MENU BAR

What I'm Working On Now

Three short films are in Post-Production, soon to be submitting to film festivals.
Producing/editing a pilot for a new web-series inspired by the Alice in Wonderland tales.
Producing/editing a documentary on Gene Roddenberry and the genesis of Star Trek The Original Series.
There are a number of other projects in development, just waiting their turn to be produced.

Friday, May 4, 2012

IMMOLATION: Chapter 7


Ring...
         ...Ring...
                     ...Ring...
Hello?” Joan's voice came over the receiver.
Hi, Joan,” Matt began excitedly, she hadn't answered his last few calls and he was beginning to think that she was avoiding him. “How are—
Just kidding,” Joan's voice interrupted. “I'm not able to come to the phone right now so please leave me a message. Thanks, bye.”
Matt hung up and ran a hand through his hair. Greasy. He hadn't showered in a few days and it was beginning to take its toll. Old habits died hard, and besides, it wasn't as if he had any reason to clean himself up. The Bleeding Edge had been less than impressed with his last couple of entries and they failed to send him a new assignment to work on after he finished the last one.
Matt eyed the filing cabinet beside his desk where he sat. Countless papers stacked on top of it were covered in a fine layer of dust; he hadn't touched it since his college days. Inside lay every note he'd ever taken, every piece of homework he'd ever turned in and every test he'd ever taken. And at the very back of the bottom drawer, beneath a stack of photographs, Matt had hidden away the small, carefully bound pages that had ruined his life, the pages that could change the world. Matt had stopped going through the filing cabinet years ago but he couldn't bring himself to throw it out. Everything that his studies meant to him, everything he still dreamed of accomplishing, held him back.
Matt ran a finger over the piece of paper on the top of the stack. The contrast between the dust and the clean stripe stood out beneath the lamplight. His desk was slightly better but only because of the frequent work he did at his computer. He swiveled around in his chair and looked around. His one room apartment was cluttered with dirty laundry, cast off food wrappers and remnants of partially eaten food in varying degrees of molding. The smell, though he was immune from exposure, he was sure would stagger anyone else. Even the rats seemed to have left out of disgust, that or the filth was so deep now that they were simply burrowing beneath and out of sight. Small trails lead through the mess where his walking had packed down the debris.
I'm a mess” Matt said aloud to the empty apartment and he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. Cobwebs. Matt cringed and looked down to his feet. A cockroach, ignoring the light from his lamp, was crawling over his bare foot.
Matt jumped to his feet and put an end to the brazen roach with his eager stamping. Matt's face contorted as the goo between his toes squelched unpleasantly and he marched awkwardly over to his sink. Ignoring the dishes, he lifted his foot into the basin and rinsed off the bits that didn't come off during the walk over.
Matt tried to tell himself that it was because he didn't have time to clean, that his work and his research prevented him from doing more. Perhaps it started out that way, while he was still in college. But now, if Matt was perfectly honest with himself, he had no excuses.
Matt put his clean, if not wet, foot back down on the floor where it immediately gathered a new layer of filth. He let out a sigh that sounded more like a grunt. The depression that had been threatening to strike for the last several days seemed to rise up before him out of the piles of garbage. The frustration and self-loathing that so often accompany depression weren't far behind and he thought he could just make out the shady form of paranoia taking up the rear.
Matt shut his eyes. He unclenched his fists that he hadn't realized were clenched and steadied his breathing. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and his head throbbed with each pulse. The pressure mounted and Matt turned back to the sink. A drink of water always did wonders to calm the nerves. He grabbed the first glass he could find in the sink and filled it with water. As he brought it to his lips he saw the crushed back half of the cockroach from before, still twitching, floating in the glass.
The glass shattered against the wall feet from where Matt stood, spraying his face with chunks of glass and littering the floor with near impossible to find shards.
Silence, for a moment, as the shock and the sadness turned to rage. Matt swept the counter clean with one fluid motion, scattering dishes across his apartment. He grabbed piles of junk and threw them at other piles as if that would somehow punish them for existing. Sharp pain erupted in his left foot as one of the pieces of glass pierced it. Matt swore, trying to shift his weight to the right, overcompensated, and fell. The disturbed piles of trash tumbled down over his face as he hit the floor and he distinctly felt the scratching of tiny, clawed feet scurrying across his body as a family of rats sought refuge from the terror. Matt twitched but knew the rats had already left him for some other hidden burrowing spot.
Blood ran down his left foot and tickled slightly. It helped distract from everything else. Minutes passed and still he lied there, feeling the warm trickle along the sole of his foot, listening as the garbage settled around him.
Ring...
         ...Ring...
                     ...Ring...
Matt fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone and drew it out right before the call went to voice mail.
Hello?” The utter defeat in his voice seemed to carry loud and clear through the phone and it was a few seconds before the person on the other side answered.
Is Matt there?” a female voice asked.
This is Matt,” he droned, “Who is this?”
This is Joan Darcy.”
Matt sat up, sending the trash that had fallen on top of him flying. Excitement surged through him where despair had been before.
Joan, hi. How are you? Thanks for returning my call,” Matt spoke at double speed, unable to control himself. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding my calls, silly really, I know but that's what—
Tomorrow,” Joan interjected before Matt could go any further.
I, what?” Matt asked as he'd been too distracted by being interrupted to actually be able to tell what the interruption was.
Tomorrow,” Joan repeated, “Tomorrow, for an interview, if that works for you.”
Matt scrambled to his feet, still limping on his injured foot and having to stifle several grunts and groans on his way to his desk.
Okay,” he said as he pulled out his planner and flicked it open to the following day: blank. “I've got a spot in the afternoon and one in the evening.”
I was actually hoping for a morning slot,” Joan said.
Umm,” Matt feigned looking up and down his planner even though Joan couldn't see him.
It's just that tomorrow's my burn day and I thought you'd like to come and, I don't know, take some readings, and then afterwords we could have the interview.”
Matt blinked. Sure he'd been upset about not getting an interview with Joan, but neither had anyone else and now she was handing herself over to him on a silver platter. Regardless of how he felt about working for The Bleeding Edge, he needed the job and an interview with Joan Darcy would surely make up for his recent, less than exemplary pieces.
Hello?” Joan asked through the silence.
Oh, sorry, I was shuffling some other appointments,” Matt lied, “Morning would be fine. What time and where?”
Meet me at nine in front of those steps I pushed you down before,” Joan said with a hint of a laugh.
Matt hesitated. “You're not going to push me down them again, I hope.”
Joan laughed in earnest and said, “You'll just have to risk it if you want that interview, bye,” and she hung up.
Bye,” Matt said to the cell phone and pocketed it once again.
He sat, silent again and staring down at where he'd written down his appointment with Joan in his planner. The reality of it finally settled on him and he leaped up from his chair, “Yes!” he cried out and then immediately winced and fell back onto the chair as the piece of glass in his foot reminded him that it was still there.

No comments:

Post a Comment