BY KEITH EVANS
Today's blog is gonna be a tad different. As I continue to attempt progession in the "writing" part of my career, I reach out to you, the reader, for guidance. Most writers don't do this, and understandably so.
Like any art form, the artist's art is just that, the artist's.
I like to be a bit unorthodox though. Just as I am with my stand up, I like for the audience to experience the journey with me. Just as "Stand Up Suicide" documents my meager beginnings as a comic, I would like this blog to pinpoint the ascension of my writings.
With that being said, amongst many, I have a project that is close to my heart and would love feedback as I continue to nurture and build it. I don't wanna give too much away, but consider this my attempt to mash up my love for time travel with my premature goal to have a screenplay for HBO.
I present to you an excerpt from "The Middle Man", an equal parts drama and sci-fi I've been working on for the past year. Your comments and criticism are welcomed.
-If Eli didn't know anything else, he knew THIS one thing. At this very spot. On this very night. At this very hour. To this very song. He could take any girl here home. It wasn't bragadocious. Actually, quite the opposite. There was a mundane expectancy. Clearly something he's done numerous times before this very night. At this very spot. This very hour.
Even to this very song. This time, it was less inebriated lust and more organ maintenance. Fresh out of rehab for nearly a year, he needed a release. Somehow, his almost "self predicted" intervention landed him in an "Anti Masturbation" facility.
"Why is that even a thing?" he constantly asked himself for 11 months straight.
Yep. He NEEDED a release. At
the very moment that very song takes an extreme trancey turn, Eli walks slowly towards the dance floor. A chilled, sweating rocks glass of what looks like some sort of vodka drink, but is actually a cucumber water in his left hand. A weird, non drug related claminess in his right. He's clearly not as confident when sober, but still, they clearly AREN'T sober at ALL. How hard could it be?
He makes his way just to the edge of the dance floor. He looks to his right and spots a group of chics in a VIP section,
laughing hysterically. A year ago, the abundance of confidence he would have had, all fucked up, would have slightly started to waiver at the sound of anyone laughing. Assuming they were laughing at him was one of his many faults when high as a kite.
He looks to the left and sees 2 of his prospects stumbling towards their own VIP area. He takes another sip of water and focuses his attention on the 3 prospects left, when suddenly, he here's his name, faint, but as if it touched his shoulder. He glances back to his right, and a woman, attractive, but blatantly not slutty enough for his intentions confirms it was her who called out. Eli has NO idea who this is. He hesitantly walks over as her companions begin to run off to the dancefloor.
"You're Eli right? Elian Talisman. You used to spin here like a year ago?" she asked loudly over the music.
"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry, I'm not exactly sure if I'm suppose to remember you or not."
"It's cool. You couldn't possibly remember me. I used to avoid talking to you. You were so fucked up. I'm sure if anything, I was just one of the cackling silhouettes in the background of your fucked up journeys."
Eli is sort of taken off guard but still very deliberate in his ability to look unimpressed and intrigued all at once.
She continues...
"So... how was rehab?"
"Ah, you know about that? Well, I guess everybody does one way or the other. Rehab, it was a blast. Like spending Christmas in a coma. Imagine a vacation with it's soul extracted."
"Nice. Don't worry. I'm not judging you. Half my family is in rehab, or at the very least, church. I actually find your particular case fascinating."
"Fascinating? That seems inappropriate, do tell."
"I mean, it's just weird, you being in there for strictly psychedelics. Most people I know or heard of addicted to shrooms and acid either just eventually die or go crazy and get themselves committed in an institution."
"Funny you should say that. I was actually on my way to an institution tonight, but my gps gave me bad directions, and now I'm here."
They share a laugh as she leans in closer and places her hand on his thigh. He shakes a bit. He's nervous. She notices. He notices she notices. He recovers. She speaks.
"So... I know this girl, who has had a crush on you since your first set here. Actually, let me rephrase. A crush is too junior high for what she felt. This was more of a definite yearning. A creamy urge."
"...uhm, wow..so uhm, does this girl wanna go somewhere a little more quiet to discuss this 'urge'?"
"Well, she's not here...but I'll be more than glad to take you to her."
And like that, they left that very spot. On this very night. At that very hour...
They walk into a massive lush abode he's never seen before that resides in a neighborhood he fancied himself usually very familiar with. She drops her jacket to the ground, turns to him and takes his hand. Eli assumes they won't make it to the bedroom. He doesn't need a tour, that's clearly not why he's here. He pulls her into his arms.
"So, about this 'crush' you have on me..."
"What do you mean me? I TOLD you,I know this girl who's waited almost a year for this very moment..."
...on this very night. At this very spot.
"Right. And here we are. You don't have to wait any longer."
She rolls her eyes as if to dismiss his response and begins to lead him upstairs. The faint deep house mix he heard playing upon entry grows louder. Lights that only flickered from a distance now became brighter. Purples and whites, flashing like staring into a traffic light. As she walks him into a room, the source of the party, he sees a girl he vaguely remembers as Dawn, lying on the bed. Body, naked. Hands, roaming. Pupils, dialated.
"Here she is. The girl I was telling you about." whispers the host into Eli's ear.
"Are you sure she wants ME? She seems to want ANYbody at this point. I'm not looking to get tricked into some sort of rape."
She laughs at the thought.
"No, no, it's nothing like that. Trust me, I familiar with EVERY want Dawn has. She's always wanted you."
"And how are YOU so familiar?"
She walks over to the bed where Dawn lies. She sits next to her while she rustles thru her handbag. She pulls out what looks like a leather leash attached to a diamond encrusted spiked collar. She applies the collar to Dawn's neck and stands up. After 2 short jerks, Dawn rises from the bed, and almost slithers down to the floor, ending up on her hands and knees.
"Because Dawn's my wife... and I'm her master."
Eli's eyes open almost instantly. A headache is felt immediately after. "There's no way I drank or took anything" he thinks to himself while holding his head. He pushes back the covers and stretches, still holding his head. This headache is unbearable, and the more he grows angry about having a headache from not drinking, the more it seems to hurt.
He takes a moment and closes his eyes. He opens them and looks around. The room seems to have been cleaned. Wait, has it even been rearranged? He can hardly remember, and the effort doesn't seem worth it. He sits up and surveys his surroundings. He's alone. Alone in a very clean and lavish bedroom. No signs of a threesome with some chic and her wife. Not even any signs of the nights activities at all. There's a note on the pillow next to him.
'Hey babe, only caught the last half of your set at the club. Tight as usual. Marta should have breakfast waiting for you
downstairs. I went for a run. Be back in a bit. I love you'
"I love you? Well, that's presumptious. Did I perform that good? Usually I end up just being the ballboy in most threesomes. That first chic's name must be Marta. Nice. And they cooked me breakfast? Double nice."
All these thoughts flew through not only his head, but his headache, like a truck with square wheels down a gravel road. He hops to his feet, immediately confused why he isn't wearing the boxer briefs he donned the previous evening, but instead a pair of basketball shorts of a team he doesn't even like. As he stammers down the stairs, he has trouble recalling where everything was when he walked in. Again, he wasn't here for the tour, but he thought he had accurately assessed his enviroment, as is protocol for nights like these, sober OR fucked up.
He walks past a large picture window, at least confirming he was in the same neighborhood he thought he was in. As he looks away from the clear glass pane, he suddenly jerks his head back towards it. 2000 Nissan Maxima, anniversary series, dolphin blue. That was Eli's car. Well, WAS Eli's car. He had totaled it the night before he went into rehab. High off of a 3 day peyote binge, playing Mario Kart on the very real expressway, he had completely totaled his vehicular pride and joy, yet now, at this very moment, on this very morning, in that very spot, he stared at it. His precious 2000 Nissan Maxima, anniversary series, dolphin blue. The one that took him the entrie 11 months in rehab to get over, just sat there, in that very spot, just...existing.
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