(l-r) Karen Gillan, Annie Savage, Janie Haddad Tompkins, Paget Brewster, Melanie Lynskey*
Janie Haddad Tompkins: Should we all do the same face or something?
Karen Gillan: Let’s all act like we’re seeing an old person fall down in the street.
Me: Okay, now you’re seeing the old person get up again.
PHOTO 3 THROUGH 5:
Me: Now you see the old person get picked up and carried away by a giant crow.
*Featuring gradual photo bomb by Dave Foley
Soooo…. A few months back I tried to start writing about the last year of my life, I don’t know why, but it seemed cathartic at the time, and it was a bit, but I stopped pretty quickly. Long story short I just found the short bit I’d written, and decided that I’d try to expand on it…. Only, I can’t figure out if anything I’m writing is worthwhile… I don’t know if this thing is a thing, and I was hoping you (the internet) could help me figure out if what I started writing has any potential to be worth reading one day… So please, it would be my honor if you would take a moment to read this very short bit of content and tell weather you think I should keep writing or if i should quit before I even really start….
And Here. We… Go…
… And just like that, he found himself in Brooklyn…
The shock of the split had hit him hard. When she first arrived on his doorstep with all the items he’d ever given her, he felt like a trader on the floor of the stock exchange on that fateful day in ’29, all he’d invested was suddenly worthless, and he knew it right away. Anger and defiance came first, and the completely irrational belief that he could re-write this fated play through the force of will alone. Confusion followed close on their heels. Then, it filled him, that inexplicable urge all men feel to run, when there is nothing left for them but heartbreak.
So run he did, right back to the girl who’d just left him behind. He knew the door on their little life together was closing, but he needed to know why. He needed answers, he needed reasons, and he needed a kind justice that was far beyond his ability to attain. So he sought her out with the intention of setting the universe right. He would undo the great wrong that had been done to him, he would reset the sun in his sky and he would do it because the world as he’d known it only a few minutes earlier, and the promise that world held, was his true destiny, she was his destiny. He was sure. He was such grand fool.
He found her at the home of a beloved friend whose bed they once despoiled with glee and reckless abandon. Her cheeks were tear stained. She’d been crying. She was in mourning. He was dead to her, and she grieved for him.
The argument was a splendid one. He knew there were no words that would win her back, but he fought on all the same. They were futile last moment. They were bitter final words. It was all wasted wind. It was all he had left.
With every new accusation she leveled against him, he could feel his thirst welling inside of him. He hadn’t had a drink that day, but the clock had started the second she’d showed up, and now it was only a matter of dying on this hill so that he could be reborn in a well. Deep within the dark corners of his mind he imagined just how far he could sink. Could he drink himself to death? He didn’t know. But he did know that she wouldn’t be sharing his bed with him that night, or any night to come, so fuck it. If he would never again know the gentle curve of his great love’s body, than he would embrace the rigid corners of and endless parade of bottles, for that night, and all nights to come.
The fury in his voice was matched only by the chilling stillness in hers. It was obvious now that the whole thing had been pointless, and even worse, it was almost over.
He needed a drink. He needed to leave. The time to start running the other way had finally, mercifully, come. All that was left was to make a memorable exit. She did not want to be with him anymore, there was nothing he could do about it, but he would be damned if he would allow her to forget him.
His last words to her that day were a cruel lie. He forgot them almost as quickly as he uttered them. Their content was unimportant, all that mattered was leaving a scar.
He descended the steps of the house with blackness in his heart. With rage hanging off him like a dark cloak. His heart had been leveled and all he could think of was the fire, the fire he would unleash were it in his power. At that moment, he did not want her back, he only wanted to watch the world burn.
He stabbed the key into the ignition, bringing the car to screaming life. His foot on the gas pedal caused his engine to roar, his wheels to spin, his mind to race, and all his cares to fade away. He had nothing left to loose. If he died in that car what would it matter? He was already in hell. He dropped the car into gear a disappeared in a cloud of frustration. She stood alone on the porch watching, tears still streaming, as the dead man drove away. She would not forget.
So… on he drove, through the cold veil of night, into a world that was terrible and new…
…And just like that, he found himself in Brooklyn… But not yet…