Writing Doodles

I’m currently on a roll with my scriptwriting, something that in my current climate is nothing short of a miracle. I’m writing scenes and I know where it is all going and what people are going to say and who is going to die.

And yet, a blog is due.

Not wanting to break from this good feeling towards my script, I doodled (in a writing kinda way) a few short pieces based on the main characters in the script.

They don’t give much away about who these people are, except maybe their chief conflict. But they allowed me to explore the characters a little in a different form, and I’m not wasting my time writing about non-script related things. Apart from these last paragraphs.

I’ll pretend they never happened if you do.

* * *

He opens the fridge and knows what he will see. Water in a glass, chilled for weeks. He left it there to remind him of her. He left it there because he felt that that if he poured it away, threw away the glass, she’d be gone forever. He couldn’t bare that. He’d never tell anyone, but he couldn’t bare it.

Compared to this, saving the world is easy.

* * *

She wakes from nightmares. She’d be sweating if she could. She touches her lips gently and realizes that she has bitten her lip in her sleep again. The blood tastes sweet on her tongue, warm and thick.

A remnant of the dream passes through her mind. She is hunting something. Possibly someone. It is scared, whatever it is. She can feel its fear and hear it panting up ahead. She leaps into the darkness, but the dreamt memory ends and she never knows if she catches her prey.

She slips out of bed, nightie blowing gently around her waist thanks to her lofty bedroom. She doesn’t feel the cold. She never feels it.

The fridge light illuminates the room when she opens it. Inside she removes a bottle. The label proclaims milkshake, but she knows the what it really contains. She hides the truth because maybe if she pretends hard enough, it won’t be true.

She shakes the bottle before opening it, to work the clots out of the blood. It tastes different to her own, staler and bitter. She winces at the taste.

But she has to feed the hunger. She must always feel the hunger.

* * *

His hands were magic. They worked miracles with machines. His fingers danced between circuits and screws, tighten bits and connecting others. It came naturally. His mind was two steps ahead of his body, so he knew everything that he had done, what he was doing and everything he would do.

No-one would disturb him down here, in his own private laboratory. There were signs and people knew. They knew that noise distracted him. They knew he was irritable. They knew that he knew thousands of different ways to torture them.

He smiled at this thought. He’d never hurt someone, but equally, he’d never tell them that. The human mind is a wonderful thing. A perceived threat is just as good as an actual one. He was the fly that looked like a wasp. It was his nature.

And yet, curiously, he felt alone. The room was big, and he was small. Simple physics, he thought. But he knew it was more.

All he needed was a ‘well done’, he thought, but knew he needed a hug. Just simple recognition, he told himself, when he really needed a companion. Anybody really, just to be interested.

His father couldn’t; too busy on fundraisers and business meetings.

Maybe a robot, he considered, knowing that no amount of circuits or computers would keep him happy.

* * *

He didn’t know it yet, but Lily knew that he’d break up with her. In three minutes, she figured. She still hadn’t got the hang of the whole ‘seeing the future’ thing.

So she watched. She watched his subtle hand movements that built a wall between the two of them. She watched how he could never meet her eyes. She watched as he only ate one, half-hearted bite of his pasta.

Boy, she didn’t even need to see the future to see what was coming.

She couldn’t sit any longer. She couldn’t wait for him to break it off. Why give him that satisfaction?

“I think we should call this whole thing to an end”

And with that, she was gone. She had to move quickly; she knew what would happen.

You can’t change timelines without consequences. She’d learnt that, on too many occasions. And she couldn’t let people see. They’d think her a freak.

She was one, but she didn’t want people to know that.

In an alley, behind the restaurant, she fell apart. The world span, her legs buckled and thousands of timelines played over in her head. It hurt a lot. Less than the first time, but enough to make her scream out in pain.

People probably heard her, but no-one would come and help. Not in this city. Not for a freak.

:)