The Twentisecond One

Citrus Providers
When life gives you lemons, do the obvious. When life gives you grapefruit, throw it back since you don’t like it.  Sometimes, the grapefruit has rotted beyond repair, and catching it means getting the rotten, sticky pulp all over your hands. You go to the bathroom to get the pulp off but the unbearable stench remains, so you douse yourself with many different perfumes and finally, the awful stench disappears. You’ve had the stench for almost 2 weeks, and very little people have decided to stick around and suffer through the stench with you. But those are the good guys, the defiant ones; they’re the ones who’ll stick around longer than the terrible smell. You can never predict the whereabouts of the grapefruit; some of them appear out of nowhere and hit your chest incredibly hard, others are coughed up and spit out (luckily, they’re not rotten), and others have just fallen from the sky, splattered all over the floor. You recognize that these aren’t your grapefruit and take a moment to wonder if you should care about the floor grapefruit. Your first instinct is to clean it up, and throw it in the dumpster or in some kind of compost heap. Once you’ve done that, you can’t help but wonder about the other grapefruit that makes up the compost heap. You realize that people might’ve been hit by the exact same grapefruit, but it’s such an embarrassing thing to happen to a person, getting hit by grapefruit, that it doesn’t surprise you that no one else ever talks about it. In fact, upon realizing the amount of grapefruit in the compost heap, you get sick of saying the word grapefruit and resort to calling it “Citrus provider”, but oranges and tangerines are also “citrus providers” so now you’ve blurred your understanding of the term. You start having dreams of “citrus providers” raining from the sky. Upon seeing the rest of the world take advantage of the “citrus providers”, from practical juice-making means to ridiculous robot making means, you start attacking everybody and stealing their “citrus providers”. In the dream, you create an enormous basket and with your imaginary strength, you succeed in taking away everybody’s “citrus providers” and decide to jump into the basket and dwell within the pulps and juices of the “citrus providers”. You have the time of your life within the basket until others realize the existence of the basket breaks various zoning laws and have the basket destroyed by missile fire (since it’s a dream, you know). No one considers the explosion causes all of the “citrus providers” to pour out of the basket at once and engulf everyone in sight. You’re the lucky one, however, and are the only one alive after the missile fiasco, but you look around and clearly see how everyone perished, by the means of your precious “citrus providers”. The thought makes you insane and you wake up, before any further damage is caused. At this point, waking up in a moistened bed, you think about all of the grapefruits of the world and wonder why the grapefruits come and go that easily. It’s been two weeks since your last grapefruit hit you, but you start yearning for the grapefruit, praying and making ridiculous ceremonies to bring it back. One summer afternoon, the clouds are the same purple-orange that led to the “citrus provider” storm, and you smile and wait patiently, only to be disappointed by the rain, saddened by the reaction from others, and furious from being tricked by Mother Nature again. You go into a crazed madness that leads you to a farmer’s market, still open at Midnight, apparently, and smash up every “citrus provider” you can see. Lo and behold, the cops have arrived, forgotten their training, and hurl a grapefruit right at your face. The grapefruit smashes and opens up immediately, covering your whole face like a ski mask. You’re sitting in the back of the cop cruiser, having refused to remove the grapefruit from your face. The cops think you’re the most ridiculous lunatic they’ve ever had to arrest, but you’re not listening. You have your grapefruit back and that’s all that matters. After a while, the grapefruit slowly slides off of your face, and lands onto your handcuffed arms. It’s not the same grapefruit you remember, just a convincing impostor. Your eyes, filled with grapefruit pulp and tears, burn savagely, and your body crumbles. Your time in jail is thankfully a quick one, as it’s your first offense. As you sit in jail with the grapefruit mask next to you, you consider the grapefruits in the compost heap again.  You look at the grapefruit mask again.

Some grapefruits are the lucky ones.

-To my sister.­­­­­­­ 

Ideas That Will NEVER Happen: Vol.III !!!

Take a look, if you'd like, at a past life of mine: Making comic strips. This was my second pet project in 7th grade. Over the course of the year, I made 120 strips, 23 of which I ended up posting. This was a time that I realized that becoming a success on the internet would be far more difficult than I ever could've imagined. I was a temperamental guy back then, so a day with little or no hits would devastate me, enough that I gave up on posting more comics until September of 2008 when I planned to reboot the comic strip only to give up again after a small reaction from the new comic. Looking back, these comics were terrible and ill-inspired and yet, I did notice an amount of progress in the comics, as the creative process became more intuitive, certain choices were made for the comics to look more presentable, and even the immature humor became much better. Unfortunately, outside obligations(such as school and...) forced me to abandon the comic strips for good.
And now for the matter at hand, what these comic strips have to do with an impossible idea:

An R-rated feature-lengthed film based on the "popular" webcomic. Movie poster advertisements all over would feature Sonic, Shadow, and Kirby hidden in the darkness with a tagling saying, "The Darkest Comedy Ever." The jokes, profanity, and gratuitious content are at unspeakable levels of filth. The plot of the movie is that an alien is creating duplicates of popular characters that have better personalities than the originals. Sonic, Shadow, and Kirby team up to destroy all of the clones before it's too late, and insult Kirby's weight the whole way through. This is the ending: After the amount of chaos that has happened in the past 90 minutes, the movie cuts to this strip. The audience gets a chance to read it until the camera starts pulling away from the computer screen on which the strip is displayed on. People notice that it's a low-tech computer that may've run Windows XP at some point. The camera pulls away further, revealing an abandoned room that has one computer still running. Going back further, the camera moves out of the house, through the doorway, and reveals an enitre city completely devoid of life. The camera stops moving back as soon as it's able to see the entire skyline and begins fading out as soon as one of the buildings collapses.

Why this will never happen: like it or not, my comic strip is probably really similar to other video games comic strips that have self-referencing characters and violence, and each of them have the same low chances as mine to get noticed by a movie studio. Also, the movie tries to throw as much inappropriate content as it can in the 90 minute runtime with a goal of breaking the Guiness World Record for the amount of profanity in an animated movie(currently held by South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut) which, one, is an incredibly short-sighted goal, and two, would sacrifice the quality of the story to make lots and lots of terrible jokes. Also, it just wouldn't suitable for an adorable character like Kirby to be in a movie this raunchy, and the guys at Nintendo would probably agree. Although this movie and comic strip was insane as it was, I look forward to making a new comic in the near future, if and only if I have the time and patience to do so.

Ideas That Will Never Happen: VOL. 2!!

What you are about to read will never happen. It doesn't matter how much money you contribute, how many brilliant minds you stuff into a cramped room to make the idea comprehensible, it will NEVER happen. Though the mind is free to create whatever scenarios it can, even it is fully aware of some ideas that poison the mind and endanger it. This is one of those ideas.

In 7th grade, I began work on my most ambitious project to date: Spongebob Squarepants in an adventure through time!!!! (Spongebob: Trapped in Time!!!). Originally written to be the next bestselling novel, this version is the film adaptation. Our hero Spongebob retreats away form society when a mistake at the annual fry cook games costs him the gold spatula and a life of happiness working at his favorite job. Nearly everyone in Bikini Bottom insults Spongebob for his mistake, and so, Spongebob decides to stay in his pineapple until it rots. Just when all hope is lost, his friend Patrick encourages Spongebob, through much comical complication, to experience the outside world again. Reluctantly, Spongebob does until waltzing into Plankton's clunky restaurant, The Chum Bucket, where he and Patrick uncover Plankton's latest diabolical device, a time machine! Plankton goads the two bestest buddies to go into the machine, only to be teleported back in time, back to the days of Ancient Egypt. Spongebob's adventure takes him on a rampage with a flying car of the future, getting swallowed by a Sphinx, makes him and Patrick the last ones remaining when the Titanic splits open, accidently kill a few gladiators and lion fish in Rome, wonder about their lives as they run away from the battle happening in Gettysburg, and inadvertently cause the end of the universe which, since it's a Spongebob movie, they somehow repair and make it back to the present. The adventure features an impressive combination of classic cel animation and CGI(Computer Generated Imagery) in the designs of the future buildings of Future Bottom and the Titanic, as well several other set pieces such as the kickass flying car, and the Sphinx which somehow comes to life and has functioning organs. It's a PG-13 rated flick so it features intense cartoon violence that might frighten a tot or two, some profanity, and a few low-brow jokes.

Why it will never happen: The idea, although practically understandable for standard saturday morning cartoon fare, is far too ambitious to ever be produced. Imagine me, in 7th grade, lacking of any kind of friends, rushing home every day after completing his homework, booting up his computer to write the next chapter of the Spongebob epic that would cement his place in history. Even with that kind of determination, it would never be picked up by anyone, and trying to make a blockbuster film of this degree would require a budget larger than for the making of Tarzan, the most expensive animated movie to date. It's also a fairly risky feature in trying to tell a coherent story that mixes in high-speed dramatic thrills, suspense, and pitch-perfect comedy all in one. It's also risky for even being more violent than a regular animated movie and for being more risque. Also, even with Spongebob, the market film companies are chasing after these days are CGI features, leaving the cel animation features to be left in the dust. The reason I would ever write a story like this was because of my disappointment of the promise of a Spongebob special(Dunces and Dragons) that ended up only being 30 minutes long. The movie would run for about two hours, again something almost unheard of for an animated movie, but if the Spongebob creators were risky enough to make a character like a walking, talking sponge, then maybe this idea might work. It's such a large idea that I will spend more posts talking about it, but in the near future.

Degas' Laundresses

Originally written in 11th Grade.

This was the following project after the short story. The assignment was to use a poem we discussed in class and make an adaptation of it, in the form of a theatrical play. Originally, the project felt like an obligation that I had to finish, as I couldn't connect well with the characters as I had in my previous projects, but later in the class when we had a chance to revise any project of our choice, I decided to revise this one since I felt it had lots of unused potential. The first draft(of 4 pages) was well-received in the class, more so than the short story, with some people being really impressed at how fully fledged out and three dimensional the characters were despite the source material. Some criticized the prose likeness but really, for any project, it's much easier to work with prose than with a proper screenplay. The version I'm posting is almost 11 word-doc pages. The play was a daring departure from my other projects, mainly due to the inclusion of female characters, and an attempt at a story related to life other than an exaggerated comical situation. Many told me it would've been a worthwhile inclusion in the school's playwright festival, but I wasn't sure it was ready for that kind of recognition. There were numerous amounts of changes I made, such as the character's names, the timing for moments, dialogue that wasn't period related; it was truly a difficult but worthwhile effort. I don't know if I'll ever come back to this project in the future, by then, much more diverse ideas will have come and gone, but the project as it stands is still an important part of my career as a writer, when only the characters and myself could dictate if it would be a success. Please enjoy the one-time only showing of Degas' Laundresses.

Pt. 1
Scene 1
Setting: 19th Century France, The Art Studio
Characters:  Merle, Corentine, The Artist

Curtain rises. Dim lights. Merle sits with her back to a large piece behind her, unaware that it’s been painted recently. Her legs stretch towards the audience, as if wanting them to come join her. She’s dressed in a simple white dress with some traces of dirt. She holds her fist tightly, covering most of her mouth. She allows one finger to be set free unknowing that the finger curls up on her chin. She stares with contempt at the audience for 20 seconds. She begins wincing in pain and blinks her eyes a few times.

Merle: (pinching her left arm as punishment) Eh, ah! Aaahh…ech… (Stops pinching) Ah… (Sighs)

Lights slowly become brighter, revealing most of the scenery. A tub of water is at the left side of the stage, with a small pile of clothes next to it. Merle stands up, her left leg slightly bent. She stretches her arms towards the audience, and then clasps her hands. The rest of her motions are simple stretches, no detail is needed for those. After she is done, she walks over to the tub of water, and puts her knees to the floor. She begins sweating almost immediately and uses her right arm to dry off. She forgets about the patches of dirt on her palm, and makes salty mud. She looks at her hand for a moment then dries off using a black smock from the pile. She grabs a white shirt from the pile and dunks it carelessly in the tub. She puts lots of pressure onto the shirt as if she is drowning a helpless victim, waiting to smack it back down if it comes up for air. She makes a puzzled expression as she quickly takes the shirt out of the tub. The shirt is now blue. She takes a closer look at the water, and then realizes what she has just done. She drops the shirt, and walks back to where she had been. Lights become brighter, revealing an enormous painting. The painting has a mixture of colors, near the bottom, almost like a tidal wave of colors that don’t fit with each other. It leaves a blank spot on the painting, as if it was trying to be erased. The woman’s position is halfway towards the painting, and half towards the audience.

Merle: No. No! No-au-ahhh! (Sobbing) Noooo! Aug-hu-ha! Ahhgggg! (Breaths deeply) Mmmm… Hoh! (Sniffles) Uh. (Coughs) (Sniffles)

There’s a loud knock. Merle attempts to contain herself by wiping away her tears with her dress. She dusts herself off and walks to the right side of the stage. She looks at the reflection from the doorknob. She gets frightened at what she’s become and cleans herself up more carefully, evening out the marks on her face. Another knock.

Merle: (coughs) (sniffles) Ex-excuse me one moment.

Corentine: Who said that? I thought this place was empty at this time.

Merle appears relieved to find that someone else is at the door. She grabs the doorknob, cautiously still, and opens the door. A woman, an inch smaller in height than her, wearing a similar white dress with a flower stitched on it, comes in. Corentine passes Merle, and stares in awe at the studio. She can’t help but walk nonchalantly around the stage, walking back to where she was. Corentine sees Merle.

Corentine: Oh, I’m so sorry. I did not see you there. (Clasps her hands apologetically) Please forgive my rude-

Merle: You’re forgiven. Who are you?

Corentine: What do you mean? You…did not know I was coming?

Merle: I’ve been here most of today (clasps her hands tightly)…and yesterday (Separates hands).

Corentine: Oh, how unfortunate! Do you ever eat or-

Merle: (Staring stupefied) Wha?! Kind of question is that?

Corentine: Sorry! I was just wondering how the services-

Merle: They’re fine. Don’t worry about that.

Merle walks away from Corentine, both arms tight and (frigid), and goes back to the pile of clothes. Corentine walks behind her, about 5 feet apart. Merle sits down and turns around, frowning when she sees Corentine right in front of her.

Merle: What are you doing?

Corentine: Is this where I’m supposed to be?

Merle: I don’t know! (Throws her hands up in the air) I don’t know anything about you besides your tendency to ask stupid questions! Are you supposed to be here?

Corentine: I…eh…yes. (Sits with an apologetic expression)

Merle: (Turns back towards clothes) then start folding. Don’t get in the way.

Corentine: (Like a toddler who misbehaved) Okay.

Merle goes back to washing clothes, forgetting that the water hasn’t been replaced. She dips a shirt in the water, splashing both of their white dresses. She pulls it out, noticing it’s turned blue.

Merle: Aaghg!

Merle molds the shirt into a ball and hurls it to the center of the stage. Corentine looks at the formation and departure of the ball-shirt with a curious expression. She can’t help but run towards the shirt, pick it up, and look at it.

Corentine: Wow. This is interesting. (Looks at the sleeves) Ooh! (Turns the shirt around)

Merle: (Scratching her head) will you stop that? There’s nothing special about that shirt. It’s blue and it’s useless. That’s all you have to know. Now get back here, right now!

Corentine: (looks away from the shirt and leers at Merle) Hold on a minute, I’m just…a little curious. I mean look at it! (Holds the shirt towards Merle) I mean how does something like that happen. It’s fascinating!

Merle: (Irritated) No, it’s useless. The great artist hates blue shirts. I wouldn’t be too concerned over this if the shirt became red or orange. That’s fine. But not blue. I have to get rid of the shirt.

Corentine: No! (Starts hugging the shirt) You can’t! (Hugging more tightly) Can I…at least have it?

Merle: Oh, now look at what you’ve done! Your dress is ruined, you fool!

Corentine pulls the shirt away from her and looks down. Blue drops of water tumble down and over the folds on her dress, leaving an intriguing pattern on her dress, similar to the calm painting style of a Monet.

Corentine: (Looking closer) Actually, I like this. It’s much more interesting this way.

Merle: Oh, for… Fine, you can have the shirt. And I really couldn’t care less about the way your dress looks, truthfully.

Corentine: (Eyes lighting up) Oh, thank you! You are so kind!

Merle: (under her breath) Right.
Pt. 2

Corentine walks eloquently back to Merle who has picked up the tub of water, and dunked it offstage. She comes back onstage and puts the tub back where it was. She sits back down, where she was, and grabs a white smock. Corentine sits next to Merle. Merle dunks the white smock in the water and tries to scratch off some of the dirt marks. Merle goes on with her normal routine as Corentine patiently watches on. 30 seconds go by. Merle becomes more irritated with each passing second, as she begins ripping her fingers through some of the clothing. 10 more seconds. Merle’s fingers curl up like the claws of a beast, waiting to tear into the entrails of a dying carcass. Time.

Merle: (Dunking the shirt, splashing both of them a bit) what are you even doing here, anyway?! You’ve done nothing but stare at me for what feels like forever! If you aren’t going to help, then just leave!

Corentine: I’m…I’m-

Merle: Sorry?! For what? For being incompetent? Useless? That’s your own damn fault!

Corentine: (Starts tearing up) I…

Merle: My god, what is your problem? Speak!

Corentine:  I had a chance and I took it! That is my problem! (A teardrop)

Merle: What are you…what?

Corentine: (Sniffles) A chance to work with the greatest artist in France. The one and only. (Starts crying, but hides her tears in her hands) The great one!

Merle looks at Corentine for a few seconds as Corentine’s tears scatter onto the ground. Merle reconsiders her next comment and thinks for a moment. 

Merle: Oh. Uh… (Still irritated but a bit sympathetic) so…you’re a painter?

 Corentine: (sniffles) Yes. (Sniffles) I’ve painted many things. Well, I am a painter but I want to be a better one.

Merle: (pinching herself over guilt) Eh! (Lets go) Listen, I understand your problem, but why did you come here of all places?

Corentine: I would tell you but…I can’t think straight right now. I just want to start by apologizing for being-

Merle: No, I’m sorry. I thought you were a laundress. Or my replacement. I overreacted. I do that from time to time.

Corentine: That’s fine. (Cracks open a little smile)

Merle: (almost as if the act is foreign, tries to mimic her smile) listen, you look like a wonderful girl but… you can’t work here. You wouldn’t learn anything that you don’t already know.

Corentine: What do you mean? (Wipes tears from the right side)

Merle: I…

Corentine: Yes?

Merle: (Stares at the ground for 8 seconds) I think…you might enjoy yourself here.

Corentine: (Coming closer) What?

Merle: (Looks up) YOU’LL BE FINE HERE!(Sees Corentine shaken) Oh-(pinches herself) Ah, ah, eh! (Lets go) You’ll-(coughs)You’ll be fine here. Make yourself comfortable.

Corentine: (A little stunned) Uh…why did you…

Merle: (Grabbing another shirt) Oh, that always happens. You will get used to it.

Corentine: (Jokingly, but still phased) Well, I hope that I do!

Corentine, tearless, feels gratified in learning that she can stay. Overdramatically, she begins skipping with joy around the stage while Merle proceeds with washing the shirt.

Corentine: La,la,la,la,ala,ala,laala-(trips) Ahh!(Falls on the ground, a few feet away from Merle, dragging her dress) Ohhh!

The noise alerts Merle, and she turns to see Corentine on the ground. She puts her shirt down momentarily and picks up a different one. She dunks it in the water. Corentine is sitting up, searching her body for injuries. Merle hurls the wet shirt. The shirt flies across the air, little drops of water drip on the stage, hitting Corentine directly on her chest, wrapping itself around her like a mother grasping her long, lost child.

Corentine: Ah!

Corentine removes the shirt and holds it on her arms.

Corentine: Why did you do that?

Merle: What are you expecting? It is my job and now it is yours.

Corentine looks at the shirt carefully, a bit disappointed that it isn’t as vibrant and wonderful as the blue shirt.

Corentine: Mmm…

Merle: Well? What are you waiting for? Get started!

Corentine: M- Oh! Uh, I do not kn-

Merle: Oh, what kind of excuse is that? Come here and I will tell you how it is done.

Corentine: (Standing up with the shirt in her right hand) Oh… thank you. Thank you very much!

Merle picks up the shirt she had before and dunks it the tub. Corentine walks over to Merle and sits next to her, eager to begin her lessons. Merle moves a few inches away. Merle takes out the shirt and shows it to Corentine. Merle drops the shirt.

Merle: OH! I…forgot something! I will be right back!

Merle walks offstage. She returns a few seconds later with a scrub brush and a bar of soap.

Merle: I must have lost half a mind to think I could do this without soap. (Turns to Corentine) Pay very close attention. This is very simple.

Corentine nods and looks at Merle admiringly. Merle moves an inch away in alarm. Merle, quickly and without pause, teaches Corentine the basic steps of laundry.

Merle: And that is all. See, like I told you, it is simple.

Corentine: It is easy! Oh, I could do this in my sleep!

Merle: (under her breath) You would drown first. (Aloud) Maybe, but you still have to be careful. (Looks up and curls her eyebrows) You know what? I have taught you enough. Would you like to try doing this yourself?

Corentine: (Amazed, yet unsure) Oh, that would be splendid! But…I do not feel as if I know enough…you know? You have done this much longer than I have-

Merle: Nonsense! You will be fiiine! Do not worry. (Walks towards the door) You will be just…fine…

Merle sits with her back on the door, and her arms crossed behind her head. Corentine looks at the tub of water. She sees her reflection in the water and makes a face to it. She makes a few more. When she remembers what she was supposed to do, she grabs a shirt and gets started. She works for about one and half minutes until she gets to a shirt with a larger patch of dirt. Surprised for just a moment, she grabs a bar of soap and scrubs with the brush.
Pt. 3
Corentine: Mm! Mm! Eh! Eegghh…

Corentine, noticing that the patch doesn’t get smaller, furiously dive-bombs the tub, splashing the floor a bit. She gets the shirt at the edge to the water, like an amateur surfer who doesn’t want to stand, and scrubs more intensely, unaware of her own potential.

Corentine: Eegghh! Err! RRAAAHHH!!

Corentine pierces the shirt open, making a large hole. The shirt ripping makes a loud, unrealistic noise that can terrify the audience.

Corentine: (Staring deeply at the shirt) UH! Uhh…Rrr…GR! DAMN IT!!

Uncontrollably, she throws the brush, which hooks onto the shirt, to the center of the stage, while it becomes more difficult for her to breathe. The brush makes a loud clunk noise that vibrates across the stage, yet isn’t enough to wake Merle, who is fast asleep.
     
Corentine: Rrr! Ouh!(Breathes for a few seconds) Oh no. Oh no! Oh! What have I done? Oh!

Corentine turns left and right guiltily and looks at Merle. She looks back and begins staring at her own hands, shaking in horror.

Corentine: (Breaths deeply) Oh. Oh… What have I done? What have I just did? This is…wrong! Oh! Oh!

Corentine shakes for a few more seconds until she covers her face and begins crying uncontrollably. She gradually begins coming closer to the floor. Once there, she stretches her legs towards the tub, nearly tipping it over. She continues crying, more and more loudly. Merle, who looks to be at peace as if it was the first time in years, begins blinking her eyes, absorbing the scenery around her. She becomes displeased in realizing she’s still in the studio.

Merle: (Sniffles) Yeh! Aaaahhh... (Yawns) Oh no.

Merle’s eyes open wide and stare at Corentine. She strokes her hair and rubs her eyes in shock and amuse.

Merle: (Chuckling) What are you doing?

It takes a few moments for Corentine for process this comment. Once she does, she tries to stop crying to respond back, but is still lying on the floor.

Corentine: (Looking at Merle) Geh! Uuh! Bu-

Merle: You are embarrassing yourself. Come. Stop, okay?

Corentine: Uuh…Im…monstuh…

Merle: What?

Corentine: I’m a monster! Can you not seeee?!

Merle, beginning to feel a little sympathetic, walks until she sees the ripped shirt hooked onto the brush. She grows a little bit furious until she begins to smile. She chuckles and picks it up.

Merle: Good work! (Looking at the hole) You got the stain out!

Corentine: Eeee…augh! (Looks away from Merle)

Corentine continues to cry, making several high noises like a baby. Merle walks over to Corentine, and carelessly throws the shirt-brush into the water, splashing Corentine a bit. She kneels down next to Corentine and places her hand on Corentine’s hair, caressing a little bit. Corentine stops crying for a moment and begins moving her head closer to Merle’s knees. Merle, a bit confused, allows Corentine to do so until Corentine’s head and neck are placed on Merle’s lap. Corentine silently smacks and licks her lips. Corentine swallows whatever she had in her throat and clears her throat.

Corentine: I’m a monster.

Merle: (Softly) No, you are not.

Corentine: I am. (Sniffles) I am a beast.

Merle: (Softly) Nonsense.

Corentine: Then why did I-

Merle: You were frustrated. It is perfectly understandable.

Corentine: But…I’ve never…done that before. I felt like a demon from... Oh, I cannot say!

Merle: Go ahead.

Corentine: A demon from Hell!

Corentine stays silent for a few more seconds until she begins to rise from Merle’s lap.
Pt. 4
Merle: (Whispers) Stay down.

Corentine: (Surprised) What?

Merle: (Aloud) Nothing! I did not say anything!

Corentine sits upright near Merle. Merle, blushing a bit, stands up and stretches her arms.

Merle: (Breaths deep) Ahh. So what went wrong?

Corentine stands up, a bit shaken, and dusts herself off.

Corentine: A certain shirt tried to make a fool of me. And…ended up succeeding. (Nervously giggles) Really, I must apologize for my brutish behavior.

Merle: It is fiiiine! Do not worry about it! Sometimes, on a really difficult day, if rip three or four shirts, I try to rip two or three at a time to see how much more strong I have become. I could survive a brawl here.

Corentine: With how many men?

Merle: Two on a good day, five on a bad one.

Corentine moves her hand toward her lips, trying to stifle her laughter but failing to do so. Her laughs are unpleasant and strangely offensive to Merle.

Merle: Please! It is not that funny!

Corentine: (Laughing) No! Of course it is not!

Corentine lets her mouth go and her arms move at their own pace. Her body sways back and forth and she nearly loses her balance. Corentine begins laughing more and more manically. Her face starts becoming red and she can’t stop blinking her eyes. Merle grows more and more impatient until she grabs Corentine from the sides of her body and shakes her furiously like a child wondering what his present is.

Merle: STOP LAUGHING!!

Corentine opens her eyes wide, staring right into Merle’s countenance, and shuts her mouth tightly. She begins struggling to breathe and opens her mouth.

Corentine: Uhhua! Huu! (Coughs) Agh! Ooph… (Breathes) Oh. I am so very sorry. I have never heard a joke that vulgar.

Merle: What?! You stupid idiot!

Corentine: (Chuckles) Well, I am sorry but I have not.

Merle: What did you think I meant by ‘a brawl’? You know what? I do not want to know!

Corentine: (Guiltily) Oh, but I am very sorry! That was not what I was thinking! You are not that kind of woman!

Merle: Exactly! Wait…you were just joking?

Corentine: Of course. A brawl is a fight. Five men is a lot of men. Five on a bad day. It is funny!

Merle: (Staring intently) Funny. Funny, funny, funny, funny. It is what is.

Corentine: What is the matter? You did not think…that was funny?

Merle: (Thinking) I do not know. I do not what is funny anymore. (Holding her chin) I know one time in my life I would have gotten an aneurysm from laughing at that joke. Well, maybe not. It was the joke of an amateur.

Corentine: (Giggling a little) It was bad, was it not?

Merle: (Chuckling) Horrible. All right. Enough talk. Back to work. I know you will need my help after how badly you destroyed that shirt.

Corentine: That is not fair!

Merle: Life is not fair. What can you do?

Corentine: (Thinking for a few seconds) Make another?

Merle: Ha! The Artist’s paintings are the most famous and prized in all of Europe. I am sure a new pile of dirty clothes are waiting for me right outside. Come on. I will…show you exactly how it is done.

Corentine: (Smiling) Thanks.

Merle and Corentine sit right next to each other, only about an inch apart, near the tub. They each grab another shirt from the pile. Corentine sits and watches studiously at everything Merle tells her everything. They talk together for what seems like minutes, but is actually hours. The lights become dimmer to indicate it is now late at night.

To be continued…
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Introduction:
I’m a bit thankful yet, hateful towards this project. Thankful that I’ve gotten the opportunity to experience the life of a writer, if only temporarily, imagine his or her choices, and how they can unexpectedly affect what the finished work will become. Hateful that this change is difficult to transplant into my work. This class(Creative Writing) has shown me that indeed, that kind of cooperative input can be greatly beneficial in the long run, so long as that help is well, helpful. The comments I wrote for this class, I could never(at this moment) write for an essay. I can’t spot those obvious errors and points even though it seems as though everyone else’ flashlights are working and pointing directly at the problem and I can see it, my flashlight stopped working and now I’m off to the store to buy some new batteries. Indeed, this class has been incredible with their input, with its diversity, and never again will I put down the potential everyone encases…until I forget what I just typed tomorrow. So thanks for being that teacher to give me that opportunity. Now onto the story… I’m beginning to grow fond of this one. As I mentioned in class, I thought it was a disturbing failure, an interesting idea that might’ve benefited at the hands of another writer. Now I say…STAY AWAY! THIS IS MINE! One of the major changes I made, which will be noticeable the 6 or 5 seconds you look at the front page is the name change from Collette to Merle. While I’m not sure how unexpectedly drastic this change was though, now that I think about, Merle is becoming her own character apart from Collette which may be completely accidental. At first, it would be that one of the laundresses was the experienced one, the other a newbie; the experienced knows what she’s got herself into and knows there’s no way out and knows the same will happen to the other woman, but has lost most of her humanity and couldn’t care less about what happens to Corentine. That was Collette. But in an unexpected change to a moment that would’ve been comical, it turns out that Merle used to be a mother in her previous life before becoming a laundress, making the situation and the destruction of Corentine’s future inevitable yet much more compelling. Well, at least that’s how it’s become so far. I might change Merle back to ‘Collette’ if the mother idea doesn’t work out but it seems to have much more potential. Of course, in a similar style to most of the great dramas of our time, her life as a mother is implied with how she takes care of Corentine. This is just the intro and you probably don’t know what I’m talking about, but consider this after you read that moment then you’ll see what I mean…maybe. It’s up to interpretation. I thought about changing Corentine’s name but I’ve grown strangely affectionate towards that name. It captures the fanciful and limitless potential of Corentine’s imagination. It’s also a word that comes up on Spell-check. I think I’ll name my daughter Corentine. Another change was making Degas into ‘The Artist’ which works beautifully for this play. Upon revising the Degas lines, I saw how quickly that could’ve derailed the whole production into an early finish. Plus since my characters are interesting to watch, I felt it would cheat the audience if a third character was suddenly thrown in who wasn’t not given as much care and attention as Merle and Corentine. Making the character a surrounding presence makes the whole production much more interesting to watch and it makes the climax much more striking and horrifying to watch. It could also be silly and laugh-inducing since it’s going to be a voice talking to Corentine as he’s about to rape her. I don’t know, I’m imagining that and I feel like cracking up. I’m not at that point yet but it’s something to consider. As for making it historically accurate as far as dialogue goes, I have no idea if it‘s right or wrong so far. I’d have to consult with a professional if I want to pursue this any farther. I changed the ‘yeah’ which had been hidden deep in the original draft since that was from the early 20th Century. I had no idea that ’yeah’ was a modern term. Someone mentioned in class that the play has to be more theatrical since it reads more like a short story at the moment, and I agree, but I’m having some trouble throwing those elements in this. At the moment, the only theatrical moments I know I will incorporate into the play are some sound effect to dramatize the objects that are thrown to center stage, the voice of ’The Artist’ and the tub of water being capsized, spilling large amounts of water across the stage; it’s a possible health hazard, however. Also, at the very end, the two unfortunate souls will pose in the same way as the painting. The curtain comes down, revealing a large size version Degas’s famous painting. Much like Merle has, this idea might change in the long run. I’ve written more that I should’ve. Much like some people have an unexplainable passion that captures them, I feel this class was certainly that as the homework assignments never felt like homework and writing those comments never felt like a chore unless there were previous time restraints. In a similar way, this intro paragraph had the same effect on me. I mean, look at how much I’ve written! I must be out of my mind. Thanks for reading this far.        

To Adam Howard, if he ever finds this blog post, and Creative Writing Class('09-'10).