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Club Dead

By roland2 All Rights Reserved ©

Drama / Children

He Does Things

“A feeling surrounds me that if things don’t change for me this week, I have serious doubts reading my future health.”

“You speak in grand terms. Either this or that. You should relax. You’ll get through this.”

“This?”

“Moment in time.”

“But what happens when the next moment comes? If I simply ’get through this’ where’s the guarantee I’ll get through ’that’?”

Screen shrugged.

“I mean, should I steal dead pigs? Is that how you get through this moment in time?”

“Leave him alone. He does things,” Emma said.

“Is doing things so important?”

“It can take your mind off of things that do not help you.”

“Hey, look, many of the things on mind are not trivial. For all you know, I may be composing an important manifesto.”

“Then do what writers of manifestos do: be quiet and write. That would classify as doing something.”

“I don’t know how to start.”

“Pick up a pen and a piece of paper. That is how one starts.”

“I’m doing the play.”

“Yes, performing as a zombie is a good start.”

“Emma, when have you developed such a biting sense of contempt for me?”

“Since you tried to kill yourself, decided to live and now do nothing but agonize about the futility of life.”

“You really do have contempt for me.”

“No Fabian, I am tired of you. That is all. You need to move on.”

“Don’t offer me clichés. Offer me something I can use.”

“I was wrong to offer you a cliché. I am not going to offer you anything. No one will. Or should.”

“I’m not just any zombie. I’m a metaphor.”

“You call that doing something?”

“I think it’s doing something,” Screen said.

“You would. You are not her sister. I want her to be more than a symbol.”

“Lots of artists stand for things.”

“Okay, what does your metaphor stand for?”

“It’s not for the artist to explain. That’s the audience’s job.”

“You call your play art? It is a lamentation from a group of very troubled people.”

“If this play is such crap, why does Stone see it as a useful prop? She sees that it has some message, one that she wants parents to hear.”

“She wants parents to hear you friends say some mean and stupid things. They will associate it with mom, hug their kids and say Blissfield High is the best of all possible worlds.”

“I was wondering. You said you’ll be at the play. It will help mom. How?”

“I am still working on that.”

“The play is in two hours.”

“And you should get along to school. Zombie makeup must take some time applying.”

“Are you going Screen?”

“No. Frank and I are meeting to go over tomorrow’s memorial. Will you be bringing the vials with Uncle Grant’s ashes?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Would you ride with me in the lead boat?”

“I’d be honored.”

“The forecast is for rain,” Emma said.

“It will add to the solemnity of the occasion.”

“Wind too.”

“A sign the spirits will be active.”

“Swells anticipated.”

“Only wind swells. Manageable.”

“Might you think about cancelling it? Supposed to be sunny and calm in two days.”

“Tomorrow’s the seventh. Auspicious. You know how I feel about the number eight. It’s not my favorite.”

“I really wonder if this is the best thing to do.”

“Emma, he’s doing something, right? Isn’t that the point?”

Emma looked at me with doubt, fatigue and worry. That was a rotten way for a person to be viewed. After this weekend, I would start writing my manifesto. I knew I would have something to write about. There – I would do something!

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