Friday, February 17, 2012

Project #1: Story Structure

INTRODUCTION:

He lives alone in a small rundown closet of a room, surrounded by flaking walls, mildew and the sound of the train passing by his windows, rocking the glass in their frames for all they’re worth. A worn and frayed copy of The Once and Future King sits by his bed, the only personal possession in sight. He speaks to no one and no one speaks to him; he prefers it this way.

Amidst all the dust and decay of the apartment there is one space that is kept clear, spotless. The closet is immaculate, a shrine to years past and days to come. If his final hour should come today, no one will ever say that he didn’t keep a tidy closet. It’s the little things that matter after all.

Some might call what Lawrence has no life at all; when he sits to quietly consider it late at night he might be inclined to agree. But there’s nobody to ask and nothing but the distant lights in neighboring buildings, floor by floor of isolated insomniacs unable to reach out and say ‘good evening’.

The black hat goes on above the black coat, draped over the black shirt. The tan boots are tied over the white socks. Lawrence looks over the subway map on the wall in the closet, the red circles glaring back at him in desperation. If the wall could talk it would tell him to reconsider, to stay. The world as Lawrence knows it doesn’t allow walls to talk, and neither would it allow him to listen even if they did. He picks up the briefcase by the door and unlocks the deadbolt, leaving his Arthurian bible for whoever might come calling after him.

He leaves without a second look, locking the door quietly behind him.

And now, a question:

      • When reading or viewing narrative media do you usually root for:
      1. The Bad Guy
      2. The Good Guy
      3. Both, Neither, Don’t Care
        • If you answered a), proceed to the middle section titled Black.
        • If you answered b), proceed to the middle section titled White.
        • If you answered c), proceed to the middle section titled Red.

BLACK: (middle 1)

He knows he is under surveillance. It’s not hard to see. The tan sedan with matching three foot antennae on the hood two blocks up; the navy sedan one block down; the man casually smoking across the street for hour on hour. Even in a perfect world Lawrence can’t bring himself to believe the man hates his blackened lungs so much.

As he walks up towards the subway line entrance on the corner the tan sedan turns out into traffic, the approximation of inconspicuous. Navy sits and waits, holding its position in the hopes that Lawrence might be spooked, run, make it necessary to give chase. All the while the pseudo smoker strolls along half a block back, admiring the classical architecture of the slum he is passing through; as if it mattered.

Lawrence reaches the top of the first step leading down into the dark underworld of public transportation and stops, turning back slightly to make eye contact with his pedestrian pursuer. The left side of his mouth twitches up into a smile; or maybe a smirk; an approximation of a sly grimace. The man’s eyes widen, knowing the truth of that smile.

“STOP!” the cop yells, charging at Lawrence.

Lawrence is gone, fleeing down the steps two at a time, jumping the fare meter and disappearing around the corner his pursuer almost on his heels.

“Stop that ma...!” the sentence remains unfinished in the stagnant air as Lawrence thrusts his straightened knuckles into the mans throat. He crumples to the floor, eyes wide with shock and betrayal. Lawrence never promised anybody he would play by the rules.

It goes dark; who’s to say dark isn’t the new light.

And now, another question:

      • What kind of narrative ending do you most enjoy?:
      1. The hero exacts justified revenge and rides off into the sunset.
      2. The hero is vilified for something he didn’t do, but accepts his fate in order to serve the greater good.
      3. The hero survives the ordeal, solves the problem and is allowed to live happily ever after.
        • If you answered a), proceed to the ending titled The Outlaw Josey Wales
        • If you answered b), proceed to the ending titled The Dark Knight.
        • If you answered c), proceed to the ending titled To Catch A Thief.

WHITE: (middle 2)

“How many would you like sir?”

“Excuse me?” Lawrence looks around to see he is standing in front of a flower stall on 1st Avenue, a favorite of strolling couples and old winos.

“How many roses would you like?” the girl asks again, smiling.

Why was it so hard to focus on this simple question. He looks down at his hands, the left holding a few crumpled bills, the right empty.

“However many this will get me.” he says, handing the flower girl the remains of his fortune. She smiles warmly, not sure what to make of the man who one minute is there and the next is not. She takes Lawrence’s money regardless and in exchange hands him two brilliant red roses and one white.

“Come back anytime!” the flower girl half shouts at Lawrence’s receding back.

Two blocks up, one down. Lawrence walks steadily, no hurry in his step. He can feel the shadows moving behind him, in front of him; waiting for him to make a move. He makes an odd picture of the ridiculous as he breaks into a sprint for the lip of the subway station, flowers in hand, sun on his face and a large, stupid smile on his lips.

The number 12 train is slowing to a halt as he jumps the fare meter. The doors slowly slid open with a dull hiss as the trapped air vents into the station. Lawrence jumps through the doors of the closest car and sits down slowly. The doors shut. He is safe.

The three men come from nowhere; too late. The steady momentum of the rails is carrying Lawrence out of there grasp. He looks down at the roses in his hands, the stems slowly dripping a few drops of blood; his blood he notices with some confusion. He relaxes his grip and pulls out two thorns from each palm, placing them gently on the seat next to him.

The darkness in the tunnel is slowly replaced with light as the train breaks back into the world.

And now, another question:

      • What kind of narrative ending do you most enjoy?:
      1. The hero (forced to be a ‘bad guy’) exacts justified revenge and rides off into the sunset.
      2. The hero is vilified for something he didn’t do, but accepts his fate in order to serve the greater good.
      3. The hero survives the ordeal, solves the problem and is allowed to live happily ever after.
        • If you answered a), proceed to the ending titled The Outlaw Josey Wales
        • If you answered b), proceed to the ending titled The Dark Knight.
        • If you answered c), proceed to the ending titled To Catch A Thief.

RED: (middle 3)

Her gravestone is as bare as ever. The few years of rain and snow have already started to erode the beautiful engravings, leaving a half finished mess of soggy cherubs and withered flowers in the stone. Lawrence stands at the head of the grave with no flowers and no tears. The rain was enough for the both of them.

“Your predictability almost makes my ulcer twitch, you know that?” says the man in the black flannel suit. He stops beside Lawrence, his umbrella shielding them both momentarily from the downpour.

“Take off your sunglasses. Nobody likes that guy Detective; nobody, not now not ever.” To Lawrence’s surprise he complies. His unshielded eyes are not much of an improvement; cold and lifeless as the tempered glass squares he carefully folds into his pocket.

Lawrence takes a last look at the beautifully rendered angel at the base of the gravestone, still miraculously intact, and turns to walk away.

“You keeping yourself straight?” the Detective asks quietly, his calm menacing.

“Straight as a winding road in the desert Detective.”

Two associates materialize out of the fog next to the Detective, watching as Lawrence makes his way down to the curb and out of the cemetery gate. He pauses at the wrought iron fence, gripping one of its spiked bars until he almost breaks the skin of his palm; turns back and forces himself to wave at the trio standing on his sacred ground.

Lawrence let go of the gate and continued down the road, hoping to lose himself in the rain; he knows purification doesn’t come from the cumulous layer above.

And now, another question:

      • What kind of narrative ending do you most enjoy?:
      1. The hero (forced to be a ‘bad guy’) exacts justified revenge and rides off into the sunset.
      2. The hero is vilified for something he didn’t do, but accepts his fate in order to serve the greater good.
      3. The hero survives the ordeal, solves the problem and is allowed to live happily ever after.
        • If you answered a), proceed to the ending titled The Outlaw Josey Wales
        • If you answered b), proceed to the ending titled The Dark Knight.
        • If you answered c), proceed to the ending titled To Catch A Thief.

THE OUTLAW JOSEY WALES: (ending 1)

The sun sets on a clear grey sky. Lawrence sits on the patio of a local coffee house, exhausted and alone. His coffee is too sweet; to crisp. He wanted bitterness. The two cops sitting three tables down from him don’t seem to mind the coffee house offerings; fate is a funny thing. Lawrence doesn’t believe in fate; he simply acknowledges that fate may sometimes believe in him.

“Car 247: Explosion on the lower east side, warehouse district. All units in the area respond to the scene. Be advised there may be armed individuals at the site, use of caution heavily advised.” the radio squawks. The two cops throw down a few dollars and make to leave quickly.

“New information forwarded: Warehouse involved in explosion incident linked to gang affiliated drug trafficking. Please be advised, any suspects at the scene are assumed armed and dangerous.” The cops walk hurriedly past Lawrence on their way to what he assumes is a squad car.

He returns inside now that it looks like rain again. Patrons and staff are clustered around the small television at the end of the bar trying to make sense of the chaos onscreen.

“Earlier this evening, a warehouse with gangland drug trafficking ties was the scene of a massive controlled explosion on the lower east side. Suspects who survived have been linked to a string of murders that took place last year, culminating in the abduction and murder of fifty-one-year-old neighborhood bank employee Charlotte Givens. Mrs. Givens was survived for a short time by her son, who died in a tragic automobile accident two months later.”

Lawrence steps behind the counter while the barista is occupied and pours himself a cup of strong, black, bitter coffee.

“Happy Birthday mom.” he coughs, walking back to his seat on the patio.

THE DARK KNIGHT: (ending 2)

Lawrence did not kill the men lying on the floor in front of him; he would have liked to. If he was honest with himself he would admit that killing these men was exactly the purpose in mind he had when trying to find this warehouse. When he got here everything was different than he had imagined it.

Some ten or eleven men were sprawled out across the room in various positions of rigor mortis, a few shell casings here and there; sulfur strong in the air, no windows. Lawrence picks his way through the mess, not wanting to disturb the dance-like choreography of the firefight laid out in front of him. He steps to each man one by one and takes a hold of their hands. There are six men with spiderweb tattoos on the inside of their palms; five without. Six men who deserved what fate brought to their doorstep. The other men Lawrence didn’t pass judgement on; he didn’t care.

Sirens are getting louder outside, the night air crisp and clear amplifying the sound. Lawrence takes out a photograph of a woman, black and white, her hair big and tall as was the style when the photo was taken. She is smiling, but not at the camera. She is smiling for the person taking the photo, and that smile is for him and him alone. Lawrence turns over the picture and takes out a black pen, marking out a number and a street address. He bends down and carefully places the photo on a dead mans chest making sure it will not be missed when the police uniforms search the scene. Car doors slam with a jolt; Lawrence is already gone out into the alley and away. His time will be soon enough.

Lawrence returns home to his decrepit apartment and sits; waits. Today was not supposed to end like this. But he chose, and he will honor his choice. He picks up his battered copy of The Once and Future King and opens it without aim and begins to read. He smiles, the sound of sirens approaching once again; coming to take him to Avalon.

TO CATCH A THIEF: (ending 3)

Six men were killed tonight. Six men that should have died by Lawrence’s hand, but did not. Six men who were no longer sons, fathers or friends. Lawrence prays for those six men; but not too hard.

He had wanted to go out tonight; tonight had been the finale, the end. The walls had convinced Lawrence otherwise. No vengeance on a moonlit street; catharsis in an abandoned warehouse. Fate had delivered justice to Lawrence and returned him his sanity, fragile as it is.

Lawrence walks out into the crisp night air with a bag under his arm. Around the corner the small park is lit by street lamps and a few lighted windows from across the street. He picks a spot out in the grass, still damp from earlier showers, and takes out a small tube. It goes into the ground a few inches, leaving the fuse exposed. Lawrence kneels down and unpacks the rest of the meager bags contents. A small photograph of a smiling woman, black and white; taped to the hull of the tube, followed by a white envelope, no writing on the front only a thin black line across the front.

The fuse quickly catches the flame from Lawrence’s lighter as he steps back to the cover of a tree. Three, two, one; the tube takes off into the sky barreling towards the moon. Lawrence leans against the trees trunk and looks up, expecting. Nothing.

Flashes of red, blue and yellow light the sky with no discernible patterns. Lawrence doesn’t care about patterns. The fireworks are beautiful in their randomness; like she was.

He returns to his room after the sky lights have died away, his tidy closet still tidy. He is alone; quiet. Lawrence doesn’t mind the quiet. He can finally hear himself think. He considers that his life as Lawrence is over, his objectives complete. Lawrence packs a suitcase from his closet for the last time, throwing away the marked subway map. His copy of The Once and Future King fits nicely in his jacket pocket; he likes the weight of it there, comforting. When he leaves the room this time he glances back. He doesn’t see himself in the room anymore. He see’s himself in the world.


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