the room and opens the jewelry case. Inside are several simple metal rings and a bracelet. Min grins deviously, and pockets them.

She walks over to the wife, where the watch hangs off her wrist. Min takes a deep breath and–

KID (O.S.)

Mommy?

MIN

(under her breath)

Shit.

Min looks back and forth, searching for somewhere to hide.

The Kid from the other room waddles in. The Parents wake up. The Dad waves his arm and the nano lights turn on. Min presses herself against the wall next to the dresser, holding her breath.

MAN

Yeah, kid?

KID

I had a bad dream.

Behind the dresser, Min rolls her eyes.

WOMAN

It’s okay. Mom’ll be out there in a minute.

The kid nods and heads out. The Man waves his arm and the lights dim.

WOMAN (CONT’D)

You wanna handle this?

MAN

He’ll be expecting you.

WOMAN

So put on a wig and get your ass in there. I have work tomorrow.

The man gets up, grumbling. He throws a house coat on and leaves the room. The nano lights follow him.

The woman sighs and snuggles back under the blanket. She notices she’s still wearing the watch, takes it off, and plops it on the bedside table.

The woman curls up, and within a few seconds, starts snoring gently.

Min breaths out, and grabs the watch and runs out the door.

INT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Min slides down the banister and lands on the floor running. She kicks the door open and is gone.

EXT. SILICON – OLD HOUSE – NIGHT

Min runs down the street a bit, until she’s a safe distance from the house. She takes a random turn down an alley, and leans against the wall, taking deep breaths.

She gathers herself and looks at the Holographic. She smiles, admiring it’s crystal face. She rotates, letting it glisten in the moonlight.

Min nods to herself, and pockets the watch.

EXT. MAIN STREET – NIGHT

A monorail train rumbles over the city scape, barrelling towards the decrepit, burnt out area of the city called The Warren.

INT. TRAIN – NIGHT

Min sits in the very back, her hands in the pockets of her jacket, leaning against the glass, her eyes closed.

EXT. TRAIN STATION – NIGHT

Min exits the train station, her hands in her pockets. She looks back and forth, and puts her hood up. She starts towards The hulking remains of the Warren.

A cloud of nano lights hang over the exit of the train station. They give a rudimentary light to the broken street.

The road is covered in trash and dirt, the result of years of neglect and purposeful destruction. The buildings are all boarded up, and there’s a sense of emptiness hanging over the area.

Min stalks towards an alley between two towering abandoned buildings, the walls covered in decades of graffiti.

The words WELCOME TO HELL in bright neon pink override the rest of the wall art, as a rat scurries under Min’s foot. In the distance, a siren WAILS. Min pays it no mind and walks down the alley.

EXT. THE WARREN – NIGHT

Min walks out of the alley and into The Warren proper.

It’s a system of tight alleyways and looming buildings. Nearly every window is boarded up, and the streets are covered in layers of trash, the dumpsters are overflowing and spilling their contents onto the road.

The few cars lining the road are ancient, modern models with no wheels and no windows. The buildings all look one step from falling apart, and that’d be a step up.

Min walks through the mess until she reaches her apartment building. It’s a three story affair with five stories in disuse. Min opens the door (it’s unlocked) and walks in.

INT. MIN’S HOUSE – NIGHT

Min steps over a sleeping MATT (mid-twenties, drugged out and shaggy. Hasn’t seen a bath since childhood).

MIN

Hey Matt.

Matt MUMBLES something under his breath. Min rolls her eyes and heads up the rickety stair case.

INT. MIN’S HOUSE – BEDROOM – NIGHT

Min enters her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. She empties her pockets into a dish on the coffee table, making sure to put the QLAR carefully on it’s side.

The room is tidier than outside, but barely that. The only furnishings are an oversized wardrobe, a pile of clothes that functions as a laundry basket, the coffee table which is covered in ancient junk, and the bare mattress on the floor.

Min walks over to the bathroom, enters and flips a light switch. The light spreads out through the doorless doorway, and illuminates the mess in her room.

INT. MIN’S HOUSE – BATHROOM – NIGHT

Min glares blankly at her reflection in a broken mirror. She makes a little gun with her fingers, and pretends to shoot her reflection.

MIN

Bang.

Min sighs, and starts to get undressed.

INT. MIN’S HOUSE – BEDROOM – DAY

The raw sunlight seeps through the sheet Min uses as a curtain. She covers her eyes with her arm, and moans unhappily.

She sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

MIN

QLAR. What time is it.

The Qlar BEEPS, coming to life.

QLAR

It is fourteen minutes and seven seconds past 15 hundred.

Min groans.

MIN

Aww shit.

She tosses the blanket off herself and gets up.

INT. MIN’S HOUSE – KITCHEN – DAY

Min walks into the kitchen, her hair a mess, wearing a pair of striped boxers and an oversized T-shirt.

Matt and GLEN (Late twenties, dark skinned young woman. She’s a better dresser than her house mates, but not by much) sit at the kitchen table, Matt smoking a cigarette while Glen eats some cereal.

GLEN

Why hello there sunshine What are you doing up so early?

Min walks over to the cupboard, not looking at her house mates.

MIN

Go choke and die.

Glen smiles.

GLEN

You seem in a good mood today. Have a late night?

Min pulls the box of cereal out of the cupboard, and grabs a bowl out of the sink. SHe inspects it, then rubs it with her sleeve. Shr shrugs, and puts the bowl back.

MIN

Just out working. Didn’t get back until like, four or something.

MATT

You have enough stuff to make rent this month, or do we hafta kick you out.

Min sits at the table, one hand holding the cereal box, the other hand cramming the cereal into her mouth.

MIN

Rent? Dude, we’re Squatters. There aint no rent here.

Matt shrugs.

MATT

I can try, can’t I?

Glen rolls her eyes.

GLEN

Seriously though, are we gonna have enough money to pay off the gang, or what?

MIN

You could say that.

Glen and Matt look at each other, then back at Min.

MATT

You sure? Cause Rich doesn’t like it much when you come in after he opens…

Min grins.

MIN

I think he’ll be impressed by what I have to show him.

EXT. MERCHANT ALLEY – DAY

RICH (Mid thirties, sleaze bag character, wearing a torn sleeve jean jacket and has his hair parted backwards and up) looks at the jewelry Min grabbed the night before.

RICH

This is it? This is worth interrupting my day to restock my merchandise?

MIN

It’s quality stuff, Rich.

Min stands with her hands on her hips. She’s dressed more or less the same as yesterday, only with a different colored bandana.

The Merchant Alley is a tiny alley crammed with, well, merchants. Street vendors. The kind who have maybe a shelf or a blanket with some ancient goods of questionable history.

Rich has a single book case filled with crap, and a table that has the best he has to offer, which isn’t much even by Warren standards,a neighbourhood where having a flag in the window is considered posh.

Rich picks up a ring and bends it between his fingers.

RICH

Oh yeah. I’ll be able to sell this for a fucking million godamn credits.

Rich drops the ring among the others.

RICH (CONT’D)

Look hun, I give you enough slack as it is, I can’t just shut my store down and appraise this shit. It’d hardly be worth my time. Hell, I doubt I could push this crap on a blind widow.

MIN

Well, that is your largest demographic.

RICH

Shuddap. I’m being serious here, Min. I can’t accept this.

Rich pushes the pile of jewelry back at Min, and starts counting the stuff he has laid out on the shelf.

Rich sighs, and turns back to Min.

RICH (CONT’D)

You still here?

Min grins, and throws the Holographic at Rich.

MIN

How ‘bout this?

Rich gapes at it slightly. He pulls a a small eyeglass and stares at the gem through it. The little thing BEEPS once.

Rich slowly lifts his head up.

RICH

Well well well. Somebody lucked out.

Min grins evilly.

MIN

How much you willing to split with?

Rich looks at her, his head tilted.

RICH

Cause we’re such great pals and all… Twenty thousand.

MIN

Twenty five.

Rich spits into his palm.

RICH

Deal.

Min does likewise and they shake hands.

RICH (CONT’D)

Nice doing business with you, Min.

Min nods. They continue shaking hands.

Beat.

MIN

…My money?

RICH

Right.

Rich pulls a card out of his pocket and runs it through a small reader built into the table.

Rich hands it to her.

RICH (CONT’D)

There. Thirty grand, payable on deposit.

Min grins, and walks off.

EXT. BANK – DAY

A much, much nicer part of town. Floating cars whizz along the road outside of a stately old building. In bas relief above the door, it reads “INTERNATIONAL BANK OF COMMERCE”.

INT. BANK – DAY

Min stands uneasily in the front of a line before the registers. She’s dressed in her usual jeans and t-shirt, with her night goggles on, while everyone else is dressed in suits and ties.

She makes eye contact with a smiling MAN in a powder blue uniform, looking somewhat like a cross between a busboy and a cop. He’s a STEWARD.

The Steward notices her looking at him, and tips his cap to her.

Min guiltily looks away.

BANK TELLER

Next, please!

Min walks up to the marble counter and drops the card Rich gave her.

MIN

I’d like to make a deposit in account number 34x-905-19-B6, please.

The Teller nods, and types on an invisible keyboard. She finishes, and nods at a floating eye shaped device. Min lifts her goggles up and leans forward as it shoots a laser into her eye, then BEEPS.

BANK TELLER

Thank you.

The Bank Teller types some more.

BANK TELLER (CONT’D)

Hmm… it appears here that your insurance plan has expired.

Min re-adjusts her goggles.

MIN

What?

BANK TELLER

And I’m afraid without insurance, we are not liable to what we do with your money–

MIN

But I updated it just last month!

BANK TELLER

I’m sorry, ma’am, but our computer says–

Min sighs.

MIN

Fine. How much is it.

The Bank Teller types some more.

BANK TELLER

For our one year basic plan, it would come to four thousand dollars.

Min WHISTLES.

MIN

Running quite the racket here, aint cha.

BANK TELLER

I’m sorry ma’am, that’s our best price.

Min shrugs.

MIN

Fine. Just take it outta my account.

The Teller nods, and types some more. The computer emits an annoyed BEEP.

BANK TELLER

I’m sorry, but it looks like your account is empty.

MIN

What? I just deposited like, four thousand in there yesterday!

The Teller leans into the monitor.

BANK TELLER

It looks like, since your account was not covered, the Bank loaned your money to New Slovakia at a 40% interest!

The Bank Teller beams at Min. Min glares.

MIN

So, what, ‘cause my insurance expired THIS MORNING, they sold my money?

BANK TELLER

At a reasonable profit, thus ensuring our profit margins for the year will continue unabated!

Min glares harder. The Teller beams blankly back.

Min breaks first.

MIN

You know what? Fine. Just take the money off this.

Min tosses the card Rich gave her at the teller, who catches it and runs it through a scanner.

BANK TELLER

I’m afraid the only method of payment we allow is a direct withdrawal from your account, and as I cannot access your account until your insurance is paid–

Min stares at her.

FADE IN:

INT. MERCUTIO’S OFFICE – DAY

MERCUTIO (Late twenties, brown haired and overly trimmed, in a vintage 1935 suit) lounges at his desk, his feet up. He idly picks at his fingernails with a switch blade.

TITLE OVER

1938, Rome, Italy.

His intercom BUZZES loudly. Mercutio presses the buzzer lazily.

MERCUTIO

Yes, Abraham?

ABRAHAM (O.S.)

Tybalt is here to see you, sir.

MERCUTIO

Send him in.

Mecrutio lifts his finger and reaches for his flask, taking a chug.

The door opens and TYBALT (loud, but kind of charming. Mid thirties) bursts in.

TYBALT

Mecrutio, you knave!

MERCUTIO

What ho, dearest Tybalt.

Tybalt slams down a newspaper on Mecrutio’s desk. Mecrutio ignores it.

TYBALT

How dare you print such garbage!

MERCUTIO

Hmm? Have I done something to annoy you?

TYBALT

You know damn well what I’m angry about! This… this…

Tybalt slams his finger down onto the paper.

TYBALT (CONT’D)

This slander, shall not stand!

MERCUTIO

Shan’t it now?

TYBALT

No! I will have your eyes for this!

MERCUTIO

My eyes? Oh I do hope not. I am rather fond of them.

Tybalt grabs Mecrutio and spins him around to face him.

TYBALT

Listen to me. I know how well you have it with those blasted Montague’s, but I happen to be very close friends with Muti, and the Blackshirts listen to him, let me tell you.

Tybalt spits on the paper and glares at Mecrutio.

MERCUTIO

Oh dear. Not the Blackshirts. What will they do? Bad fashion me to death?

Mecrutio leans towards Tybalt.

MECRUTIO

I think you may find some difficulty finding any lawful reason to set them on me. I’ve been a loyal PNF member since its inception. My loyalty to Mussolini is far from suspect. Now piss off.

Tybalt sputters, then turns around and storms out.

Mecrutio pushes his telecom.

MERCUTIO

Oh Abe? Could you send a towel in?

ABRAHAM (O.S.)

Yes, sir.

MERCUTIO

And clear my schedule for me, would you? I’m afraid I am rather spent for the day.

ABRAHAM (O.S.)

Yes sir. Young Romeo is here to see you, should I send him in?

MERCUTIO

(Under his breath)

God dammit…

(louder)

Very well, very well. Send him hither.

Mecrutio lifts his finger and stares forward.

Someone KNOCKS on the door. Mecrutio waits a beat. Another KNOCK.

MECRUTIO

Come in, Romeo.

ROMEO (A young teenager, well dressed and annoyingly well kept) swoops into the room.

ROMEO

Oh, dearest Mecrutio, an ill omen hath stirred within me on this fine sunny morn!

MECRUTIO

So, the normal then?

Romeo sweeps to the window and stares out across the plaza behind the building.

ROMEO

I am undone. I am un-manned.

MECRUTIO

To be un-manned one must be manned to begin with, dear child.

ROMEO

Do not mock me, Mecrutio, for I am not in the mood.

MECRUTIO

Not in the mood for mocking? You? Such madness I hear! Next you tell me old Adolph isn’t terribly fond of Judaism!

ROMEO

Your tongue may spurn like a thousand lashes, but your heart is kept locked away.

Mecrutio stands up and smiles. He walks over to Romeo and puts a brotherly hand on his shoulder.

MECRUTIO

Your metaphors are getting tangled, my friend. Please, take a seat, have a drink courtesy of the Fascist party of Italy.

Mecrutio walks over to his drink cabinet and throws it open, and pours a shot of whisky into two small glasses. He offers Romeo one, who waves it off. Mecrutio shrugs, and downs one, and takes the other to his desk.

ROMEO

Pfft. The fascists. Their rule shall soon be over.

MECRUTIO

Oh? What makes you say that?

ROMEO

The youth on the streets. They speak of revolution, and of striking at Mussolini’s weak underbelly.

MECRUTIO

Such talk is dangerous.

ROMEO

Yet it needs to be said! The Fascist party cannot stand forever!

MECRUTIO

Nothing does, in my opinion. The German’s thousand year Reich is more likely to end a ten year debacle, if you ask me.

ROMEO

But anyway, I came to speak to you of a dream I had…

MECRUTIO

A dream? What of?

ROMEO

I had a dream. An omen. A warning of our parlay tonight.

MECRUTIO

Oh my, what a wild coincidence. I had a dream with a message as well!

Romeo turns and perks up.

ROMEO

Really? What did it say?

MECRUTIO

It said dreams lie.

Mecrutio walks over to Romeo and grabs him by the shoulders and spins him around to face him.

ROMEO

Pfft. I told you once not to mock me, must I repeat myself?

MECRUTIO

You’re an impulsive one, Romeo. You come in flights of fancy then dive in free falls of misery. My advice is to find a plateau…

Mecrutio turns and heads back to his desk.

MECRUTIO (CONT’D)

…And stay there.

ROMEO

But, my brother… Dreams do not lie. They tell truths divine, one can foretell the–

Mecrutio turns around quickly, a mad smile on his lips.

MECRUTIO

Truths, eh? Well, if truths be evident from the dreams, then you must have met the great Queen Nab.

ROMEO

What?

Mecrutio starts to dance around the office. Romeo starts sulking.

MECRUTIO

Queen Nab, you fool! She lives among the fairies and the dwarves deep in the jungles of the Fairy-dust kingdom! Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of her greatest majesty?

ROMEO

Mecrutio…

MECRUTIO

Oh, but the legends are marvelous! Oh, but wait, if such legends are merely dreams, and dreams speak truth, then they must be facts!

ROMEO

Mecrutio, please..

Mecrutio jumps on his desk, squatting down, his arms spread wide.

MECRUTIO

Then the tales of her carriage, pulled by dragon flies encrusted in the finest gold, are true? That she whips her servants with a string of grasshoppers legs and butterfly wings?

ROMEO

Mecrutio, you speak nonsense–

MECRUTIO

Why, and that she must ride through our thoughts whilst we sleep, giving poets their words…

Mecrutio bows to Romeo.

MECRUTIO (CONT’D)

And giving fools their dreams? Giving soldiers their lust for battle, and giving young men their lust for… lust.

Mecrutio laughs. He jumps down and starts to slowly advance on Romeo.

MECRUTIO (CONT’D)

Oh, but she has her dark side too, oh yes she does. She has a keen dislike of all those fairies and dwarves who are not like herself. She finds them, and she sells them to her brother, the King Ban from the North, who enslaves them, and beats them, and uses him to make his roads!

ROMEO

(Tiredly)

You speak of Mussolinni, and the Jews, don’t you?

Mecrutio grabs Romeo into a headlock and gives him a noogie.

MECRUTIO

Ahh, a sharp one we have! Well, if you be so sharp, then you shan’t listen to those meddlesome dreams. Using people to make roads? Nonsense! You speak right, my friend. I speak in nonsense and silliness, while you speak in naivety and insolence. Come!

Mecrutio pushes Romeo towards the window, spreading his arms.

MECRUTIO (CONT’D)

We have a party to attend, women to woo, and drinks to drink! Come Romeo, would you spare yourself a gaze at the greatest delight a young man can hold?

Romeo smiles slightly, amused.

MERCUTIO

And what is the worst that would happen? You would be barred from entrance? How much difference would that make than if you never went to begin with?

Romeo laughs, and looks down, abashed.

ROMEO

I suppose no harm can be done just by flirting with some girls, huh, Mecrutio?

Mecrutio slaps Romeo’s back.

MERCUTIO

And finally he speaks truth!

Mecrutio leads Romeo out the door.

MECRUTIO

Tell me, since I gave you such wisdom, am I myself a dream?

ROMEO

Mecrutio, silence suits you.

Mecrutio laughs, and closes the door behind him.

9:45 – Hi. My name is Richard Laurel. I am 34 years old, as of yesterday. I was born in some little community in western Canada, and soon I will be dead. On February 14^th, 2007 at 9:45 in the morning, I will die. No questions about it. No doubts are in my little mind, no wavering thoughts are hiding in the folds of my brain. I know, because it already happened.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m dead. Or, well, I will be in a matter of minutes. If that. I can already feel the blood pooling in my lungs. I can already feel my heart beat begin to slow down. I can feel my mind beginning to decay as the electrons short out and wither.

9:34 – Almost a quarter to Ten in the morning, and only now am I brushing my teeth. The grinding of the tooth brush as it devours the plaque off my teeth is oddly refreshing. When I was a kid I always heard people talk about, whether on television, radio or just my friends and colleagues, brushing their teeth before they eat breakfast. That always struck me as odd, because, I mean, if you brush before than everything that you eat for the next half hour tastes like tooth paste. I’m not saying breakfast has to be some ridiculously glorious affair of taste delight, but I’d much rather eat an orange that tasted of fruit than of fluoride. Secondly, If you brush before you eat, when you do start munching you’re just de-fouling your teeth once more. Why spend so much time making them all clean and proper just to shove something in to make them all dirty again.

10-05 – Five minutes after ten, and the ambulance breaks down. The fucking ambulance breaks down man, it’s fucking insane, fuck. I mena, what are thwe fucking chances opf soemtghing ;lieka that happening? God it fucking hurts, it hurts so godamned much, fuck fuck fuck fuckj I can efell the blood pouring out onto the am bulence attendant hands ass he tries to keep preasur eothe woudng to stop it from beleecing all of the vfucking oplamce or whatever it sus that they’re supopoded to do. I mean of hcuk fyuck fuyckm fuck fyck it hurts oh god. You’d think I’d have enetered shock or something by no, why won’t it fuking TSOP I can;’t fucking etanad it much longer, oh god I’;m hgonna die I don’t wanna die, fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK

6:45 – The alarm sounds. I roll over and ignore it.

9:44 – I stumble backwards as the knife is pulled gently out of the wound. The pain is momentary, quickly replaced by a sense of confusion. Odd, I think. Odd that the bastard would take so much care to not make a mess. I plunk down onto the ground, clutching at my stomach. The bastard runs off down the alley. I fall onto my belly, hearing the splash through the rushing of my ears. I think he took my wallet. I’m not sure. Did I offer it to him before he stabbed me? I can’t remember at all now. Kinda funny. It just happened less than a minute ago and I can’t recall in the slightest. I guess that’s adrenaline for you. It just shuts down your memory for some reason. And it only lasts while you’re high on action. I like that. High on Action. Sounds like the name of some crappy action flick with more explosions than plot points. Like that one that came out last year, about the guy who had that drug injected into him so that he would die if he didn’t keep his adrenaline levels going, or something. I never did see it. I never was much of an action film fan. I always liked detective shows, you know, the British ones that look like they were filmed eighty years ago, despite how recent they were? Or are. I’m not sure, I forgot how I started that sentence.

Aw hell. I forgot what I was talking about.

9:39 – The door clicked shut behind me. I turned the key a few times and locked it. The lock usually stuck, but not always. Quite often the key would simply slide in and out as if it were oiled. Today it was a bit of both. Not smooth and elegant, but not as arrogantly stubborn as it usually is.

I sighed. The Tylenol I took earlier is just now starting to kick in. I can feel my brain start to work again. Amazing how fast those little things can work sometimes. Other times, of course, they don’t do diddly squat.

I decided to take the stairs today. It was only five stories, so it wasn’t like I’d die from exhaustion or anything. I skipped down the stairs three at a time, nearly breaking my neck on the last turn. I opened the door into the lobby, took a few steps to the front door, opened it, and I was on my way.

10:07 – The ambulance starts up again, I casn felel the engine moving oh god I might actually live I mighbt djbwnot die fpg fuck fuclkne fuck me gfukcc m me I don’t wwnand die yet I’m only thridty fucking four for gods skjake I do4ejnt wanna die oh godw dplease please plase please I haven’t evene fisnhed my goddammed book thje puibsliehers gonna kill me they expect it in like tfour days I ognyl have the last chapter to finsihde proofreddning imm ont the lats draft for gdas sake I can’t not do it yet oh fuck fuck fuck fukckckkckckckck

9:41 – I stride out onto the street, humming a little ditty that’s been stuck in my head for the last few days. I don’t begrudge it much though, it’s a catchy little tune. I start to whistle as well, even though I can’t whistle to save my life. There isn’t anyone around though, so who cares. And even if there was? I already made enough of an ass of myself last night that a little whistling couldn’t hurt me much. Anyway, music is life. Try to take that away from someone, well, you just fucking killed them.

I stop at the alley between fourth and fifth. The office is just on the other side. I’m already probably going to be late, so I might as well cut a few seconds off my time. I take a quick look at my watch. 9:40. Yeah, fuck it. I turn to go down the alley, nodding amiably at the young man leaning against the wall.

9:30 – I pick the pulp from my orange out of my mouth with a fingernail. I hate the stuff, but I love oranges way to much to not eat them just because of it. There’s just something about their annoying levels of juiciness that just get me going. Aside from the taste, I mean. Not that they aren’t delicious, far from it. There’s just more to my love for them than that. I just simply love the way the juice squirts into my mouth when I take a bite out of a freshly peeled slice. Mmm. God! I love it.

I pinch the last remnants of orange out of my teeth and take a final chug from my glass of water. The coffee maker broke this morning, so I’m a little drowsier than I’m used to. Also I have a splitting headache, but I downed a couple of Tylenol, the gel kind, so hopefully I’ll start to feel better in a minute or two.

8:43 – The alarm continues to ring. I swear and sit up, rubbing the crusting tears from my eyes. I look over at the clock. Almost quarter too. Fuck. I have a meeting with those business fucks at ten. I roll onto the floor, hearing my elbows crack against the hard-wood flooring. I lay on the floor for a moment or two. I think I fell asleep again. I stand up, and look at the alarm. 9:25. Fuck! I finally stand and waddle over to the alarm, and turn it off. I stagger into the bathroom so I can have my morning pee session. One must keep ones friendship with the toilet, less it decides to leave you.

9:45 – I can hear someone yelling. Or screaming, or something. I can’t really tell. It’s kind of hard to concentrate right now. It’s kind of hard to keep my thoughts together. I think the shock is wearing off. I don’t know.

Oh crap, I just realized my open wound is pressed against the ground. I hope nothing gets in. That’d be awesome. Not only am I stabbed, but I also get infected. I try to roll onto my back, but the pain is to much, so I just lie there.

I hear footsteps. Running towards me. I raise my eyes, but everything’s too blurry to see properly. I think it’s a young woman. I can see the underside of her cleavage. She’s asking me something. I can’t hear her. I can’t hear what she’s saying. I raise my hand and wave it at her, friendly like. Not sure if that was the right thing to do or not. It’s so hard to tell what to do in social situations like this. Like, I remember that party I went to last night. I made a complete ass of myself in front of all those people. God, I can’t believe I did that. I should know better than to get drunk when somany people are around. I can’t fhold my liquor, that;s my problem./ Well, one of them at least. I can hear the screeching of tires and a siren. Is threre a fire or something? I hope my apartments okay. I just boguth those new dvd’s, it’d suck if I had to replace them already. They cost like ninwetyu bucks or sometrhing. Oh, and my manuscript. I knew I shoula made copues

I let my hand drop, but she, the girl, keeps it in he rpalm. I didn’t even notice she was holding my hand. Kinda funny, if you think about it.

Fingers

Brendan M. Speers

February 18^th 2007

The gurney burst through the doors like a badly formed simile from a writers fingers. The wheels clanged as Durgin Smith lay screaming, his one hand clutching a blood stained towel to the other. Three attendants ran along, two pushing, one holding an ice pack, in which were packed the four missing fingers. One of the pushers ran ahead, and stood, knuckles perched on the desk, in front of the receptionist.

“Phyllis! I have a DEU XT-OT Hydrochloric Persephinol Bixpate! I need an operating room, stat!” he barked at the woman. She turned absently to look at the young man in the face.

“What do any of those words mean, Michael?”

Michael sagged. “Uh. A guy cut his fingers off. With a power saw. They need to be, uh. Re-attached. We have the fingers. On ice. So you know, they can be re-attached. Possibly by a surgeon. Or, you know. A doctor. Of some sort.”

“Mmhmm. Well, he’ll have to wait. All our beds are taken.” Phyllis said, removing the wad of gum from her mouth to flick it into the garbage can. Michael sagged further.

“Aww, FUCK!” screamed Durgin, arching his back in agony. Michael turned to the patient and waved a hand.

“Hey, shut it up. I have to think here! You’re not the only one with problems here you know.” He turned back to Phyllis. “Hey, come on. I can’t have another accident on my resume. You know what the stakes are here.”

“The stakes are that I may lose my FUCKING HAND!”

Michael stepped up to Durgin and grabbed him by the lapels. “Listen bud. My job is on the line here. My fucking job, you understand? I could lose my job over this. Who would feed my kids, if I had any? Huh? Think about that, you dickhead.”

“We might have a room ready in a little bit. Room… uh, 516.” Phyllis piped up, picking another stick of gum from her pack and shifting it from finger to tongue. Michael ran up to her and placed a kiss on her cheek.

“You’re a darling, you know that Phyllis? A real darling.” He marched back to the gurney and started walking it down to the elevator. “Okay guys, lets get this operation going!”

* * *

“Don’t worry dude, I’m sure the room will open any minute now.”

Durgin sobbed, clutching the towel to the hand. It was his third one, the other two being filled hours ago. Michael swiveled on the bench and put his arm around the patient, patting his back reassuringly.

“Don’t worry man. We’ll get that hand back together. That’s a promise.”

“It’s been two hours.” Durgin murmerred.

“That’s right! Two hours! That means we should get in any minute now!” Michael sped up his patting a bit.

The two sat in the hallway, Michael tapping his foot impatiently. Time passed. A fourth towel was added, and the third discarded. Finally a tall woman in a lab coat and scrubs walked up to the pair.

“Durgin Smith?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“We have a room for you.” Durgin raised his head, his eyes shining for the first time since the grisly accident. “At the other hospital.” His face fell. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any ambulances free, so you’ll have to get a ride with someone.”

Michael raised his hand. “I’ll drive him. I’m off duty, anyway.”

“Good. Now if you two will excuse me…” The doctor walked down the hall into one of the operating rooms. Durgin glared at her resentfully.

“Hey man, lighten up. We’ll get that hand pieced together in no time.”

* * *

Another hallway, another hospital.

“So.” Michael said, crossing his legs somewhat. “How long hasiIt been since you lost righty there?”

Durgin looked up at him, tears flowing down his face like an acid smear.

“Don’t look at me like that, Durge. I think we’ve really bonded tonight. Unlike those fingers of yours!” Michael let off a roar of laughter. Durgin collapsed further into his whimpering pile.

“Durgin Smith?” a Nurse asked, walking up to the pair of them.

“Yes?” Durgin raised his head.

* * *

“Don’t be like that Durgin. That hospital probably sucked anyway.”

Michael’s car now smelt almost entirely of blood, or at least the smell of blood had almost broke through the constant stench of stale donuts and BO. Durgin stared listfully out the window as traffic stalled again. He looked at his watch. It was almost midnight. It had been over Ten hours since he lost his fingers. He sobbed slightly.

“So, what do you do?” Michael asked.

“What?”

“You know, lik a profession or whatever.”

“Oh. I’m a mechanic. I fix power tools and whatnot.” Durgin patted the frozen lump that used to be a favorite part of his anatomy.

“Ah, so that’s what happened, eh?”

“Yeah. I was blowing out some dust out of a power saw and I guess I hit the on button or something.”

“Ouch! Well at least you won’t have to worry about that happening again!”

Durgin glared at Michael, who continued to stare into space, whistling off key.

* * *

“What time is it Michael?”

Michael looked at his watch. “About eleven AM. Why?”

“Didn’t the doctor say I would get in by five in the morning at latest?”

Michael scoffed. “Doctors lie. I wouldn’t be surprised if you never saw help.” He looked over at the now-familiar expression of dismay and offence on Durgin’s face. “Don’t look like that man. Worse comes to worse you lose some dexterity in your right hand. They said you’d get those fingers on, and I’m gonna hold them to their word. Sucker up, big guy.” Michael patted the patient on the back.

“Thank you Michael. I mean, you haven’t been all that much help, but I do appreciate-“

The PA squeaked on. “Durgin Smith? We’re ready for you in the OR.” Durgin collapsed onto the floor crying with relief. Michael spoke some more, but he didn’t hear him. A wheelchair was trundled up to him, and he plopped down. He was wheeled into the OR, and into the safe hands of the trained professionals.

* * *

“Mr. Smith? You can wake up now.”

Durgin raised his head, feeling the anesthetic pour out of his skull. The cotton coated world started to pour together into a somewhat cohesive whole. His eyes focused, and saw a young, fairly attractive nurse with a clipboard staring down at him. He was in the recover bay, he gathered by the curtains and the other four people convalescing on beds nearby.

“Good afternoon Mr. Smith.”

“Please call me Durgin.” He mumbled absently. She smiled back at him.

“Okay Durgin. How are you feeling?”

“Not bad, I guess. Considering…” She laughed. She had a very pleasant voice.

“Yeah, after what you went through pretty much anything would be good, huh.” She beamed down at him. He tried to beam back, but only half of his afce was working right now.

“So, they managed to get my fingers back on?” She laughed again.

“Of course not. They had to amputate your hand.” She walked off to the next bed. He looked down at the stump at the end of his arm, and started to cry.

EXT. THE ASH CAN – DAY

It’s a wonderful mid morning day. It’s the end of march, and the first signs of spring are starting to show themselves. A few ragtag pigeons hobble along the sidewalk while a handful of flowers vomit themselves into view.

MR. LUNDER (Late 60’s, gentle looking old soul) steps onto the sidewalk and quickly works his way across the concrete to The Ash Can, a video rental outlet this side of going bankrupt.

Mr. Lunder pushes the front door open and a bell JINGLES happily to itself.

INT. THE ASH CAN – DAY

Mr. Lunder walks past the desk where ALEKSANDER TOGOLA (Early twenties, skinny and feminine, black with short cropped hair) is busy talking on the phone.

Mr. Lunder waves at Alek, and Alek raises his eyebrows in return.

ALEK (O.S.)

Yeah huh… Okay… yup… of course… sure… well, I’ll see… no, of course… yes yes… mmhmm… yup…

While Alek mumbles on, Lunder slowly starts stalking the aisles, checking out various titles and HUMMING quietly to himself.

ALEK (O.S.) (CONT’D)

Sure thing… uhuh… yes… yup… oh? Oh. Okay if… sure… hmm… yeah… so… okay… yup…

Lunder picks up a cover, looks at it, flips it around, scans the back, then puts it back on the shelf and continues his jaunt.

ALEK (O.S.) (CONT’D)

If you’re sure… yeah huh… of course… no, I’m not saying that… sorry… yeah, sure… okay… naturally… mmhmm…

Lunder reaches the end of the aisle, and turns around to start down the next one. He spots something, and reaches for it.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Yeah huh… sure thing… yes… we do… if we can… uhuh… mmm…. Yup… maybe… lemme… sure… okay…

Lunder reads the back of the box, then nods to himself. He grabs one of the cases behind the cover and starts down back towards Alek.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Of course… yup… mmhmm… yeah… right… okay, great… excellent… Alright…

Lunder walks up and puts the film down on the counter. Alek grins at Lunder and holds up one finger. Just wait a sec.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Yep… of course. Great!

Alek taps a few keys.

ALEK (CONT’D)

No, sorry, We don’t have any in. Alright! Have a good day.

Alek looks up at Mr. Lunder and smiles.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Found everything okay?

FADE OUT:

TITLE OVER

The Ash Can

FADE IN:

INT. THE ASH CAN – DAY

Alek sits at the till, slowly spinning in his stool, watching the empty shop.

ALEK

Wooo…

Suddenly a large plastic bag filled with movies slams down onto the till, startling Alek.

CHEL (O.S.)

Hey there, lard pants.

Alek turns and smiles at CHEL BELLIN (A few years older than Alek. Pale as can be with dark hair that’s not so much cut as left to fester) who stands with a half smile on her face.

ALEK

Oh, hey there Chel.

Chel slaps the bag of movies.

CHEL

Just returning last nights festivities.

Alek picks up the bag and starts rifling through them.

ALEK

Jesus, you watched all these?

Chel shrugs.

CHEL

Eh. Most of ‘em. The rest I just ripped to my computer for later.

ALEK

Oh. Okay.

Chel ruffles Alek’s hair and heads towards the back office. She stops, and turns to face Alek.

CHEL

Hey, what time am I on, again?

ALEK

Err…

Alek scoots his stool over to a large binder, opens it and flips through quickly. He finds his page and searches with his finger.

ALEK (CONT’D)

About… ten minutes ago.

Chel nods.

CHEL

Right. I’ll be right out then.

Chel heads to the back again.

CHEL (CONT’D)

(over her shoulder)

Is Sal in the office?

ALEK

Yeah. Why?

Chel turns and winks at Alek.

CHEL

Just curious.

INT. THE ASH CAN – OFFICE – DAY

SAL RICHARDS (Middle aged and very, very gentle looking. His face looks like it’s slowly being melted) sits at the desk in the office, his head in his hands while his shoulders shake with unrepressed sobs.

Chel knocks on the door and enters.

CHEL

Hey there, boss.

Sal sobs in reply.

CHEL (CONT’D)

Need anything back here?

Sal responds by letting out a loud WAIL that goes on for slightly too long.

Beat.

CHEL (CONT’D)

Right on.

Chel nods, takes off her jacket and hangs it on the coat rack.

Chel heads for the bay of lockers and opens her unlocked one. She takes out the uniform vest and slips it over her shirt.

She reaches into her pockets and pulls out a set of keys and her wallet, which she drops into the locker. Sal continues to weep.

CHEL (CONT’D)

I’m gonna go sign on, okay?

Sal murmurs something between his tears. Chel heads for the door.

CHEL (CONT’D)

Awesome. Have a good time back here.

Chel nods and closes the door behind her.

INT. THE ASH CAN – DAY

Chel walks away from the office and towards the till while Sal (Off Screen) let’s out an earth shaking cry of misery.

Alek sits there reading a comic book. Chel hops over the counter and starts up the second computer/till.

CHEL

So what’s got him going today?

Alek continues reading.

ALEK

A guy returned a film late.

CHEL

Ah.

Chel types in her ID and hits enter with a resounding THUD.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. THE ASH CAN – DAY

Alek sits at the till staring off into space while Chel opens and closes a blank DVD case with a repetitive CLICKING.

CHEL

So. How was opening?

Click-click.

ALEK

Not bad. We didn’t get any–

Click-click.

ALEK (CONT’D)

We didn’t get any new shipments or anything so–

Click-click.

ALEK (CONT’D)

So, uh, it wasn’t, uh–

Click-click. Chel leers at Alek evilly.

ALEK (CONT’D)

It wasn’t as if–

Click-click. Alek takes a deep breath.

ALEK (CONT’D)

It wasn’t as if it was–

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK. Chel opens and closes the case as fast as she can.

Alek whirls around.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Would you STOP THAT?

CUSTOMER (O.C.)

Excuse me?

Alek whirls around and growls at the CUSTOMER, a pasty white chubby individual.

ALEK

YES?

Alek stops, takes a deep breath, and forces a smile.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Yes? How can I help?

CUSTOMER

Urr, I was wondering… you seemed the best to ask, so, uh, how was this fifty-cent movie?

Alek stares at the Customer for a second.

ALEK

Wait, so why did you ask me and not Chel, there?

CUSTOMER

Well, because you’re… because, well–

ALEK

Listen, just because I’m black doesn’t mean I’m some rap obsessed gangsta pimp who slaps ho’s and deals crack to his bro’s in the hood!

Alek waves his arms around, growing increasingly agitated.

ALEK (CONT’D)

I’m not some car-jacking, stereo-stealing, white-man blaming degenerate who’s only reason for continuing is to cheat on welfare! I’ll have you know that the color of my skin doesn’t–

The customer raises his hands.

CUSTOMER

Whoa whoa whoa, you’re BLACK?

Alek stops, mid tirade, and turns to look at the customer.

ALEK

Uh, yeah?

CUSTOMER

Oh. I thought you were Mexican. Never mind then.

The customer walks off.

Alek stares off for a second, not moving.

ALEK

…what?

Chel LAUGHS and hops down from the desk.

CHEL

Smooth move there, Captain Civil Rights.

Alek takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair.

ALEK

Yeah, sorry about that. Jesus…

Chel starts giving Alek a back rub.

CHEL

You gotta chill, hombres. That’s the fourth time this week you’ve chased off a customer like that. You can’t let these things get to you.

ALEK

Get to me? You were purposely–

CUSTOMER

Excuse me?

Alek turns and smiles at the Chubby Customer from before.

ALEK

Yes? Sorry about before–

CUSTOMER

Have you seen this?

The Customer raises a DVD of Speedy Gonzales or something equally ridiculously Mexican.

Alek stares blankly for a second.

INT. THE ASH CAN – OFFICE – DAY

Sal sits, sniffing into a Kleenex in the back room. He takes a deep breath, and reaches for the tissues when somebody KNOCKS on the door.

Sal looks up, and walks over and opens it.

FLAKE (real name: Sally Marshall, absurdly thin and caved in looking, dark hair that covers her eyes, pimply, pale, sunken eyed; all in all the shiftiest looking person you’ve ever met) stalks into the room past Sal.

SAL

Oh, hi there, Flake.

Flake nods hurriedly and scurries for her locker, her shoulders hunched. She looks back and forth, opens her locker, turning herself to hide its contents from Sal, who doesn’t pay any attention at all.

Sal goes and sits at his desk, and starts reading the monitor.

SAL (CONT’D)

So how was your day been, Flake?

Flake GRUNTS, and crams something into her locker.

SAL (CONT’D)

Super. Hey–

Sal turns to look at Flake, who flinches.

SAL (CONT’D)

Is Alek free? I wanna talk to him.

Flake shakes her head quickly.

INT. THE ASH CAN – DAY

Chel sits at the till watching Alek try to explain something to the Customer on the white board. On it he has pinned a picture of WILL SMITH and DANNY TREJO.

ALEK

Look, see, THIS GUY–

Points at Smith.

ALEK (CONT’D)

This guy, is black, right?

CUSTOMER

If you say so.

ALEK

Then THIS guy, must be…

The Customer squints at Trejo.

CUSTOMER

Uh… Chinese?

Chel snorts.

ELLIOT (O.S.)

Hey there hot pants.

Chel looks over her shoulder at ELLIOT GRAVEL (Mid twenties, smarmy and frat boyish. Smiles in a way that makes you want to punch his face in) who winks at her. Chel rolls her eyes.

CHEL

Hey Elliot. I didn’t know you were working today.

Elliot leans over the counter and leers at Chel.

ELLIOT

Babe, I’ll work everyday if I get to work with you.

Chel rolls her eyes and goes back to watching Alek, while he circles the picture of Trejo several times angrily.

ALEK

Look! He is Mexican! Alright? Mexican!

CUSTOMER

Yeah?

ALEK

And I am AFRICAN? Okay?

CUSTOMER

Right.

ALEK

So therefore you are…

CUSTOMER

Scandinavian?

Alek lets out a wordless cry of rage.

ELLIOT

What the hell is going on?

CHEL

Long story. Or not, really. But longer than I’m willing to talk to you.

Elliot laughs.

ELLIOT

Oh, ouch. You got me there toots.

Chel looks back at Elliot.

CHEL

Call me toots one more time and I’ll ram that set of balls you covet so highly so far up your pelvis you’ll cry semen. Get me?

Elliot blanches slightly.

ELLIOT

I’m uh… I’m gonna go drop my stuff in my locker.

Chel turns back to watch Alek fall onto the ground, pounding the floor in a helpless rage.

CHEL

You do that.

Elliot nods to himself, and heads for the office.

He gets to the office door, which opens and Flake sneaks out. Elliot bumps into her on his way in.

ELLIOT

Oof, watch it short stuff.

FLAKE

(under her breath)

Sorry.

Elliot strolls into the office. Flake watches him, blushing a deep shade of crimson.

Alek walks up and runs his hands through his hair.

ALEK

FINALLY got rid of that…

Alek seems to notice who he’s talking to.

ALEK (CONT’D)

…guy.

Flake nods, and mumbles something.

ALEK (CONT’D)

What?

Flake mumbles something a wee bit louder.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Huh?

FLAKE

(tiniest voice possible)

…boss wants to see you…

ALEK

Oh. Okay.

Flake nods to herself and scuttles away.

ALEK (CONT’D)

Uh, he’s in the office, right?

Flake nods without turning around. Alek shrugs, and heads for the office.

Purple Rain (1984)

Review by Brendan Speers

Purple Rain, released in 1984 (appropriately enough, I suppose) is truly a child of its era. Very rarely is a movie so entrenched in it’s own cultural milieu. While it would be easy to simply mock the time in which the film takes place, doing so would be doing this film a great disservice, one that is perhaps the most enjoyable 111 minutes you’ll spend hating yourself.

The structure of the film itself is centered on Prince (whose character is called The Kid for some unfathomable reason) performing a collection of the songs from the titular album on stage before an adoring audience (although at times the various characters describe the audience as apathetic and hating them). It’s essentially an excuse to watch Prince gyrate around on stage for half an hour. There are worse ways to spend your time, sure, but to get to the gold you have to slog through 80 minutes of completely incomprehensible trash.

The main storyline (or as close to one this film has) follows the Kid and Apollonia (played with incompetent aplomb by Apollonia Kotero, who apparently had too much trouble learning another name for this film) simply confusing romance. The basic story goes something like this: Boy meets girl, girl crushes on boy, boy acts like a jackass, girl buys him a guitar, boy beats her, girl almost gets raped, boy tries to rape her and beats her some more, girl and boy embrace, having found true love.

Perhaps the story would make more sense if the two actors showed even the smallest hint of chemistry. In all of the romantic scenes between the two, Prince always seems vaguely confused and frightened (my reaction to most of this film), and Apollonia just pushing through the scene to the paycheck at the end.

In any case, Prince’s band (called The Revolution) is on the rocks, despite everyone loving them. Prince’s complete assholery seems to be pushing the band members apart; though this does not seem to have any lasting effect on the members or dampen their on stage chemistry whatsoever.. A rival manager (or their manager, the film is somewhat vague on this point) hires Apollonia and a bunch of girls to make a “sexy, but not dirty” girl band. They point out this line a couple of times, which was somewhat odd as their choice in showing that concept was throwing poor Apollonia (who had to get naked or near for most of the film) into the outfit Frank. N. Furter wore in the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

There’s also a sub-plot involving the Kid’s abusive father, a failed musician, and how he’s a role model for him (at the end he dedicates his big finale song to him; the same guy who spent the rest of the film yelling at Prince or hitting his wife). To be honest, despite the hero worship of an abusive lunk head, this story is what brought the film closest to honest emotional resonance. It also provided the one plot point I didn’t predict before sitting down. Oh, aside from the whole Prince acting like a dick through the whole movie without going through any major character development, unless you count becoming slightly more of an asshole as character growth. What was with that?

Anyway, the movie meanders between the three storylines, occasionally throwing a subplot in for good measure, all culminating in a finale that doesn’t solve any of the problems, but they act like it does so that’s okay.

As much as the film is a whole mess of flaws tied together by a couple of stage performances, the movie is almost absurdly enjoyable. Not as a drama as it’s billed, naturally, but one nonetheless. If nothing else it serves as a decent anthropological piece on the mid-80’s.

The music though is what the film is truly about. If you ignore all the moments that don’t involve Prince either on stage or one of his compatriots farting around on a guitar or drum machine, the film is a solid piece of work. The live shows are shot competently, giving time not only to Prince, but some to the rest of the band and the audience. Even watched on a small TV screen the performances are electric and full of wild energy, something that must have been a treat to watch in a theatre filled with screaming teenage girls.

Aside from the actual performances the music is as confusing as the rest of the movie. Random guitar stings occur at moments where they are the least needed, giving an almost surreal feel to the whole piece, which might explain why none of the characters re-act logically to any of the situations they are thrust into.

What else is there to say? The film is a total mess; none of the characters show a single redeeming quality, the big dramatic action moment involves Prince running over a man in a giant purple motorcycle in one of the more subtle metaphors for gay sex, the fact that the movie ends on a freeze frame that, despite me staring at it for a good ten minutes, cannot possible decipher what exactly is supposed to be going on.

It’s oddly fitting that the penultimate image of the film is Prince’s oddly phallic guitar ejaculating all over the audience; it seems to be saying “I’m going to come all over your face and you will lap it up and enjoy every second of it”, and I’m rather afraid we all have.

FADE IN:

MONTAGE:

Quick cuts while thundering music plays.

- A bus driving down a road

- A shot of a warning sign showing a unicorn killing someone

- a shot of several police officers standing around a chalk outline

- A slower shot on the outside of a diner with a sign over the entrance that says “Danger: Unicorns”

END MONTAGE.

CUT TO:

INt. Diner – nigHT

A young woman, SCARLET (19), sits in a booth sucking on a milk shake, staring into space. Lasts a beat before a WAITER (28), dressed all in black and white, comes up to her, towel on one arm.

Waiter

Excuse me ma’am?

Scarlet looks up.

Scarlet

Yeah?

WAITER

It seems there’s a young… individual in the bathroom who wishes to meet your acquaintance.

SCARLET

Sure! Sounds spiffy! I just hope it’s not a unicorn… waiting to horn me.

CUT TO:

Title card

Title

OFFICER REDSWIM – THE UNICORN FILES.

CUT TO:

Int. diner – murder scene – day

Detective JOSHUA REDSWIM (37) squats, removing his sunglasses to look at the dead face of Scarlet. He peers at it for a second, until:

HANnELORE (O.S.)

What do you think, Redswim? This our division or what?

Joshua stands up and looks down at the body. Now we can see the scene. Inside the diner’s bathroom, her body is lying in the middle of the room, with yellow police tape surrounding the scene. Lots of blood. Hoof prints cover the floor. HANNELORE (22) stands with a note-pad at the ready. She seems a bit of a keener. Blonde, and perky.

Joshua

I’m not sure. We have to an autopsy first. But… I’m not sure.

HANNELORE

But Josh, you’re usually always sure.

JOSHUA

Don’t call me Josh. She did. Before she died. Died tragically. So very, very tragically.

He stares into space, then shakes his head sadly and puts his glasses in his pocket.

HANNELORE

I’m sorry sir.

JoSHUA

It’s okay. Lets get this girl to Morton.

He stares at the dead body and nods solemnly.

JOSHUA (CONT’D)

It’s going to be a long day.

Music builds, and then

Cuts to:

INT. Autopsy room – day

MORTON (49), the autopsy doctor is starring at the body which rests on the slab with a sheet over her. There’s a large hole in her stomach, and several abrasions. Joshua stands behind him, his arms folded, sunglasses donned.

Morton

Well, she’s definitely dead.

Joshua

Hmm. That’s interesting. VERY interesting.

MORTON

Did you notice the hole? A long, thin object did that puncture. Hit her very hard.

JOSHUA

Interesting.

MORTON

And her hands…

Quick zoom on her hands, the underside of her palm has a large red hoof print.

MORTON (CONT’D)

It seems as if there’s some red rings. Maybe… some kind of defensive wound?

Joshua removes his sunglasses and stares dramatically at the girls hands.

Joshua

Maybe… Hoofprints?

MORTON

…maybe. Don’t jump to conclusions like you always do Joshua. You know what happened last time…

Joshua

(mumbling)

Damn horse was asking for it.

MORTON

No dice. What I’d suggest is… find more evidence.

Joshua nods, and puts his sunglasses back on.

CUTS TO:

INT. Diner – Crime scene – day

Joshua and Hannelore stand around, inspecting the crime scene. Where Scarlets body was before is now a chalk outline. The two officers chat while they poke around looking for clues.

After a few moments, Joshua stands from where he was crouched, removes his sunglasses dramatically, and holds up a splintered bit of bone. Hannelore turns to look.

HANNELORE

What’s that you got there, Joshua?

JosHUA

A bit of bone. There’s some blood on it. Seems like it was a part of the murder weapon that broke off in the assault.

Joshua points downwards at all the hoofprints on the floor.

JOSHUA (CONT’D)

And look here… I found some horse prints…

Hannelore mugs terror.

HannELORE

But… does this mean-

Joshua removes his sunglasses and stares off camera.

JOSHUA

Yes. We’ve got our suspect. And it’s a fucking Unicorn.

CUT TO:

INT. Police department hallway – day

Joshua and Morton walk and talk down the hallway.

JOSHUA

I told you Morton. I told you what my gut told me. And my gut is never wrong.

Morton

Well, you were right, I have to admit. But it never hurt to check, it could have been anything.

JOSHUA

You never did learn to trust your gut. Always relying on your ‘evidence’ and your ‘facts’.

MoRTON

Without facts and evidence, we’d never prove our case, Josh.

Joshua stops, and stares at Morton in disbelief

JOSHUA

Morton… you know…

MORTON

Yeah. I know. But how Joshua? How did you loving wife of fifteen years who you met in high school and fell in love on your first date tragically die?

Joshua removes his sunglasses and stares off into space.

Joshua

It… it was tragic. We were young lovers. Married for fifteen years, we had the world ahead of us. We had our whole lives… until… until that one fateful night. Until that one night which ended everything. Which ended our bliss, and ended our… everything.

Joshua takes a deep breath before continuing.

JOSHUA (CONT’D)

There was a unicorn in the park. We saw it, but we decided to be trusting. We decided to not rely on our guts. We ignored them. We got close to the Unicorn, we ignored the signs of danger, as well as our guts.

MORTON

Which you ignored.

JOSHUA

Right. Our guts, which we ignored. When we got close to the Unicorn, it got violent. It horned her. In the gut, which we didn’t trust. It horned her in the gut with its horn. She was killed almost instantly, just giving enough time to give a moving speech about how much she loved me. She died of horning. She died of horning of the gut, Morton. Her gut was horned, and… with that, she died. That’s how she tragically died, Morton. That’s how she tragically died by a horn in the gut. A Unicorn horn. In the gut.

Morton stands, aghast.

MORTON

So that’s why you always trust your gut. And that’s why you hate unicorns.

JOSHUA

Yes, Morton. Our guts told us the truth. And it was a unicorn which killed her, with its horn.

Morton

I see…

JOSHUA

With a horn, Morton. A fucking horn in the GUT. That’s why I hate ‘em, Morton. They’ve become a godamned menace. A godamned menace.

Morton

Well. Are you ready to interview the suspect?

Joshua puts his sunglasses back on.

JoSHUA

I was born ready. When that Unicorn-

Morton

Yeah, let’s go.

CUT TO:

INT. Hallway – day

Hannelore exits the interviewing room, and is startled when she sees Joshua leaning against a wall.

HannELORE

Well, it looks like you caught our unicorn. Good job, sir.

JOSHUA

I’m not at all sure, Hannelore. I’m not at all sure at all.

HANNELORE

But sir, this unicorn is most definitely the one who did the fatal horning. He’s missing the bit of horn on the tip, we found the victims blood on his horn. He’s our guy all right.

Joshua stares into space; removing his sunglasses.

JOSHUA

Perhaps… but still… something doesn’t seem right. Why did she get horned in a bathroom? Why was she in that bathroom, it doesn’t make… sense…

HANNELORE

(earnestly)

Is your gut saying something, sir?

JOSHUA

Yes. Yes it is.

Joshua nods and puts his sunglasses back on.

JOSHUA (CONT’D)

And now it’s time to pay a little visit to suspect number two.

Dramatic music builds.

CUT TO:

INT. DINER – dAY

The Waiter stands nervously as TWO POLICE OFFICERS stand menacingly nearby. Joshua and Hannelore are standing in front of the man. Hannelore behind Joshua, writing furiously in her notebook.

Joshua

So, Mr-so-called Waiter, tell me again what happened the night of the… incident.

Waiter

(nervous)

Well, I already told these officers here, but you see, the thing…

The Waiter takes a deep breath before continuing.

WAITER (CONT’D)

What I mean to say, sir, is that I was not on duty all yesterday night. You may check the owner of this establishments record, sir, and you can see that I tell no falsehoods.

Hannelore hands Joshua a page from her notebook.

JOSHUA

Funny that you say that Mr-if-that’s-your-real-name waiter-man, because according to these notes my assistant here made (indicates Hannelore), we have several witnesses who saw you in the diner talking to the victim of the gut-horning.

The Waiter feigns shock and outrage.

WAITER

Why, I never! I have never heard such a load of garbage in all my tenure in this fine establishment! Why would people go to such lengths to sully my fine name-

JoSHUA

Enough theatrics. We know you were here, my gut tells me. My gut, which is, in many ways, similar to the gut that was brutally horned by a vicious unicorn last night.

The Waiter sighs and throws up his hands.

WAITER

Fine. I was here last night, what of it.

Hannelore hands her notebook and pencil up to Joshua.

JOSHUA

Just one small thing, sir. May I have a sample of your handwriting?

The Waiter grunts and scribbles a few words onto the pad and hands it back to Joshua, who hands it back to Hannelore, who compares the sheet to another in her pocket. She nods and whispers something into Joshua’s ear.

Joshua (CONT’D)

Hmm. Interesting. It seems my gut wasn’t wrong.

He removes his sunglasses.

JOSHUA (CONT’D)

Which it NEVER is. Your handwriting is an exact match to a note found on the victim. A note asking if the victim would mind taking a stroll into the bathroom. A stroll that would cost her life.

The Two Officers behind the Waiter put their hands on his shoulders and start to cuff him.

WAITER

Fine. You’ve got me. You’ve got me good.

HannELORE

But WHY, Mr. Waiter? Why did you such a horrible thing to such an innocent young lady?

WAITER

Because, officer, the unicorns are a maligned people. They are not mindless killers as people think. They kill only those who would due them harm. They only horn those guts which would bring damage upon them. In short, Officer, They horn to prevent themselves being horned.

The Waiter is dragged away, Hannelore is shocked and appalled. Joshua is stoic.

WAITER (CONT’D)

The time will come officers! They time will come when no Unicorn will bow before man! Their day is due! Their day is due!

The Waiter is dragged off. He continues to SHOUT INDISTINCTLY from off screen. Hannelore walks up to Joshua and puts a kind hand on his shoulder.

JOSHUA

It’s not an easy work we do Hannelore. But it’s important work.

HannELORE

What’ll we do next, sir?

Joshua dons his sunglasses.

JOSHUA

What we always do. Clean up this town. One Unicorn, at a time.

Dramatic music builds as they walk out of the diner.

FADE OUT.

Fade in:

INT. resteraunt – night

JOANNA (youngish woman dressed fancily) sits cross legged at her table, holding an empty glass of wine, bouncing her foot up and down impatiently.

A commotion is heard on the other side of the resteraunt. She perks up slightly.

Captain Oblivion (o.S.)

Aside foolish peons! Captain Oblivion demands entrance!

Waiter (o.S.)

Yes sir, but you need a reser–

CAPTAIN OBLIVION (o.S.)

Caption Oblivion needs no such foolishness! He shall crush you under his foot like the ant that you are!

CAPTAIN OBLIVION (Early thirties, heavily built wearing a ridiculously elaborate costume, heavy on shoulder pads, spikes, flowing capes and A huge CO symbol on his chest) bursts into the room, sweeping aside the host.

He stands in the middle of the resteraunt looking lost for a second, then he spots Joanna and marches up to her.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION (CONT’D)

And would you happen to be Joanna Worthwight, little worm?

Joanna

Mmhmm.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Good. I am here as your ‘date’. I am…

Captain Oblivion throws up his arms, his cape flowing dramatically, as lightning and thunder cut through the room.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION (CONT’D)

Captain Oblivion! Destroyer of worlds, consumer of souls! The one who–

JOANNA

You’re thirty minutes late.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Captain Oblivion is not skilled in time management.

Captain Oblivion sits down at the table. He picks up a menu and rifles through it. A WAITER approaches.

Waiter

And what can I get you, sir?

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Captain Oblivion demands the hamburger! With extra mustard! But no pickle slices! I shall crush your puny form with my fist if I see so much as a single pickle slice!

Joanna

And I’ll have the spinach salad, please.

WAITER

Very good.

The waiter drifts off.

Joanna

So, why’re you late, exactly?

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Those foolish meat shields Walrus Man and Duck Boy tried to spoil my magnificent plan of world domination!

JOANNA

Oh, I’ve seen them. They’re the guys who dress up like pirates and beat up bank robbers, right?

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

No, that’s Fishman and Lobster Bait. They too are a thorn in my side and shall suffer my wrath soon enough!

JOANNA

Oh.

They sit around awkwardly for a moment.

Joanna (CONT’D)

So… what do you do for a living?

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Captain Oblivion crushes the souls of the unworthy! He grinds the countries of the world under his iron heel! He–

JOANNA

No, I mean as a job.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Oh, I work as an accountant at Heymer and Smythe’s.

JOANNA

Oh, cool. My dad used to work there.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Really? That is interesting, puny mortal.

They lights dim and he steeples his fingers in front of his face malevolently.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION (CONT’D)

Very interesting…

The waiter approaches with a laden tray.

Waiter

Your meals, sir and ma’am?

The hamburger with plate of french fries is lain before Captain Oblivion, and Joanna’s salad in front of her. Captain Oblivion stares at his plate incredulously.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

What is this?

WAITER

Is there something wrong, sir?

Captain Oblivion swipes the plate of fries off the table.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Captain Oblivion asked for no fries! He demands salad in its place! He needs to cut down on his carbohydrate intake or else it will spell his DOOM!

WAITER

Very good sir.

The waiter picks up the plate and drifts off.

Joanna

That wasn’t needed.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Captain Oblivion accepts no slack from underlings.

JOANNA

Fine, okay. Whatever.

Joanna sulks. Captain Oblivion fiddles with his fork.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Captain Oblivion apologizes.

JOANNA

Really?

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Yes. He has acted without–

Suddenly two bearded men dressed as pirates burst through the window, swinging on ropes, cutlasses in hand. It’s FISHMAN and LOBSTER BAIT. Fishman stands a good half foot taller than Lobster Bait and sports a larger beard.

Fishman

Captain Oblivion!

Captain Oblivion bursts from his chair in a rage.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Fishman! You have plagued me for the last time! I shall crush your puny bones for your impertinence!

Lobster Bait

Not likely, Captain Oblivi-JERK!

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

I have had enough of your blandishments Lobster Bait! Your spine will be the next to be ground beneath my heels!

Joanna

Okay, That’s it! I’m outta here.

Joanna grabs her jacket and purse and starts marching off.

Joanna (CONT’D)

Thanks for a horrible time, Captain.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Wait…

Captain Oblivion reaches out a hand imploringly. An awkward silence as Joanna storms out.

Fishman

Dude, were you on a date?

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

Yes…

Lobster BAIT

Way to be a jerk, man.

Fishman

Yeah, I mean we wanna defeat you as much as the next superhero, but you could have just told us. We’re not heartless, you know.

LOBSTER BAIT

Yeah, jerk.

Fishman and Lobster Bait shake their heads sadly and step out the window and onto the street.

Captain Oblivion stands still for a moment, then sinks to his chair, nursing Joanna’s glass of wine.

CAPTAIN OBLIVION

…I’m so alone…

Fade out.

INT. COFFEE SHOP – DAY
ETHAN CROSBY sits at a table, hunched over with a scarf over his face, a hood over his head, and a large pair of sunglasses obscuring his eyes.
He sits in a corner, deep in a shadow, nursing his tea, breathing on it to try and cool it down. It continues to steam despite his best efforts.
ETHAN CROSBY (V.O.)
I don’t go out much anymore. I try to avoid it, if possible.
He lowers his scarf, letting his bristly mustache and beard pop out from the scarf’s covering. He takes a pull from the tea, and puts it down.
ETHAN CROSBY (V.O.) (CONT’D)
It’s not worth the effort, really. They deliver groceries. I can order pretty much anythin’ I need off the net.
Ethan picks up the sugar pourer and dumps a spoonful or so of white crystal’s into his mug.
ETHAN CROSBY (V.O.) (CONT’D)
But my lawyer calls me up and wanted to meet at the coffee shop, so what could I do?
Ethan’s lawyer, SALLY TORRES (32, Central American with a slight Latin accent, brown hair in a tight bun, very business like)  sits down across from Ethan and takes out her briefcase.
SALLY
Hello, Ethan.
ETHAN CROSBY
(muffled by the scarf)
Good morning, Sally.
Sally unpacks her briefcase while Ethan takes another slurp of tea.
ETHAN CROSBY (V.O.) (CONT’D)
Sally’s the only lawyer I could get, what with not having a job anymore. She’s an old family friend. Doing this pro bono.
She grabs a stack of paper and tries to order them, but slips and sends papers flying across the room.
SALLY
Oh, darn it.
Sally runs after them, grabbing them roughly. Ethan sits, and scowls in his shadow.
After a few seconds, Sally manages to gather up all the papers. She sits back down and tries to put the crumpled documents in a neat pile. She COUGHS.
ETHAN CROSBY (V.O.)
If clumsiness were her only fault, I might not be so worried.
Sally COUGHS again, and adjusts her suit.
SALLY
So, anyway. How’ve you been?
ETHAN CROSBY
Oh, you know. Good as I could be, given the circumstance.
Sally nods.
Beat.
ETHAN CROSBY (CONT’D)
So, what’ve you got for me?
SALLY
Hmm?
ETHAN CROSBY
Why’d you get me to come out here?
SALLY
Oh. Right. Urr, just a sec.
Sally digs into her briefcase and pulls out a file. She passes it to Ethan, who opens it and peers in. He closes it and folds his hands on the table.
ETHAN CROSBY
Sally?
SALLY
Yes Ethan?
ETHAN CROSBY
This is the report I filled out two weeks ago.
SALLY
Yup! And I’m mailing it off tomorrow. And–
ETHAN CROSBY
Sally.
SALLY
And I was hoping you could go over it–
ETHAN CROSBY
SALLY.
SALLY
Yes?
ETHAN CROSBY
This was due last week.
SALLY
Was it?
Sally turns the file around and inspects it.
SALLY (CONT’D)
Huh. Whoops.
Ethan Drops his head on the table.
ETHAN CROSBY
They’re going to kill us.
Sally pats his back awkwardly.
SALLY
It’s okay Ethan, we’ll get your money. Your case is pretty solid as is.
Ethan MOANS.
SALLY (CONT’D)
Don’t be like that Ethan. Once you get the money from the settlement everything’ll be fine.
Ethan rises slowly.
ETHAN CROSBY
Fine?
SALLY
Yup! You won’t need to work and the fact that you–
ETHAN CROSBY
Fine? FINE? Sally–
Ethan rips off his scarf. Under his beard he looks EXACTLY like Brad Pitt.
ETHAN CROSBY (CONT’D)
I got plastic surgery so I look like fucking Brad fucking Pitt! Nothing will ever be fine again!
SALLY
Now Ethan, please, we’ll settle out of court and you’ll see. Your life’ll turn around for sure.
Ethan sighs and wraps his scarf around his face.
ETHAN CROSBY
…I should go.
Ethan stands up.
SALLY
Ethan? What about the–
ETHAN CROSBY
It’s fine. Send it off. Better late than not, I guess.
SALLY
Alright. Oh, Ethan?
Ethan stops.
ETHAN CROSBY
Yeah?
SALLY
Should I just bill this to your tab, or…
Ethan sags his shoulders, and heads for the exit.
The BARISTA hails him down. Ethan stops and turns.
ETHAN CROSBY
Hmm?
BARISTA
Hey, are you Brad Pitt?
ETHAN CROSBY
…no.
BARISTA
Wow, cause you look EXACTLY like him!
ETHAN CROSBY
I know.
Ethan heads for the exit.
ETHAN CROSBY (CONT’D)
I know.
Ethan pushes the doors open, letting in the blinding sunlight.
FADE TO WHITE.
TITLE OVER
THE PITTS

We met in high school, oddly enough. It was the start of grade eleven and I was freshly seventeen, my birthday being the summer before. She was nineteen, being slightly delayed due to everything being what it was. Plus the year or two of ESL slowed her down a fair bit. She wasn’t dim or anything, she wasn’t held back, she just didn’t get the chance to go forward until the last couple of years, if you get what I mean.

I started this off wrong, huh? Lemme start again. My name is Leslie Whittaker, and I was born and raised in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. There’s more you could say about me, but beyond that you just get into the boring nitty gritty of things, none of which interests anybody, really. All those novels about people growing up and their rough childhoods and all that crap are about as dull as is possible, I find. It doesn’t help that those kinda books are all they hammer us with in school. Books are always worse when you’re forced to read ‘em. Funny, that.

Okay, so, anyway. Grade eleven. September fourth, the Tuesday after Labour Day. Apparently there was some kind of shindig the night before where most of the kids in my class gravitated to, but I, being the lovely iconoclast I was, neglected to show up. Instead I spent a lovely evening reading shit on the internet complaining to my blog that I was bored. Odd how those two things never connected in my mind, possibly because I’m an idiot.

So I show up to school the first day, tired after getting no sleep, and bitter at having wasted my night accomplishing squat, when I met Her. With a capital H.

See, I’m making a big deal out of this whole thing, but really there was no shining light, or chorus of angels, or even me realizing anything was different than me meeting anyone else in the halls, and, in a way, I suppose there isn’t. It’s just… well, I’d better let the story tell itself, huh.

This is why I never put this to paper before today, you see; I always get distracted by shit and end up rambling about my cat or something. I’m a terrible writer, when you get down to it, but really, who isn’t? All the best authors kinda all suck in their own way, if you know what I mean, so me sucking more than usual pretty much just puts me in the middle of the pack. At least I spell most of my words right, even if my comma usage isn’t exactly perfect. I strike a solid 50-50, if nothing else, which I guess is better than most.

So, there I was; grumpy, purple haired punk kid carrying an oversized empty backpack and matching bags for my eyes as well. I wasn’t really looking where I was going, but I was such a tough bastard that I didn’t have too. The smaller kids were terrified of me, mainly because I was older and thus, according to their older siblings and friends, likely to slam them into a locker and steal their lunch money or somethin’. The older ones got out of my way because I didn’t get out of theirs. Although; the effect was ruined by the ones who failed to back down when prompted, causing us to cash into each other, which happened more than you might expect. Or not, if you’ve ever been in a highway hallway.

In any case, it was one such altercation that left my grabbing my books at the feet of Ling Zhao.

“Oh, sorry!” she said, dropping to all fours to help me grab some of the pages that spilled out of my binder.

“No worries, not your fault.” I mumbled, not wanting to sound too magnanimous in case it hurt my hall cred. “Not like you bumped me on purpose or anything.”

Ling smiled at that. Her teeth were white, which matched her pale skin and set off a nice contrast with her pitch black hair, which hung down to her shoulder blades in lazy waves. Her eyes glistened behind her glasses, which is what really caught my gaze and held it.

You know how some people just grab you by all of your senses and just shake you silly and scream “PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”? Maybe not, but surely you get what it’s like to suddenly meet someone who every atom of your body screams “I want to get to know you better. Please, let me”.

Not that I believe in love at first sight or any of that crap. Lust at first sight, maybe, but not love. In most cases your inner messenger turns out to be full of shit, and the person turns out to be as dull as a block of wood with the charisma to match. That one moment though, no matter how it turns out, is pure godamn magic, and it’s worth all the heartache in the world to feel for one second.

“No, of course not.” She said in slightly broken English. I snapped out of that brief moment, feeling as if I had been standing there staring at her for ages, when most likely I barely made eye contact with her. “Still, politeness, yes?”

“Uh, sure.” I replied, startling myself with my searing wit. “Never hurts to acknowledge someone else has worth” shut up shut up shut up what are you talking about you stupid bitch?

She just smiled again, obviously not understanding whatever it was that I was trying to say. Not that I did either, and I was the one that godamned said it. “I find that to be the case,” she said.

She handed me the last of my errant pages, and I crammed it unceremoniously into my bag and zipped it back up. “Thanks.” I said quickly, and scurried away from her with my head down.

Damn it all to hell, hat the shit is wrong with you, girl? Why wee you such a complete bitch to her? What did she do to you aside from bump into you? Something she apologized for even though it wasn’t her fault! Jesus Christ in hell, what’s wrong with you?

I continued heading down the hallway, any pretense of appearing savvy and cool long since annihilated, determined to reach my locker before I humiliated myself any further. I was seventeen though, and even I knew that it was unlikely I would be so lucky.

Truly I must be psychic.

“Hey, doll.” Said a voice to my right, as I tried to cram my bag into my tiny little excuse for a locker. “What’s up?”

“Go to hell, Justin, I’m not in the mood.”

“Why, you ragging again?” He said, crossing his arms and leaning back even further. His swept his stylishly long bangs out of his eyes, a habit he did whenever he tried to look cool. It never worked. Not once.

“At least I’ve hit puberty.” I slammed my locker shut and flipped my combo lock into place, pushing it shut with my binder.

“Nah, I hit it last week. Wanna see?” He sneered. He pushed himself upright and started to follow me. That’s one downside of being the only punk kid in school, you kinda stand out in a crowd. Also having bright purple hair tends to help, I find.

“Honestly Justin, could you be any less original?”

“Probably not. Until get my kicking rad hog and start singing quasi-rock anthems on the school bleachers. But I’ve got a busy schedule, so you’ll excuse me for not playing along right now.”

I turned to him. He did this every day, almost, and any attempt of getting him to shut the hell up seemed only to draw him closer. Not like I could tell him I was gay without causing further unwanted social attention. Also, that would most likely get him more interested than anything else. Justin was yet another example of a boy’s sexuality being raised by porn. Sad, really. At least he hadn’t started dressing like a pizza delivery kid or some shit. Yet.

“Justin, I have to get to class and I’d rather not you follow me there, okay? You’re creepy enough as is.”

Justin shrugged and strolled off down the hallway. I sighed deeply, glad he didn’t do his usual stick-around-indefinately-annoying-the-shit-out-of-me thing, which was a pleasant respite.