Categories > Original > Drama
Not A Care in the World, 'Cause Our Hearts Are Full of Holes
2 ReviewsAnd oh, the pretty things we could do if we weren't all dead. Hush, now, my little dove...sleep, fall awake...run away to another broken home. It's all you've got. **Critics/helpers for ending!**
Juliek's ocean fake eyes stared vacantly across the room. That orange plastic didn't move. It stood where it was with the same smug grin, dripping with disgusting city water. Laughing, always laughing.
“You could try puking it up,” Juliek muttered bleakly. “They'd think you were insane,” He nodded impressively coherent for the size of that bottle, minus the few outlier capsules that refused to go on with his silly plan. “But, you can't face them. So maybe upchucking isn't the best idea.” His throat coughed up something between a sob and a sigh. Breath, Juliek. Just...swallow the air---but I can't! I swallowed th—there's enough room for it all, zipper lips.
His noisy sadness began to hush down. Under the pressure of being told to shut up, by the drugs, no less, he found the slightest bit of comfort in humming softly.
There. Feel better? A little bit. Think. Think back now, Juliek. Can you do that? Can you let something get through that skull of yours? Yeah. I guess so...Good. Why are you here, Juliek?
He couldn't think of a reason why. He just shook his head.
I can't be here just to hear you. Oh, come now, baby blue. I'm not a passing phase. I'm the real deal, the final scene to your two-act, the Romeo to your Juliet. I'm here to stay. You're alright with me. Now. Take the pen---the pen? Yes, the pen. And that paper-airplane, there. The one tha---yes, that one. Unfold it. Very good, Juliek. I'm surprised you're still kicking around. Tell them why you did it. But, they won't even notice I'm gone. You're so desolated. Don't be. They will know. Tell them.
Juliek sat with the paper and pen. Thinking, or trying to. Maybe it was better? No, that's just stupid. He was tired. Had been for a while. Had they all forgotten? Yeah, probably. It didn't really matter, now that he could think clearly. Now he knew sleep would come, wash away all sickness, there was nothing to think about. It had become rather hard with this new addition to his mind. The shaky state he was in forced him to crumble on the tile, pen and paper gripped like they were the only things left to keep him in the world.
I don't know why I did it. You're incredibly sad. That's not an excuse. You're sick. Delusional. They would've put you down anyway. You saved them the heartache. They wouldn't have any heartache. Pity! So much self pity, self loathing---you just like talking about yourself, don't you, blue dove? Well, go on, then. Talk, Juliek. Tell them about you. About all of you. Everything that you don't like talking about. Your chance to shine like a goddamn star.
“You could've saved them.” Juliek mumbles very quietly. He's not even sure if what came out was just a puff of air and no actual words at all. “Poor, poor meds,” He laughs sadly to himself. “They wanted to live so badly...”
Go to sleep, Juliek. Wake up somewhere better.
~~~
Of course, Juliek's movements were fatal.
He died, 11:32 PM on a Sunday in December when he swallowed the whole bottle, proceeded to wash it down with chlorine water.
But he opened his eyes. Looked down at the curtain call. Replayed the ending in his head. What a stupid way to die.
“Who are you?” He asks a man seated next to him, clapping very loudly.
“What a show,” the man grins at Juliek. His cheshire smile cools and compliments his Gable mustache. This man is older with a zest for living that no one could kill. “Ain't that something? Encore!” He shouts, whistling at the cast. Juliek looks at the now empty stage, stunned.
“So that's it? That's my life?”
“Hm? Oh, yes. Wasn't it just fabulous? Come now, we have an eight o'clock show to catch.” the man hurries to the exit. Juliek follows behind blatantly because he can't think of anywhere else he could possibly be.
“This is it? I'm dead?” Juliek asks as they step out of the grand opera house. He takes notice in how normal looking everything is and becomes disturbed. People are walking around! Isn't this the afterlife? Why is he still himself? “No fiery depths of Hell? No angels singing my name?” The man stops his rushed walk and turns towards Juliek. He looks Juliek over and takes notice of his distraught expression, his weak stance. The man smiles, which Juliek is starting to find a little annoying.
“Kid, I have to deal with roughly 155,000 deaths a day. I'm sorry that you don't have a personal heaven with all those lovely angels suiting your hellish thoughts. I really am. But, I can't do anything about it. It's all up to the artists.” the man waves for Juliek to follow him, which Juliek silently agrees to. They begin walking again, the man leading way.
“What do you do, then?” Juliek asks as they turn a street corner. This world makes it hard to believe Juliek is quite dead.
“I'm a critic.” Juliek's eyes widen at these words.
“You mean to tell me...you're Jesus?”
“No, not at all,” the man chuckles. “Very flattering, but no.” He stops at a poorly displayed building. Long stretches of grass pull up through cracked asphalt, shattered windows on a filthy brick background and to top it all off, it's got a broken wired security fence. The man crawls through the bent diamond shaped ruins and ushers Juliek to follow.
“What are you?”
“Told ya; I'm a critic.”
“Of what? And why?”
“Of life. Because it's the only job I'm qualified for.”
“So, what? What do you do?”
“I criticize the lives of others.”
“And you're the decider?”
“Of what?” the man smirks at the kid as they find themselves standing right out in front of the sketchy building.
“Of the afterlife?”
“Nope. I just torture the things who make you.”
“Who made me?”
“Your parents, psycho.” the man grins and holds open the rusty entry way. Juliek walks in and feels a strange sense of satisfaction washing through the air.
“What is this place?” Juliek asks the man as they walk down the dimly lit hallway.
“It's a theatre.”
“Like the one where they showed my life?”
“One in the same,” they walk into a surprisingly full theatre. Chatter clouds up Juliek's ears. People test mics, lights flicker on and off. The man and Juliek take this as their clue to sit down in one of the very cheap plastic chairs. The lights fade around the audience. The stage is lit up as a woman walks out. She holds a mic, smiling in a very soothing way.
“I'd just like to say what a fine cast I've been able to work with and I'm very grateful for this oppertunity. Thank you everyone for everything and enjoy the show!”
“They always start the shows like this,” the man whispered to Juliek, who strained to hear. “Sapho always introduces each show.” Juliek nods though he can't think why this is useful information. The man sits back, pleased with his own knowledge.
The show starts off in a
“You could try puking it up,” Juliek muttered bleakly. “They'd think you were insane,” He nodded impressively coherent for the size of that bottle, minus the few outlier capsules that refused to go on with his silly plan. “But, you can't face them. So maybe upchucking isn't the best idea.” His throat coughed up something between a sob and a sigh. Breath, Juliek. Just...swallow the air---but I can't! I swallowed th—there's enough room for it all, zipper lips.
His noisy sadness began to hush down. Under the pressure of being told to shut up, by the drugs, no less, he found the slightest bit of comfort in humming softly.
There. Feel better? A little bit. Think. Think back now, Juliek. Can you do that? Can you let something get through that skull of yours? Yeah. I guess so...Good. Why are you here, Juliek?
He couldn't think of a reason why. He just shook his head.
I can't be here just to hear you. Oh, come now, baby blue. I'm not a passing phase. I'm the real deal, the final scene to your two-act, the Romeo to your Juliet. I'm here to stay. You're alright with me. Now. Take the pen---the pen? Yes, the pen. And that paper-airplane, there. The one tha---yes, that one. Unfold it. Very good, Juliek. I'm surprised you're still kicking around. Tell them why you did it. But, they won't even notice I'm gone. You're so desolated. Don't be. They will know. Tell them.
Juliek sat with the paper and pen. Thinking, or trying to. Maybe it was better? No, that's just stupid. He was tired. Had been for a while. Had they all forgotten? Yeah, probably. It didn't really matter, now that he could think clearly. Now he knew sleep would come, wash away all sickness, there was nothing to think about. It had become rather hard with this new addition to his mind. The shaky state he was in forced him to crumble on the tile, pen and paper gripped like they were the only things left to keep him in the world.
I don't know why I did it. You're incredibly sad. That's not an excuse. You're sick. Delusional. They would've put you down anyway. You saved them the heartache. They wouldn't have any heartache. Pity! So much self pity, self loathing---you just like talking about yourself, don't you, blue dove? Well, go on, then. Talk, Juliek. Tell them about you. About all of you. Everything that you don't like talking about. Your chance to shine like a goddamn star.
“You could've saved them.” Juliek mumbles very quietly. He's not even sure if what came out was just a puff of air and no actual words at all. “Poor, poor meds,” He laughs sadly to himself. “They wanted to live so badly...”
Go to sleep, Juliek. Wake up somewhere better.
~~~
Of course, Juliek's movements were fatal.
He died, 11:32 PM on a Sunday in December when he swallowed the whole bottle, proceeded to wash it down with chlorine water.
But he opened his eyes. Looked down at the curtain call. Replayed the ending in his head. What a stupid way to die.
“Who are you?” He asks a man seated next to him, clapping very loudly.
“What a show,” the man grins at Juliek. His cheshire smile cools and compliments his Gable mustache. This man is older with a zest for living that no one could kill. “Ain't that something? Encore!” He shouts, whistling at the cast. Juliek looks at the now empty stage, stunned.
“So that's it? That's my life?”
“Hm? Oh, yes. Wasn't it just fabulous? Come now, we have an eight o'clock show to catch.” the man hurries to the exit. Juliek follows behind blatantly because he can't think of anywhere else he could possibly be.
“This is it? I'm dead?” Juliek asks as they step out of the grand opera house. He takes notice in how normal looking everything is and becomes disturbed. People are walking around! Isn't this the afterlife? Why is he still himself? “No fiery depths of Hell? No angels singing my name?” The man stops his rushed walk and turns towards Juliek. He looks Juliek over and takes notice of his distraught expression, his weak stance. The man smiles, which Juliek is starting to find a little annoying.
“Kid, I have to deal with roughly 155,000 deaths a day. I'm sorry that you don't have a personal heaven with all those lovely angels suiting your hellish thoughts. I really am. But, I can't do anything about it. It's all up to the artists.” the man waves for Juliek to follow him, which Juliek silently agrees to. They begin walking again, the man leading way.
“What do you do, then?” Juliek asks as they turn a street corner. This world makes it hard to believe Juliek is quite dead.
“I'm a critic.” Juliek's eyes widen at these words.
“You mean to tell me...you're Jesus?”
“No, not at all,” the man chuckles. “Very flattering, but no.” He stops at a poorly displayed building. Long stretches of grass pull up through cracked asphalt, shattered windows on a filthy brick background and to top it all off, it's got a broken wired security fence. The man crawls through the bent diamond shaped ruins and ushers Juliek to follow.
“What are you?”
“Told ya; I'm a critic.”
“Of what? And why?”
“Of life. Because it's the only job I'm qualified for.”
“So, what? What do you do?”
“I criticize the lives of others.”
“And you're the decider?”
“Of what?” the man smirks at the kid as they find themselves standing right out in front of the sketchy building.
“Of the afterlife?”
“Nope. I just torture the things who make you.”
“Who made me?”
“Your parents, psycho.” the man grins and holds open the rusty entry way. Juliek walks in and feels a strange sense of satisfaction washing through the air.
“What is this place?” Juliek asks the man as they walk down the dimly lit hallway.
“It's a theatre.”
“Like the one where they showed my life?”
“One in the same,” they walk into a surprisingly full theatre. Chatter clouds up Juliek's ears. People test mics, lights flicker on and off. The man and Juliek take this as their clue to sit down in one of the very cheap plastic chairs. The lights fade around the audience. The stage is lit up as a woman walks out. She holds a mic, smiling in a very soothing way.
“I'd just like to say what a fine cast I've been able to work with and I'm very grateful for this oppertunity. Thank you everyone for everything and enjoy the show!”
“They always start the shows like this,” the man whispered to Juliek, who strained to hear. “Sapho always introduces each show.” Juliek nods though he can't think why this is useful information. The man sits back, pleased with his own knowledge.
The show starts off in a
ALL I HAVE. NOT SURE HOW TO END IT AND HOW TO MAKE IT LESS CONFUSING.
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