Scene 0, Act 0

This is a rough draft of the prologue to an old story of mine. If it’s TL:DR, you can just listen to The Doors instead!

 

 

The scent of the mullet-ridden deliveryman still lingered in the apartment, clinging to her nostrils. It’s the kind of smell you’d expect at the paper mill during a sticky august heat wave. After looking around the barren apartment he’d asked her what she was planning to lock up… “little girl like you”… her stomach turning at the memory of him winking at her as he stared into her tits. The hardwood floors creaked under the safe’s weight.

The fading evening light of summer trickled from the window and across the floor, lighting up the base of her newest material possession. She took a seat on the kitchen floor, head in hands, legs spread, wearing nothing but her ratty old Doors t-shirt. ‘Break on Through’ was one of her favorites. The lyrics came to her now, as they did in so many situations, regardless of her mood. It instilled confidence when she had no reason to be confident. It could made her angry and happy and ambitious and horny. The power of music was just one more reason to doubt her decisions.

She cursed her decision to throw out her vibrator along with the rest of her possessions. She made due with a few fingers, climaxing in tears. It was the first time she had thought of Tully in a sexual way. He always seemed unattainable, like she was simply a student. He taught her how to live and yet supported her in death.

Walking back to the living room, a touch of acid crawled up her esophagus, burning the will to live from her heart. The sparrows were chirping just loud enough to be heard over the passing traffic. She wanted to fly. She wanted to eat grubs. She wanted an excuse to live. But of course none of the choices she could make would allow her to escape the prison of being human. She’d had enough of thinking about and talking about and striving towards how best to change her life. She had changed the externalities of her live as often as she changed socks. Most of her socks had holes in them.

“Give me convenience or give me death”, the new American motto. These lemmings that have made existing so intolerable as to slake all hope from so many millions of it’s own kind. There is a certain mindset that has helped to destroy people like Deanna that are incapable of the ignorance necessary to simply live. A mindset that is destroying those that know there is a better way to live but don’t have it in them to attempt to change society for the better. She could envision a better way of living but, would probably never be understood as more than a statistic for what is mainly perceived as weakness and instability.

The cell phone startled her and she realized that the wave of fear Tully told her to expect had arrived. “Hi Tull.” She spoke under the complete acceptance that this would be the last voice that she would be privy to. His voice was, as it always was… indifferent, and perhaps a bit self-absorbed. “You’re right” she responded. “Sorry I barged in on you like that. I would have felt vulnerable. You didn’t. I guess modesty is another weakness of humanity, isn’t it?”

After a short smile, her face turned south once again. Tully had that affect. To make people feel simultaneously great and horrible about themselves. She removed herself from her emotions and hung up the phone. “I’m ready,” she stated to the safe.

The letter lay on top of the mechanical creation in perfect austerity. The contents of the safe lay undisturbed upon her opening the door. It forced her stomach into a knot when she realized the necessity of such a device. This safe isn’t meant to protect people from wild beasts or to help people live a happy life or for any truly practical purpose. It has only one purpose; sustaining fear. Not just any fear, but the fear of other human beings in a materialistic world. It’s darwinism gone wrong, like a moth to an artificial light source.

Stripping her shirt, she stepped into the safe and switched on the booklight she’d used since high school. The little guy just wouldn’t quit. It had taken on it’s own personality to her. Deanna hated that she assigned human traits to inanimate objects. Everybody does it, but should they? When she closed the door to the safe, she thought how she had turned the purpose of the safe inside out. She, an animate object, was on the inside, with the inanimate items being protected on the outside. She locked the door with the remote and fumbled her way in the cramped space to reach the lighter sitting atop a gasoline canister. She had the two sticks of dynamite between her legs. When they rubbed against her thigh, she wished she would have thought to use one of the sticks to masturbate earlier. “How poetic.” she mumbled with a half-smile. “Oh well, that’ll be the last opportunity I lose.”

It’s horribly uncomfortable inside of a safe. Deanna was already running out of air but, she had planned for this. She maneuvered her shoulders and grabbed the small oxygen canister from below, turning the nozzle on full tilt. The fear she had felt earlier disappeared with the euphoric rush of pure oxygen. Her face turned wooden. She lit both sticks of dynamite feeling satisfied that she could finally rest. She felt a pain in her gut first and then an intense burn all over. She didn’t scream. The last thing she saw was the flesh melting from her wrist. Then blindness came with one last thought… Relief. The noise was muffled, but the vibrations shook the entire apartment building. The safe jumped a few inches off the floor and the supporting beams groaned, nearly giving way. Her suicide note floating to the cracked floorboards.

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Nick Napoli

Nick is the fella who crosses the line and drags you, kicking and screaming, to the other side. Once there, he hopes you will begin to realize how liberating it is to cease incessant worries and let go of the mindless social norms that have been so firmly ingrained in our brains. He has held many titles in life: robot's bitch, designer, rocket scientist, gummy candy shot glass manufacturer, asshole, Zine maker, and most recently, ThePotLuck Contributor. "I wouldn't say I've become more radical: I was born radical." -Ai Weiwei

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