Prompt: A makeup artist/special effects artists helps an immortal person fake their death
‘The problem with this kind of immortality,’ Fred thought drily, ‘was that it was too convenient.’ Someone could slit his throat and he would bleed out in mere moments. Then, not fifteen minutes later, the wound would heal, leaving only a jagged scar where it had been. He reached a hand up to his neck and found that he could finally no longer feel that particular jagged scar. He’d died enough that it had faded into his memory.
Fred took a deep breath and looked around at the mess. He really hadn’t expected bomb to go off in the middle of an improv comedy show at one of the city’s less-popular theatres. Nevertheless, all of his lack of foresight had done nothing to prevent the wiry, greasy-haired frame filled with contention towards the current comedian from jumping up and throwing a heavy briefcase upon the stage. The mood had barely changed from amused to shocked before the scene exploded.
Picking bits of metal and stage material out of his hair and singed clothes, Fred eyed the debris and bodies around him in anger. It no longer bothered him when he died, but seeing others caught in the crossfire still struck a chord in him. Not everyone got up after something like this, after all.
Just then, the ringing died in his ears and the blood drained from his face as he remembered the last few moments.
“Ya’ll ever had someone correct your grammar while you’re speaking?” Oh, wait, that should’ve been ‘have you all,’ my bad!” the comedian shouted, much to the crowd’s delight.
“I mean, this one nerd actually sends me a transcript of my last act! He’d marked it up with a red pen like my English teacher… asshole even gave me a score!” The crowd leaned in closely, waiting for him to finish. “An ‘F’ weren’t enough - he had to give me the percent - 26%!”
The crowd laughed, and Fred smiled at his date, a young woman by the name of Rose that actually looked older than him. Her charming smile overshadowed the bitter, hunched-over figure near the stage that was muttering while glaring at the man on stage.
“The nerve of this guy!” the comedian exclaimed dramatically. “Not once, not twice… no, four times he’s done this to me! Bet he’s some sort of ex-teacher’s pet that’s still bitter ‘bout not making the AP English TA spot!”
Rose leaned in and stole one of his chips. Fred pretended not to notice as the comedian pointed at the sulking man in the corner.
“Hey,” the comedian pointed with a laugh, “it weren’t you that stole this asshole’s sweater-vest, was it? Careful there, he might give you a bad grade on thievery...”
The crowd laughed as the comedian’s attention had shifted from the balding man on the left to the now-furious man that was standing up in irritation.
A spark of nervousness rose up in Fred’s spine as the angry man screamed out, “It’s ‘wasn’t’! Subject-fucking-verb agreement for fucks sake!”
The theatre seemed to freeze as a briefcase was launched through the air. Fred only had a moment to clasp the hand next to his before everything went black.
