|
Blissworld
"What do you want me to talk about?"
"Talk to us about your childhood."
"Yeah, childhood. Make it good."
"Ehm, or don't make it good, make it what really happened, as it might have been boring."
"Right, or boring, make it boring. Mine was sort of boring. You know, but don't make it boring intentionally, if it was exciting. If it was exciting then go on with it, but otherwise, no need to tart it up. It's not like we're going to hurt you or anything if you're not exciting about your childhood. Or excited, for that matter, we understand, for the most part, how these things work, you know."
"Well, we are though."
"Boring how?"
"Well, I don't know. Just sort of so. It doesn't bear talking about, that's how boring it was. Look, I can't tell which one of you is talking here, you don't mind if we turn ont the lights for a sec, d'yez?"
"Ehm. No"
"No. Not as such."
"Not really."
"No."
*shuffle shuffle*
[A room. A small room. With brown walls, which was an unfortunate choice, at some point, and appeared to know it, as the walls sort of slumped down, if walls can, without becoming flooring. It's lit by a single bare bulb in the centre of the room, attached to a desk, though describing it as a desk wouldn't be technically correct, and a furniture salesperson might take umbrage at describing what is obviously a sidetable as a desk. This is, of course, assuming the furniture salesperson was of the disposition that he or she seemed unable to fully leave work behind when they weren't working and were, say, observing a scene with three thugs standing in a smallish room around a lamp and two chairs tied back to each other with a man in one of the chairs, tied to the chair in which he sat, and tied to the other chair was a stuffed pig. One of the plush toys, not a real pig, stuffed with whatever it is you might stuff a pig, say if you were going to roast it or something on a spit. The largest thug takes his hand quickly off the little switch towards the base of the light bulb and steps back. The man in the chair blinks a couple of times.]
thug two [who perhaps you hadn't realised was quite so thuggish, nor was he particularly comfortable with it, himself, as he slumped in much the same fashion as the walls, if you pictured the walls wearing a biege overcoat]: Or perhaps it was so boring words can't actually... ehm, describe, like... it [thug one shuffles closer to the wall.]
thug one [just as tall as you might expected, though he's a good deal skinnier than he sounds, certainly. The man in the chair looks at him and blinks a few times. This doesn't necessarily mean he's surprised at thug one's girth (or lack thereof), he's been blinking continuously since the rather misleading stage direction that he blinked a couple of times passed a few lines above, he just seems to be blinking in stanzas, you might say, if you were poetically inclined, and often, and potentially annoyingly, described things in terms of stanzas instead of words normal people might use to describe chunks of action and/or time.]: Right. Indescribably boring.
thug two: No.
thug one: What? [thug one shivers his arms slightly, which fails to inspire awe in the other people in the room, despite it being a small room, and shivers in small rooms prone to causing at least some sort of complaint about shaking about so much in a confined space. He wishes he had at least a little bit of a paunch and heft, but, as it is he's stuck with his rather thin lot] Well what, then?
thug three [opens his mouth to say something]: [and then shuts it]
[thug two turns to look at thug three. The man in the chair has stopped blinking, in case you wanted an update on him. The plush toy pig is also sitting there, rather still, as you'd expect.]
thug three [opens his mouth to say something again]: [and then shuts it. Ehm, again. Also.]
thug two [looking warily at thug three]: You know, like sort of, ehm. Words sort of fail sort of way.
thug three [opens his mouth yet again as if to say something]: [and then shuts it, again, without having uttered a word, which you would have expected, to be honest, because he bloody well looked like he was going to say something. He looks something like a fish, opening and closing his mouth like that. A fish wearing a biege overcoat with fuzzy sort of fur things sticking out at the cuffs. He's leaning against one of the walls, which does nothing for the whole slouching appearance of the room. thug one shoots thug three a nasty look when he hears the marginally audible *erp* gulping noise thug three makes when he closes his mouth this last time, which makes him resemble a fish even more.]
man in the chair [non-blinking]: Ah.
thug two [now warily eyeing both the man in the chair and thug three, alternately]: Right. [he edges further towards the wall, which isn't possible, in a strictly physical sense, as he's already pressing against the wall.] Door?
[thug one simply shrugs. And does a little jig, but only because he thought the lights were going to go down immediately after his shrug.]
[And the lights go down.]
disclaimer:
You don't get anything in life for free, as they say. Of course, nor do you get anything in life for dandelions.
There may be some logical correlation between dandelions and free-ness, I'm not so sure, now that I think about it.
|
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. Listen to the sound of silence...