FRCMcManus - Writer.

A tumblr for my writing - as having a Facebook page is just about useless. And as it's Tumblr, I might bother to update this one with actual bits of writing. Oh and you can ask anything you want to know.

[kimlennox]

[thedocinabox]

[frcmcmanus]

Okay, I'm thinking that I may start vlogging about storytelling, writing and whatnot.

So... topic ideas?

[frcmcmanus]

H.C.

There's a weird sort of pain when you lose something you almost had. When you've tasted what you want, only to have it denied from you.

Imagine there was a cake. A huge, delicious cake and you had a piece. And it was sublime. You might not even be a cake person, but this cake... it's light, it's easy, it feels right in your mouth - but the piece you had wasn't really enough.

You could taste it, sure,  but it wasn't enough. Wasn't a full mouthful, it didn't satisfy your hunger and all you want is more. And then you're told you could have more - all of it. Every bit that you want.

And then you can't have it. You might have waited for it, you might have had a few more tastes, but they're nothing more than crumbs.

Of course, I'm not talking about cake.  But food is a base need, an instinctive want and end of the day, that's not far off many other things. Companionship, love, sex, air, water, excitement, adrenaline, safety .  And some are easy to come by, and some are less so.

Some you'll find, despite everything, despite its scarcity, and it'll rekindle a kind of hope you'd forgotten. That need is fulfilled and suddenly you realise how much you missed it, how the hole gaped without it and how the vague attempt of a healing process only succeeded in hiding its worst aspects.

Then when it's gone, that pain not so much arrives as returns. The hole reappears and all you can do is torture yourself with how you let that fulfilment you need so much slip away.

A heart does not hurt, as the other organs do. It does not bleed, it does not sting, it does not burn (except in its throes of passion) and it does not ache.

A heart is most present in it's absence. The holes in it do not hurt, but their vacancy is a vacancy of a part of you, and you grieve for their loss as you would a friend.

The mind though... that does not hurt. It rambles, as it does here, it mutters, the thoughts it has not enough courage to speak aloud, it revisits, and with new eyes see's what could have changed so much before - and in its darkest time it forges a knife to cut itself with.

It's a strange sort of pain yes. It does not hurt, but it feels worse for its painlessness.

[frcmcmanus]

The Lack of Posts

is down to a lack of followers. I get followers, you get posts of delicious writing nuggets.

Kay?

Kay.

[frcmcmanus]

Experimental Monologue.

New Follower - New Post - an unedited monologue, written as an experiment a few years back. Enjoy!

First question he asked was ‘What day is it?’ So, I says ‘Tuesday’ Cos, like, well it was a Tuesday. I don’t understand that though, like, I mean, how can you tell if someone’s losing it by that? How many times have you caught yourself, like thinking that it was a Wednesday, I mean, you know, when its a Tuesday? Eh? I’ve been there, packing my sport stuff, cos I play squash, like, y’know, an, I mean Pause I’m there, right, with my squash stuff and I realise, like, its a Thursday, and, y’know, I play squash on a Friday. You’re there all ready for, like, your Thursday things and you realise that yesterday you did all your Tuesday things, so, like, it can’t be thrusday, can it? Its Wednesday. Isn’t that a weird word, wed-nes-day? I always say it like that in my head when I’m writing it down, cos thats how my teacher taught it to me to spell, y’know.

So anyway he’s there, like, this, ‘doctor’ with his grey hair and glasses and looking all sorta doctorey – y’know? I mean ya don’t wanna  go and see ya doc and hes got like tattoos and stuff do ya? Course not!,I mean Pause  So hes there and he asks me, err, what the date is! And I stumble on it a bit and, y;know, you get, like, nervous in front of a quack don’t ya? I mean, I did know what the date, was, if I like, thought about it, but I didn’t have, like anything planned for that day, I mean there was no, like,  reason for me to remember that date, so, so, y’know  I dunno. But anyway this doctor just, sorta, looks at me, like, and then jots it down in that fucking little pad of his. Sorry, sorry guv. I’m just a bit, y’know?

I don’t know why they were asking m these things – I think I’d seen it on the teley before – its one of those test to see if you’re, like, nuts. I dunno why they were doing it to me. I mean we’re all a little bit mad sometimes aren’t we? Like, when you catch yourself, with, like, this really horrible thought, this sorta, monstrous act in your head. And you’ve no idea where its come from but its just there, like its on repeat, in your head, this sick, sick thought and all you wanna do is, is... but we all get them don’t we? At some point or another? I mean, otherwise some of us are just born evil. Some people are monsters and others are angles, so how are you supposed to know which is which? Is that how the world works? Or are the good people those who can ahve those thoughts and ignore them push them away. We do all have those right?

I mean, I know I’d been a bit weird, but aren’t we all entitled to that? Like, have you ever looked at people, y’know, like on the street? The weird things they do? People who’ll be listening to an iPod or whatever and they’re mouthing along to the song as they walk – in their head they’re at Wembley but in reality they’re on the bus not in front of thousands but in front of about 20 randomers who are each doing their own little thing – talking to themselves or, or, like, repeating the same action, I mean, like a scratch, again and again and again and again, like for me its everything has to be in a four pattern. One on the one side or finger or whatever, tow on the other, back to one on the first and then repeat the process but swapping sides. Y’know? Just one those, like, habits. And its bonkers, and a waste of time, but I just can’t help it.

Next question is who is the Prime Minister? Instead of, like where are you or whatever, but no, apparently knowledge of where you are is superficial in relation to whos the prime minister. Unless he declares war or something why is it important? But anyway I say David Cameron. I was tempted to be all, like, megalomaniac and go ‘I am. Or I should be. I’ve got far better ideas.’ I think I have though, don’t all of us, like, just look at the government and think I could do a far better job, y’know? But this is when the doctor goes all funny. He sorta stops and stares at me. And he says that Nick Clegg is the Prime Minister, so I start laughing. But he doesn’t he just keeps staring, like, right at me and its starting to freak me out and he says why are you laughing and I’m like cos Clegg is so unpopular and he says no, hes one of the most popular primeministers for years and he starts writing in that little fucking pad again, shit, sorry, oh...   and I’m thinking maybe I am mad, I’m proper panicing but he starts talking to – who was it? I think it was Kel, yeah, Kel about how he needs to do some more tests on me and whatnot and I’m really scared now, cos I’m sure they know, what I’ve been looking at and reading about – I mean its not like I wanna do it, oh God I’ve said too much, although I suppose you’ve already been through my whole house haven’t you officer? No point in not talking, xcan we make like a deal though if I just tell you everything? No, no point, you’ll know what you need to, no, no deals, ohh fuck... But I thought they knew and then the ‘doctor’ he starts laughing and he takes off his wig and I’m staring at him, its Pete, with a fucking wig on and like make up and hes there and hes laughing t me and I just, I just hit him BANG! Bet he didn’t see that one coming, hell of a right hook, knocked him to the ground, wait no, sorry, did he go to the ground? He was standing? Yeah? Yeah he was cos the second punch was when... It was like I couldn’t stop, like, I just, I had to, cos I was so scared, i thought they knew I thought I was actually mad, but he just wouldn’t stop laughing so I had to keep hitting him, thats all I wanted, I just wanted him to stop laughing at me and I don’t care what anyone else says he was still laughing, they’re all lying, or he would have been laughing if I hadn’t have... well. You know what I did.

[frcmcmanus]

New Follower, New Post - and this time its:

Poetry.

Forgive me.

Notice

The mind is not allowed in this area.

Do not cross this line,

You’re not getting through this time,

You didn’t get far before,

You haven’t tried many times – like 4?

Don’t delude yourself,

This love ain’t good for your health,

You’ve seen the others,

Loving one another,

And the pain it caused,

What if they’d just paused,

Here like you – wouldn’t it be better?

Read the sign and follow it to the letter.

  Stop and think,

And make the link,

You’re repulsive, stupid and ugly too,

Why would anyone ever love you?

You made this decision years ago,

When love asked you’d say no,

Yes you’ve changed but love never will,

It’ll break your heart better to be lonely still.

  So turn away,

Don’t look this way,

And never come here,

Or I’ll whisper the truth into your ear.

Alert

He got through!

I knew he would do,

Past the sign,

Like last time,

He was so slow I didn’t see him go.

He crept past the guards,

While they played cards,

And at the entry,

He destroyed the sentry,

This is not a drill

He’s moving still,

Deeper into love,

So warn the mind above,

And raise the defences,

Electrify the fences,

So this is what we’ll do,

 So she’ll never like him too,

I’ll whisper in his ear,

What he dreads – ‘you love (her name here)’

Make him act like he hates her,

Drive them further,

And further apart,

But whatever you do don’t tell the heart.

[frcmcmanus]

Stars

(From The Actor's Guide to Standing at The Back)

I’ve always found stargazing a slightly religious experience. I don’t mean through a telescope, methodically tracking the movements of the heavens, no. I mean to look up, in the hallowed silence of the night and see the light of gigantic balls of nuclear fusion burning in the infinite vacuum of which we are less than a tiny speck, light from dead stars which can still elicit a gasp as every problem, worry and question you have is wiped from your head as the true insignificance of them dawns upon you. So, I guess it’s an experience which reminds me to focus on the good bits, the happy bits. The worries and problems will still be there when you need to confront them, until then, why let them weigh you down?

It may be naive, but why should we live this life and try to achieve anything other than enjoying it?

And whilst we're wildly off topic, lets jump back to those joyous, wonderful, life fulfilling, self esteem raising and sarcasm generating auditions.

For emphasis just imagine me doing a obviously fake smile whilst scowling with the rest of my face.

[frcmcmanus]

Joker

A short, unfinished work for a little writing club.

(A serial killer taking inspiration from the comic book villain the Joker has been terrorizing the planet with attacks on the worlds major cities. These 7 day sprees of destruction always culminate with an attack on a police station, which is always destroyed, leaving no survivors. The Joker is attacking London and, as expected on the seventh day has handed himself into Detective Chief Inspector Gordon without resistance. However with all forms of communication taken out in the last week of mayhem they have no option but to keep him the station before backup can arrive to take him to a more secure facility. Fueled by an obsession with the killer DCI Gordon has arranged an interview with the clown killer)

A small interview room. there is a table and 4 chairs, an armed guard, DCI Gordon, the Joker, Gordonʼs DI Jane Tyler and a East End lawyer, Edward Smith, who has been arranged to defend the Joker. The stage is split by a wall dividing the interview room from an observation room, in which another female detective, DS  Henrietta Doe is watching the interview with another armed guard.

Edward Smith: Edward is a failure at his profession. As a man who spends most his time defending the old East End gangsters he has began to talk like them. He has never been a successful lawyer and has been called in for the Joker by DCI Gordon, so he has a better chance of having him sent down.

Edward: (to Joker) Are yer dead wet?

Joker:  In case you havenʼt noticed Eddy its raining. Wanted criminals have little time to go shopping for waterproofs.

The Joker is completely unlike the figure form the comic books. A thick set man, he is not particularly tall or thin, his chin is not pointed, his nose is not hooked, his smile is not permanent. However he is in full make up, with a white face and ruby red lips, topped with a untidy mop of green hair, which spikes in random places. He wears a purple tailcoat and trousers, a yellow waistcoat with green shirt underneath. A black bow tie hangs loosely from around his neck and a brightly coloured flower sits in his coat pocket. He is intelligent and puts on a theatrical voice when talking to DCI Gordon, in the style of Mark Hamill. However Edward annoys him, and his false voice drops when talking to him to a deeper, superior voice shines through.

DCI Gordon: Enough. He presses a button on a tape recorder. This is an interview with suspect known as the Joker on Friday the 17th September. Present are DCI Brian Gordon and DI Jane Tyler of the Metropolitan police of Layton with Edward Smith, lawyer.

 DCI  Gordon is an impatient man, much like the Joker appears to be when he loses his patience. In fact there are several similarities between the detective and his captive, both wear make up, the DCI wears a small amount of foundation and cover up, which is a bit of a joke around the station. His hair also has a range of product in, and, like the Joker he has a taste for suits and stylish ones at that, his is a bright blue, tasteful but unusual. Having been hunting the Joker down for months he is twitchy and nervous to finally have him here, fearing that he will fail his one opportunity to apprehend his prey.

Joker: Donʼt forget Ms. Doe.

Edward: Who?

The Joker flashes him a look, before turning, grin fixed, to Gordon, who has given himself away with a worried glance towards the two way mirror.

DCI Gordon: Ms. Doe is not present. Now, your real name, please.

Joker: The Joker.

DCI Gordon: Your real name.

Joker: This is who I am detective. Who I was is neither here or there. But donʼt worry, by the end of the night you will know who I was. Next question?

DCI Gordon: Where are you from? The Joker stays still and silent.

Edward: My client has no comment.

Joker: He knows, Eddy.

 Edward is quickly beginning to realize his situation and the Jokerʼs hate for him. However he is used to dealing with mobsters who are less intelligent than him, so will persist in his job.

DCI Gordon: How old are you? What was your job before all this? How have you been funding your sprees? How do you find you assistants? Whatʼs your goal? What are you planning to do tonight?

After each question he leaves a gap, but as the questions go on the gap shortens and become quick fire. He begins to repeat earlier questions, not breaking eye contact with the Joker. Edward is silent now, furiously scribbling notes.

DI Tyler: Why did you start killing?

The silence continues, but the Jokers grin widens, and his posture changes. He seems to grow, as he gazes around the room to form his story and everyone else is silent. Even the guard has stopped staring at his point on the wall and is now peering at the Joker.

Joker: My father was a drunkard. My mother was a secret drug user, a cannabis addict. I was an only child in a poor household, a runt of a boy, who was bright but unpopular in school. As a result I was the victim of bullying, vicious thugs would attack me for fun. No teacher would ever step in, they knew how things worked in the playground, in the shit hole of a place we lived in. Until there came a new teacher. A polite, civilized woman  who used to teach in one of the more high end areas of London, she saw it as her mission to save these children, to save them from the nowhere life they had been dealt.

She witnessed one of my beatings and phoned home. My father hit the roof when he discovered was being beaten, that his son couldnʼt defend himself, that his son would be that weak. So he added more bruises to the ones I already had, the ones heʼd never noticed before because he was so drunk.

Edward sips at a bottle of a energy drink

So I decided to stand up for myself. I took a knife to school that day. The cold metal, the sun glinting of its razor edge, the solid, the dependable weight of it.  I cut the bully. It was without provocation, without reason, it just felt good. Justice delivered in a way that the state could never achieve. So i was sent away. I didnʼt kill the bully, so my sentence wouldnʼt ruin my life but for the rest of my childhood I was incarcerated in a borstal. I returned to the real world, to civilization a changed man. I was angry at the system, angry at the injustice and angry at myself. I believed I was to blame and that I had been wrong for what I had done. I eventually fixed my ruined life. In time I reentered society, now a man and began dating. I found the woman of my dreams. She knew my past, but accepted me. We were going to be married. Then she was murdered. A pointless murder, the killer only taking her purse which contained a tiny amount. He was never found.

I went into a downward spiral from there. I found my old self, the anger, the hurt, the sociopath. I found the Joker, the one character, no matter how fictional I could relate to. And so I began my mission. To strike back at the society that had destroyed my life. To prove that you only need one bad day to change your life forever. To prove that this whole joke of an existence has us dancing on the edge of destruction.

DCI Gordon: So you destroy peoples live to prove that weʼre all like you? What do you do? When you arrive in the police stations? Why leave no record of what happens?

Joker: Because Iʼm going to take you on a journey tonight detective, and I would hate to ruin the ending. But Iʼm going to leave you to leave the room now detective.

Edward: I would just like to say that from this point I am no longer doing this job and will be giving this case to a colleague.

Joker: Shut it.

DCI Gordon: Why should I leave the room on your say so?

DI Tyler: Maybe you should Gordon, we need to know what heʼs planning.

DCI Gordon: No, I want to know whatʼs going to happen!

Joker: I would hate to ruin the surprise detective.

DCI Gordon: Alright then, what happens if I donʼt follow your orders? Why canʼt I stay here?

Joker: Hah. Mimicking Edward Coz then weʼd have nowhere to go.

Edward begins to cough and splutter as foam begins to build up in his mouth.

[frcmcmanus]

Visit Original Link

Not quite full on prose - although I did write it and it is my voice reading. But I just thought I'd change it up a little.

Thank you, oh third follower!

(Also, soundcloud link: https://soundcloud.com/flinn-mcmanus/the-actors-guide-to-standing)

[frcmcmanus]

I hope the post I reblogged helps you gain some followers.

It did! Thank you!!!

[frcmcmanus]

Yay! Followers! And Likes!

I'm very happy now, and I'm off to find material for you to read.

[frcmcmanus]

Untitled.

He never threw things out of car windows usually, but today he was angry.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Just a millisecond too slow. He could hear it. One millisecond of difference but he could hear it in the watch.

He always used to focus on the unimportant things.

And he knew he wasn’t watching the road.

But he didn’t care because his watch had been slow. The millisecond had turned into seconds, the seconds into minutes and then he forgot to set it forward the hour the STUPID weather demanded. It wasn’t even sunny. Light bled in the mist of the rain.

It wasn’t really his fault.

He was careless though. STUPID and CARELESS and DEAD inside.

Late. She’d never forgive him. Never. It had been so important to her that he was there and he missed it.

Stupid. So very stupid.

The one thing he could think of at the time? The locket, and how it was back to front, but the necklace wasn’t twisted. He lost his words.

The locket had swung wildly as she swept away, almost taunting him.

But as long as she kept that, maybe there was hope.

He’d found it by the side of the road.

The key which had been so romantic once now tortured him, clinking with the others as they dangled from the ignition. It was even on its own little string.

He tore it off and flung it over the empty passenger seat and out of the window.

I’m alone.

That was his last childish thought.

He died in the crash.

And I climbed out the rubble.

[frcmcmanus]

A new rule:

Whilst I'm trying to get this blog off the ground, for each new follower I will post a new excerpt. I don't know if you'll like them, or reblog them or anything but it's my way of saying thanks without being creepy.

[frcmcmanus]

Alice in Wonderland Ending

  This was the ending to a school version of 'Alice in Wonderland' - written 5 years ago now, by a far younger me. Enjoy. (If you can)

Throughout the play a “final answer” has been mentioned, the solution to the wonderland puzzle which would be included in the Mad Hatter scene, with the Hatter revealing that she is future Alice, but only if Alice can solve the wonderland puzzle. Alice has ran from the queen of hearts (the mother) to find herself face to face with The, a man in a suit)

The: (in an even, but welcoming tone) Hello Alice.

Alice: Who are you? How do you know my name? Where am I? For God’s sake, someone help me!

The: shh, shh. It’s okay. I’ll answer all your questions, you’ll be fine.

Alice: Who are you?

The: I am The. Just The. And I have the answers to all your questions. Just calm down.

Alice: But the Queen, she’s going to kill me!

The: She can’t hurt you here. Just sit down, please.

Alice: No. I’ll listen to what you have to say, but I’m not going to sit down when I’ve got a psychopathic Queen after me. And you haven’t even told me your name yet.

The: I’ve told you, I’m The. Anyway, if you don’t want to sit, that’s fine, but you really aren’t in any danger. Now tell me, have you solved the wonderland puzzle yet?

Alice: No, not yet. How do you expect me to answer a puzzle with no question?

The: Alice, the question is what is going on. What is wonderland? And why, as The Hatter said, must you die here?

Alice: So the Hatter was telling the truth, I’m going to die here?

The: Only if you can’t solve the puzzle. Now what is Wonderland?

Alice: Wonderland?

The: The world beyond the rabbit hole. This world.

Alice: The centre of the Earth?

The: No. Let’s start more basic. Is wonderland real?

Alice: Yes, I suppose so.

The: and what makes you say that?

Alice: Well, I can see it, I can hear it, I could taste the mad Hatters tea, I could smell the air and I can feel things.

The: Let me tell you something. I created Wonderland. Everything you’ve experienced was created by me to lead you here, to learn the truth. I’ve controlled what they have said, what they have done, what they mean to you, who they represent in your life. Tell me, who did the Queen represent?

Alice: The Queen? No one. But she did look like... she looked like...

The: The Queen is your Mother, Alice. The Queen is her representation in Wonderland. Created through your fear of her. She is the person who controls your life, so therefore, she controls Wonderland, so she is the Queen.

Alice: But why the Queen of hearts?

The: Because she holds your heart in a vice grip. Every day she makes you feel unwanted, useless and unloved. Every day she shouts at you, hits you, screams at you to grow up, and yet you can’t. You can’t because growing up means accepting the one thing that scares you most about your Mother. Alice, earlier today, when you came downstairs and she shouted at you for making her jump, what was she doing?

Alice: She had something in her arm, so she must have been taking her medication.

The: Medication for what?

Alice: Err, it makes her, err it’s for her, it’s to help her relax.

The: Oh, it does that alright. Every time your Mom takes her medication you scream inside. Because you know her “medication” makes her so relaxed, she doesn’t even notice your existence. And you would be glad of that, but you know what the “medication” is really, don’t you Alice. They told you about in school once. Alice, what is your Mother taking?

Alice: No, no, no. She wouldn’t.

The: Heroin. That’s her bloody medicine. Heroin. Remember last year, on your birthday she didn’t buy you any presents. Didn’t even say happy birthday. When every year beforehand you got a present and a cake, and she made you feel so loved and so, so special. How before last year she was nice to you, and never shouted? How, after she started taking her medication, you had to move house? How you haven’t been getting anything to eat recently? And you know why, don’t you Alice. Because your Mom started taking Heroin. Your excuse for a Mother spent all her money on it, lost you your house, your health and your happiness. And yet every day you get up and think, maybe today’s the day. Maybe today she will say I love you again. But she never does. And every time she shouts at you, or doesn’t look you in the eye your heart breaks. Your mother is the Queen of Broken Hearts.

Alice: (sobbing) how do you know all this?

The: That will become clear once you solve the puzzle. Now think. If Wonderland is not real, if characters in it represent your real life, what is this? (Alice just sobs) Okay. Alice, when I count to three, you will have stopped crying, okay? One..., Two..., Three.

(Alice stops crying and looks up)

Alice: How did you do that?

The: That will all become clear. Now, if Wonderland is not real, if characters in it represent your real life, what is this?

Alice: An illusion?

The: Yes, but an illusion is a trick. If this is an illusion, what is tricking you?

Alice: You are. You created this place.

The: And who am I? What am I? How do I know your secrets, how do I know how you feel?

Alice: But only I knew those things... I never said them aloud, only in my mind. If everyone hear represents someone or something in my real life, that means either one of the people in my life can read minds, or you’re a future me like the Mad Hatter.

The: I am you as you are now. I am you as you ever have been, ever will be. I am what some people would call your soul Alice. I am your conscious.

Alice: If you’re tricking me, and you are my mind, then I’m delusional! That’s it! That’s the answer, isn’t it!

The: It is half of the answer. The second half is what made you delusional. Now tell me, what were you doing before you arrived in wonderland?

Alice: I hugged my white rabbit and it hurt, I think. And then I followed him down the Rabbit Hole. But that must be an illusion too, because he talked. And rabbits don’t talk. So this must have something to do with it hurting when I hugged him, right?

The: Yes. Now, a hint. When your mother was injecting herself with Heroin, why did she shout at you?

Alice: Because I made her jump and she hurt herself... hang on, when she was talking to me she had her back to me and was putting the medic- (sighs) Heroin away and then when she moved my white rabbit was there, but that still doesn’t make sense, why would hugging the rabbit hurt? Unless she put the needle in my rabbit, and when I hugged it... oh my god! That’s it! I accidentally injected myself with Heroin, and now I’m here! That’s the answer!

The: Yes it is. Well done Alice.

Alice: Does this mean I’m not going to die?

The: (pause) no.

Alice: What do you mean?

The: You’re going to die here Alice.

Alice: I’m going to die here? But here is an illusion, so do you mean I’m waking up?

The: (pause) Correct again Alice. You only have a few minutes here.

Alice: But The, will I really become The Mad Hatter?

The: That is but one of many possible futures and it is unlikely for you to become her. Now (he whistles and the Mad Hatter runs on stage) Hatter, send a message to all we control. Tell them to let go, give up, lie down and let it all end. (The Hatter runs off stage again)

(The turns back to Alice)

Alice: Hang on, if you’re my consciousness, does that mean I’m talking to myself?

The: Not quite. Let me explain. You are made up of the emotive part of your brain, the part that feels and reacts upon gut instinct. I am the part that thinks logically and acts rationally, the part which was needed to control the Heroin in your system. I created this world to distract you, so you did not panic and accidentally ruin the control of the drug.

Alice: Then why aren’t I panicking now? I feel (She is interrupted by the Hatters arrival)

Hatter: The? I’ve sent the message. They all agreed.

The: Thank you. You can stop too now. I’ve just got Alice to deal with, and then the end will arrive. 

Hatter: Thank you sir. Goodbye then. (Hatter walks off stage)

Alice: The, why aren’t I panicking?

The: tell me, Alice, what do you feel right now?

Alice: I feel... calm. Like there’s nothing to worry about. But apart from that... nothing.

The: That’s the drug. I wasn’t able to stop it reaching you. That’s why parts of your real life kept bleeding through into Wonderland; I just controlled it so you didn’t notice the effects. (The rushes forward, grabs Alice and shakes her, he shouts) What do you feel now, eh!

Alice: (calmly) I feel... calm. Like there’s nothing to worry about. But apart from that... nothing. (The lets go, and steps back, a strange sadness on his face)

The: I’m sorry Alice. But there is no waking up. You overdosed by accident. Your body can’t fight the drug and you’re dying. The drug has killed the part of your brain you represent. The calmness you feel is nothingness; you just call it calmness because if you aren’t calm, you’ll panic. Except you can’t panic. You can’t feel a thing. The only reason you aren’t dead yet is because you haven’t accepted that yet.

Alice: But what about the Hatter, you said that was one of my futures. You said I didn’t have to die.

The: A false hope to lead you to here. If you had lost hope in this quest I created to distract you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop you from realising what was happening and panicking. But you don’t have to hold on to this any longer. I’m so, so sorry, but there really is no hope. You can’t wake up. You can’t stay like this forever. If you give up and let go now, you’ll go to sleep. You won’t feel death and everything will end. Everything must end Alice. And what better way than to go to sleep. Lie down Alice. (Alice lies down) I’ll tell you a bedtime story. (He kneels beside her and strokes her hair softly) The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. “Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?” he asked. “Begin at the beginning”, the King said gravely, “and go on till you come to the end: then stop.” (Alice’s eyes close, and her head rolls slightly. The takes a long, deep breath, gets up, and looks over Alice. A slow fade to blackout, as The simply stands completely still.

[frcmcmanus]

Extract from an old project.

Fire.

My house, my home. Ablaze. The missile the Apache helicopter fired took out most the top floor, and what remained burned. What used to be my bedroom was now a pile of ash and charred metal.

I wondered if they’d left the house standing, or if after we’d gone they destroyed it completely.

And how could I trust that they wouldn’t hurt our parents?

I couldn’t. I just had to hope. It was suicidal to go looking for them and it pained me to be that cold hearted. However this was life and death. Failure was an option, a very real one, but it had deadly consequences.

My knuckles were white I was gripping the steering wheel that hard.

The second time I killed a man couldn’t be called self defence. It could be called logical though, and an act of passion. I front of me was the man who had been part of the orchestration of events which had turned my life upside down and as a act of revenge I killed him, by tearing the hand that held him from a drop onto a pile of scrap metal and dangerous tools with a diamond. The diamond on the seat next to me in fact.

In William Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Lady Macbeth begins to imagine that her hands are permanently stained with blood. I knew how she felt. The blood on my hands wouldn’t last forever, but until I could find some water to wash myself I could feel the dried liquid constantly, and it was driving me mad.

In Macbeth Lady Macbeth commits suicide because her guilt is so strong. Maybe it’s a sign of something yet to come.

The third and final murder was without reason, or logic. It could not be claimed as self defence or as an act of passion. Whilst escaping in the armoured behemoth I had created I hit a Nonexistent. He was no threat to me, his weapons powerless and his death pointless as he was one of so many more. And yet, laughing while I did it, I’d killed him.

At least I think I killed him. Maybe he survived, maybe...

No. The speed I was going and the strength of this thing would almost certainly mean he was dead.

I just had to hope otherwise.

I could sense too that Pat, Billy and the others were beginning to fear me. Not only had I killed people, I’d also been unable to stop myself. A red mist would descend and I would just act to kill and survive, as if a primal beast was controlling me. As if, in times of trouble I turned into a wolf, hungry for blood.

What they didn’t know was that I was scared too.

I was turning into something deadly and powerful which I had no control over. I had to pray that I never hurt Pat or Billy in one of these rages, pray that I wouldn’t go to far, pray I would return to normal.

But even that was a curse. The guilt came then, flooding over me like a tidal wave of blood, crushing my spirit, breaking my will to keep fighting.

Pat thinks I was tricking him when I said I wanted to give up in Tiverton the night I killed the Nonexistent. Partially that’s true. However a large part of me screamed this with feeling, and still did now. I wondered if the others felt like this. I doubted that. That’s not me being self centred, that’s just because they hadn’t tried to kill themselves.

That came to me now, as vivid as everything else. Fear and hope that I would succeed, confusion, guilt, epiphany after epiphany, some true, the others deceptive lies.

The relief when the gun was empty. The crushing feeling when Pat broke down.

I never really wanted to kill myself, I don’t think, I just wanted to do something.

Andrew was dead.

I went over that in my head several times. Told myself to cry, to react, to do something, but nothing came. Not even a single tear.

Jack was dead.

I tried that. Nothing.

Carol had been shot in the ankle. Still no tears, but a lot of thoughts. Was she okay? What happened next? Would she be able to walk again? Should I tell anyone I loved her?

No. The one answer I could give. There was no time for love, however strongly I felt it. And besides I was pretty sure Pat felt the same way, but didn’t know about me and Carol. It would only cause trouble, telling people. It felt like a betrayal though, like I felt our relationship was something shameful.

More guilt.

And I just couldn’t cry. Two of my best friends were dead and I didn’t even shed a tear. Maybe I was turning into a monster.

Trying to distract myself I thought about food and clothing. We needed both as soon as possible, the bags we had collected from the warehouse only had enough food for a day or so, and clothes which were unwashed and torn. But for that we needed money. We’d spent all we had stolen from Willers bank account and I now seriously doubted that we could withdraw anymore as she was dead.

Jesus, Willers was dead. Somehow it just didn’t seem real. I even felt a little sorry for her. After all she was only human. She might have been brought up to believe this was the right thing, or was just confused and misguided. Maybe she was doing it against her will, maybe she had been forced into it through blackmail or she had no other option.

Maybe we were all monsters.

Distracting myself again. We would have to steal some money, it was the only option. Perhaps Jack (the computer) could hack into a bank computer, create us an account with a lot of money and even get us a card to withdraw it on.

None of which would be very inconspicuous I reminded myself.

Robbery? A bank? The car had all the tools to do it, and we were already criminals... but it was risky. Very risky. I’d have to give it more thought in the morning. I was far too tired to be thinking about this, let alone driving.

I needed to find somewhere to stay. Somewhere quiet, out of the way or ... that was an idea. The car could transform, so if I turned it into a motor home, parked in a car park somewhere in Tiverton we wouldn’t be seen.

It sounded like a good idea, so I began to think which car park in Tiverton to use. Not the market car park. Too many bad memories. If memory served me right there was a multi-story one near the bus station... but a motor home would never fit in there.

But there was one at the bottom of Angel Hill. I might have to pay for a overnight ticket, but it’d be worth it.

Pausing in a dark area of town I waited for the car to transform and made my way to the car park. I thanked the lord that the controls were so easy as it made parking a doddle, but did mean I almost took out a lamppost before I rediscovered where the handbrake was.

The streetlights lit up a street of small shops, including a shop which was imaginatively titled: Chinese food and bar. I immediately thought back to a joke Andrew once texted me: “A dyslexic walks into a bra...”

I broke down in tears. I sobbed, I blubbed, I cried and I whimpered. I thanked myself for remembering to put a petition between the driving area and the back. I cried for my mother and for my friends.