Elysian
AU's Literary Magazine
Volume 3, Issue 1
Stories/Plays
SOUND OF MUSIC
Jada Golden
Walking in, I saw a boy boiling with passion. Every phrase was spoken but then hushed with a magic comma meaning to breathe. Even though he was a precocious percussionist, the music was written as if they were just trying to speak their mind but lost it, so they paused.
The boy was playing the whimsical piece and numbed his thoughts with each chord he hit. The dark wood of the instrument would be struck with the blue yarn mallets resonating vibrations to the shiny metal tubes. The piece’s tempo was a medium pace, fast enough to acquire your attention but slow enough to ease your nerves. The ringing of the marimba shivered down my spine.
I was facing the talented boy. The piece continued without stuttering even though his hands began to shake of his audience of one. The concluding chiming cord was grazed ever so slightly. He lowered the mallets into the black hanging bag and released a sigh he was holding for who knows how long.
He smiled at me and asked.
"How was that?"
I was speechless. The song was like a silk blanket created to keep me warm. An echoing sound that never faded as it rested in the back of my mind. I stared back at the now silent music maker. How could something so large have such a soft voice? I looked into the eyes so full of music.
All I could whisper was, "Beautiful."
CLEANSED BY FLAMES
Nathan Yockey
I always knew this day would come. My mother laid out on the kitchen floor, halfway through cooking whatever meal she tried to throw together. Her cheek cold against the worn tiles, burning hot water in the sink still running, the empty pot on the stove still with a low flame on the burner. The bottle of pills peering down from the kitchen counter, marveling at what they did.
I sat next to her in a daze. My head back against the flimsy cupboards, my hands in my lap, one leg up and the other laid out flat. My shined shoes and ironed slacks stuck out against the dirty floor. I looked up at the ceiling covered in the cobwebs of neglect. Molding and stained from years of chain smoking. All my memories with her flipped through my head like the pages of a book; I sat on the floor next to her lifeless body: the conclusion to the last chapter.
I thought I would be sad when this finally happened. I thought tears would run from my eyes, but instead they stared forward with a calm heaviness, halfway open and void of emotion. I thought I would feel something. But every time I begged her to quit, pleaded for her to put down the bottle she brushed it aside. Every time she said, “tomorrow I’ll quit,” perhaps I became a little more prepared. I think we both knew she gambled her life every time she used, and I think we both knew the odds weren’t in her favor. Maybe we both gave up on her, and that is why it finally came to this. I wonder if she struggled. I wonder if she died in pain, I guessed she laid here for hours. She laid sprawled out with her face down in her stained pink bathrobe, her dirty blonde hair fluttering out across the floor, stringy and frail from years of stress and an assortment of hair dyes.
Yesterday’s makeup blotched underneath her sunken eyes, orange blush that didn’t match the eerily white skin of her cheeks. Her last crude attempt to hide the monster the drugs turned her into. This was not her. Yet, this was how she would be remembered; this would be the face people would see in her casket. They would not see who raised me singlehandedly, who got me to school every morning, the woman who made this run-down trailer a home. They would not see the hands she used to tuck me into hand-sewn quilts that kept me warm every night. They would not see her warm smile of strength she used to hide her sadness from her baby boy. They would see her face that drugs reduced to yellow teeth and bloodshot eyes wrapped in skin and bones.
What would people think? What would they say to me? Everyone she knew and their pitiful condolences. Our friends and family already attended the funeral of who she once was. They buried my mother when her addiction spiraled out of control. They would not go to this funeral. Me alone, staring down at an empty pine box of formality and a priest who didn’t even know her name. That won’t happen.
I could smell the burning paint coming off the empty stainless-steel pan on the oven, like if someone dumped bleach into a campfire, white smoke around its sides from underneath. I rose to my feet and looked at the oven, “That burner being left unattended is dangerous,” I said to my mother’s corpse. “Someone should probably turn that off or it could cause an accident,” I stepped over to the sink and flipped off the running water, then reached through the curtains to the window and slid it open, “What a shame no one came by to turn it off,” I said as I sat back in my original position on the floor next to her.
A light breeze pushed the long flowing curtains out across the narrow kitchen and onto the stovetop. I sat again with my head back and my hands folded. “This wasn’t what you deserved,” I said into the empty trailer, hoping she was listening, “you don’t deserve to be remembered this way, so you won’t be.” The white smoke off the pan became black smoke billowing off the curtains, and I could hear the kitchen counter above my head bursting into flames. I reached over and clasped my fingers around my mom’s stiff hand that was stuck against the tiles. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me,” I went on with a monotone stillness, “you weren’t always the perfect mom, but you were my mom. I couldn’t be more thankful for that,” I said as I leaned down and pressed my lips against her cadaverous cheek. The dark red flames now creeping up onto the ceiling, the floral wallpaper peeling back at the mere touch of the fire. Water lines began to pop and spew out steam as the fire further engulfed the small trailer.
I stood up and prepared to say goodbye to her one last time. I stepped toward the door, afraid to look back; dipping my head under the flames and smoke. I grasped the plastic handle and turned back for one last look. Serenity filled her pale eyes. Amidst flames and chaos, she remained unbothered; fire grew hotter, the world crumbled around her. Yet, she did not utter a word or move a muscle. The fire crept to her ankles and her bathrobe began to smolder. She was truly at peace, going up in flames in her home with no one besides the only thing she loved. I walked into that house with a heart full of resentment; I walked out for the last time, having said my final goodbye, with a heart full of forgiveness. Only the love was strong enough to survive the flames. Every traumatic memory and every splinter of hate burned to nothing but smoke and ashes. The love for her held true as flames consumed the structure and the trailer collapsed on itself. I heard the echo of firetruck sirens in the distance, I looked back and felt the heat on my face one more time before I turned away, knowing I gave my mother the funeral she deserved.
REMEMBERING MHAIRI
Marlene D. Vail
Mhairi is the Scottish name for Mary. Although christened with that name, when my grandmother emigrated to America from London with my grandfather in the 20th century, she used Mary as her first name. My grandmother was a remarkable woman. Mhairi retained her British accent till her death. As a child, I used to tease her about how she pronounced words. She was a lingerie designer in New York City for six decades, retiring in her mid-80s because the act of commuting daily to New York City was proving arduous. She was tall, with long hair, she let go gray, but her hair was always pinned in a glorious large bun. Mhairi was always impeccably dressed. There are so many memories of her that it would take a book to journal her incredible life. My Mhairi and I were extremely close, and she guided many of my decisions in childhood to young adulthood.
Memories flooded back to me that night when I sat on her bed in North Shore Hospital. Mhairi was in her early 90s then, but she had suffered a severe stroke from which the doctors said she would not recover, and death was imminent. It was not my intent that night to reflect on her life and all that we shared, but as I sat there holding her hand, the memories kept coming. At the time, I felt full of grief and loss, and yet now, they provide me with the joy of her life well lived and my small part in it.
The hospital where my grandmother’s life ended was a university hospital not far from my parents’ home on Long Island. This hospital was ahead of its time in providing an environment that was soothing in the interior design of color schemes, furniture, and yes, gardens for visitors and ambulatory patients. It was a facility known for quality healthcare, with physicians involved in research with Cornell University and caring healthcare workers. Although I had visited the hospital many times to see family and friends undergoing minor surgeries, I had never been there for serious health matters of someone I loved. That night, it had a different aura.
No one in our family ever questioned the healthcare my grandmother received at North Shore Hospital. As a family, we felt confident in a facility that was highly rated as a teaching hospital. This encounter shaped my ideals about always finding a healthcare system where teaching and breakthrough treatments were being done rather than a community hospital. That opinion may be prejudicial against some healthcare systems. Still, there is a comfort knowing one is or has a family member or friend, where a facility is in the top 100 best hospital awards. These facilities would be like the University of Madison Hospitals and Froedtert Hospital and Medical College in Wisconsin, or Rush and Northwestern in Illinois.
It was during my grandmother’s illness that I met my first social worker in a hospital setting. My parents had friends who were social workers in New York City. But their roles or specialties were working with low-income families, finding them community services, or working in Child Protective Services (CPS) in New York’s boroughs. I was unfamiliar with social workers in a hospital setting. I remember Joanna, the social worker, walking over to me as I sat in Mhairi’s room. It was nighttime, and the hospital was quiet. She introduced herself to me as a hospital social worker. I remembered asking her what that meant. Joanna had been a social worker for 30 years in CPS work and decided to change course and work with patients in a hospital setting. Joanna, too, was tired of the long commute to Manhattan and enjoyed being a short distance from her home. Although she chuckled (I remember her face), “I wanted to stretch myself in a different direction.” Joanna was on the 11:00 pm to 7:00 am shift the night we met. We started talking, and before too long, I was relating to her my grandmother's story. Not the woman she saw there in the hospital bed, but this vibrant, alive, creative person who had been the center of my childhood, had an amazing career, and whose English roots never left her. She was the grandmother who took me to London to show me her childhood homes, and the woman who brought my brother and me to the Catskill Mountains’ cottage every summer that she and my grandfather owned on Round Top Mountain. I still remember the babbling brook by the cottage calling out to all who heard its song. I mentioned that brook to the social worker that night. I remember Joanna telling me that the ocean waves did the same thing to her as she grew up by Cape May at the Jersey Shore.
Somehow we clicked. It must have been a quiet evening at the hospital because that social worker stayed with me almost all night. At one point, we went down to the cafeteria to get some coffee – but the dialog never ended. Joanna also shared with me what she did at the hospital, which was, to a large extent, grief counseling. I have often thought of Joanna when I think of my grandmother’s final days. I also wish I could tell her about my journey to social work, and how the death of my husband, and then later the loss of a corporate career, brought me to where I am today, studying for my Masters in Social Work. Was it fate or circumstance that brought us together? I am uncertain, but I do know she made an impact as a social worker at the moment in my life where I needed a ready ear.
Having a social worker counsel me through Mhairi’s end of life was pivotal. I was suffering that night and in physical pain, and Joanna could sense my loss. In our social work classes, we speak of resilience, but even for those with strong hearts who can move forward, her acknowledgment of my grandmother’s life made a difference. In that night, she helped me accept the reality of Mhairi’s impending death. I remember thinking about the acceptance of death and its finality when my husband died unexpectedly. Her words came back to me then. I am uncertain how many social workers were in a hospital setting then doing grief counseling. But North Shore Hospital was always ahead of the curve on patient and family services. After my grandmother passed away, I received a note from her with a few lines from the poem Stop All the Clocks, Cut Off the Telephone written by poet W. H. Auden, which I recalled when Kevin died. I told Joanna that night how poetry was central to my grandmother’s love of literature and something we shared and loved. I never saw Joanna again. I have often thought of her of some guiding angel in my hour of need. I may only hope I can be someone’s light in social work as I commence my career.
He was my North, my South, my East, and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong
(Auden, 1936. Stanza 3).
BEAUTIFUL NIGHT FOR AN EXORCISM
Kelsey Kenneally
Forget a Lamborghini, I’d settle for a shitty Pinto right now if it meant I didn’t have to walk through these damn backwoods every damn night. Tomás thought as he made his way home from his closing shift at the bar. Walking down a deserted part of Rt. 66 at 1AM through a lightless forest was not Tomás’s ideal mode of transportation, but child support and rent meant he couldn’t afford even the shittiest of cars.
He saw someone standing by the road up ahead—a guy around his age with a red mohawk and vampiric skin. His black clothes were rumpled and stained.
Why’s a hitchhiker all the way out here? Tomás thought as he got closer to the guy. I mean, he could be a murderer waiting for his next victim (probably me); though I wouldn’t make myself look so distinctive if I was gonna shank someone.
Tomás moved a little farther out into the road, hunching his shoulders and staring straight ahead.
“Excuse me!” The guy on the side of the road called.
Tomás winced and ignored him.
“Excuse me! Could you help me, please? I really need a bus fare.”
“Buddy, if I had money for a bus fare, why would I be walking through these shitty backwoods at this hour?” Tomás said against his better judgement. “Besides, why are you begging for a bus fare all the way out here? There’s no bus stop for three miles at least.”
“There isn’t? I’m sorry, I guess I’m a bit lost.” The guy said.
“What’s your name?” Tomás asked, walking a bit closer to the guy, but still staying out of arm’s reach.
“Axar.”
“That’s a stupid name.”
“Well, my parents were stupid people.” Axar said with a hollow laugh.
Tomás looked the guy up and down. This guy’s practically a kid, I doubt he’s even of age. God, he looks like a strong wind could blow him into nowhere land. I wonder when the last time he ate anything was... He thought.
“I can walk you part way if you want; I'm headed that direction.” Tomás heard himself say.
“Would you? Thank you ever so much!” Axar said, clasping his hands in front of his chest.
“Where you headed?” Tomás asked.
“The bus stop?” Axar looked taken aback.
Tomás rolled his eyes. “I meant after that, Einstein.”
“Oh, New York––I’m gonna be a rock star.” Axar said.
“Cool.” Tomás started walking onward, his feet crunching in the dead leaves. “What about you? Where are you headed?”
“Home.”
“Long day?”
“Always a long day when you’re stuck in a dead-end bartending job at a shitty bar populated by gang-bangers and drunk rednecks.”
Axar nodded. “I understand. I used to be a stock boy in my pop’s hardware store. Pop’s wouldn’t pay me squat and beat me if I ever gave him lip. I just had to get the hell out of this damn town.
“God, I’d love to do that—run off and get away from everything, but I got a kid to support.” Tomás said. “Not that my ex spends that support on anything but heroin.”
“Son or daughter?”
“Daughter, her name’s Fabiana. We call her Faibi.”
“You must be very proud.”
“I guess. She only six months, so she doesn’t do much but shit and scream at me.”
“Yeah, babies do that.”
They were nearly to the edge of the forest now. As they’d been talking, they’d drifted into the middle of the road. The full moon shining through the treetops lit the road almost like daylight.
“Thank you for walking with me.” Axar said.
“No problem,” Tomás grunted, glancing at his watch. It was 1:12AM.
An engine roared behind them and, suddenly, the two men were illuminated by the blazing headlights of an oncoming Toyota Celica.
“Hit the deck!” Tomás screamed as he dove off the path. For a split second, he saw Axar standing immobile in the middle of the road—looking nearly transparent in the headlights.
Tomás squeezed his eyes shut.
There was a screeching of tires and a sickening crunch followed by silence.
Tomás got up on his hands and knees, spitting rotting leave and dirt out his mouth. “Axar? Are you okay, buddy?” Tomás got up and looked back at the road, bracing himself for the sight of guts smeared across the road.
Thick white mist rose from the ground. The car was gone––no engine sound, no tire tracks. Weirdest of all, there was no Axar. Tomás was certain he’d heard breaking bones and guts exploding, but the road was unblemished.
“Axar?” Tomás said into the silent night. There was no answer.
Tomás looked behind him, back the way they’d come. His eyes fell on the path they’d been walking. A feeling like spiders crawled up his spine.
There was only one set of footprints in the soft dirt.
“Shit!” Tomás cried, breaking into a sprint. Home sounded like the safest place to be right then.
***
The next evening, Tomás went to his ex-wife's house for his bi-weekly visitation with Faibi. She was in the care of her grandma, Mrs. Jennifer Harrison, as Fabiana’s mom, Alison, was nowhere to be found.
Mrs. Harrison came in from the kitchen as Tomás was playing patty-cake with Faibi. “Is everything okay, Tomi? You look like you didn’t sleep well last night.” she asked.
“Yeah, I didn’t. I saw something really weird last night on the way home from work.” Tomás said.
“Oh, what was it?”
He told her about his freaky encounter with Axar.
When he finished, Mrs. Harrison looked thoroughly perturbed. “Where was this again?”
“Route 66, at edge of that wooded area.” Tomás said.
“Did this boy give you his name?”
“He said it was Axar. Weird name, right?”
Mrs. Harrison’s eyes widened.
“Good God!”
“What?” Tomás’s brow furrowed.
“Do you know him?”
“Know him? He’s a local legend!” She beckoned Tomás over to the computer.
“Oh, so he’s a big-time local musician or something?”
“Not exactly...” Mrs. Harrison typed the name “Axar O’Reilly” into the browser and hit return.
The first result was titled, “Ghost Sightings on Route 66.” The second read, “Boy Hit by Car Outside Burgesstown.”
“Axar was a young man who grew up in this town.” Mrs. Harrison said, her voice pitched low. “He always said he was going to run away to New York and become a rock star. He finally ran away from home at 19...he never even made it to the bus station.”
Tomás’s mouth fell open. He hands gripped the chair back like they were trying to be consumed by it. “You’re telling me that kid was a fucking ghost? When did he die?” His voice cracked.
“Summer 1977 or so, I don’t quite remember the month.”
Tomás swallowed a lump in his throat, the words “Ghost Sightings” burning his eyeballs.
“That poor boy...” Mrs. Harrison muttered.
“His soul hasn’t found peace after all this time.”
“Guess not.”
“We should do something for him.”
“What?”
“We should do something—you know, to help that poor boy’s soul move on to the afterlife.”
“What, like an exorcism?”
“Maybe,” Mrs. Harrison said, putting a hand to her chin.
“Yeah, that sounds more likely to summon demons than send me on,” another voice said from behind Mrs. Harrison’s right shoulder.
Tomás’s head snapped towards the voice. He thought his eyes were going to fall out of his head at the sight of the ethereal form of Axar O’Reilly standing at his side.
“What do you think, Tomi?” Mrs. Harrison said.
“Uh, yeah, great idea. Listen, I have to go.”
“Is everything all right? You look pale.”
“That leftover pizza I had isn’t really agreeing with me; I think I should head home.”
“Okay. I’ll call you later, all right?”
“Why?”
“To arrange the exorcism, of course.”
“Oh, right, sure. See ya later.” Tomás kissed Faibi goodbye and walked home as fast as he could without running.
***
Tomás shut and locked the door to his mobile home and kicked off his ratty sneakers. He turned around to find Axar sprawled out on his couch.
“Fuck!” Tomás exclaimed, jumping nearly a foot in the air. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“I'm not sure; this is the first time I’ve manifested anywhere but the roadside.”
“Why did you follow me from Alison’s house?”
“Who’s Alison?”
“Who cares!” Tomás cried. “I just want to know why the fuck you're haunting me!”
“Look, man, I’m as psyched out as you are. I’m not trying to haunt you; I’m just kind of...tethered.”
“Tethered. To what?”
“You, I guess. See, I suddenly manifested while you were talking to that old biddy, and then I got dragged along over here.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” Tomás flopped down on the rusty folding chair across from the couch.
“Sorry, I don’t want to be a bother. You can just pretend I’m not here.”
“Tipo, you’re a ghost with a red mohawk.”
“Fair point,” Axar nodded.
Tomás was saved from this strange conversation when his cellphone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Tomi, it’s me. I’m calling about exorcism.” Mrs. Harrison said.
“Oh, yeah, when are you having it?”
“Well, I talked to Pastor Reyes, and he thinks we should have it at 1am tomorrow, when the moon is full. It’ll be held at the roadside where the boy died.”
“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”
"You mean we’ll be there?” Axar said right into Tomás’s left ear. “Gah!”
“What was that? Tomi, are you all right?”
“I’m fine! Just, uh, a spider ran over my foot!”
“Ick! Be sure to kill that. Can’t have it laying eggs in that shit box you call a house.”
“Yeah, I know. See you tomorrow, Mrs. Harrison.”
“Bye, Tomi.”
“Bye.” Tomás hung up and rounded on Axar. “You can’t just do that to someone when they’re on the phone! You almost turned me into a ghost!”
“My apologies, I was just trying to look at your doo-dad. Did you say that was a telephone?”
“Yeah, of course it’s a—oh, right, you died in the 70s.”
Axar cocked his head questioningly.
“Well, see, landlines aren’t a thing anymore much, so we all use these mobile phones. They have rechargeable batteries instead of being plugged into the wall.”
“Huh, fascinating,” Axar said examining Tomás's phone more closely.
“Mrs. Harrison is having an exorcism to get you to move on to the afterlife or whatever tomorrow at one. I hope it works, because I do not need a ghost as a roommate!”
“I said I was sorry!”
Tomás took a deep breath. “I know. It’s not your fault, man. All this supernatural stuff is just freaking me out.”
“Oh, of course,” Axar said.
“I’m gonna hop in the shower. Try not to follow me, please.”
“I’ll do my best.”
***
Tomás woke up around 3am in a cold sweat. He took a rattling breath.
“Dammit, I gotta piss.” he muttered.
He got up and stumbled to the bathroom. About halfway through his business, he realized the house was a bit too quiet. He zipped up and washed his hands.
He poked his head out of the bathroom and called out, “Axar? Hey, Axar, where you at?”
There was no answer.
“Axar? You figure out how to play hide and seek, man?”
The house remained quiet.
“Huh, weird, guess he went for a stroll—or a float I guess.” Tomás went back to bed and tried not to let Axar’s mysterious disappearance bother him.
***
By about 4 o’clock the next afternoon, Tomás was getting legitimately worried. Axar still hadn’t reappeared.
It’s no skin off my nose if he’s gone, but I just can’t help feeling like he’s not. How are we gonna have an exorcism for him if he’s not there?” He thought.
Tomás left his house around 10:30pm to walk over to the spot where he’d first met Axar. He stopped at the gas station to grab a coffee on the way. As he walked back toward the sidewalk, a voice right next to him said, “Beautiful night for an exorcism, isn’t it?”
“Shit!” Tomás jumped, spilling his coffee all over the front of his shirt. Axar laughed hysterically. “Oh, you should have seen your face!”
“Shut it, spike-head.” Tomás said, wiping at his shirt with the one napkin he had been given. “Where the hell have you been?!”
“Not really sure. You see, about 11 last night I was sucked out of your very comfortable computer chair and found myself standing at my usual roadside haunt. At precisely 1:12am, that lovely Celica came zooming out of the woods and poof! I was here.”
“Dude, you’ve been missing for almost a whole day.”
“Strange. It feels like no time has passed to me.”
“I guess that would make eternity haunting a roadside more bearable if you only exist half the time.”
“I suppose.” Axar floated along beside him on the way to the woods, whistling the tune of “Teenage Lobotomy” by the Ramones.
They got to the edge of the wood where Mrs. Harrison, in ridiculous psychic-style clothing, holding Faibi, Pastor Reyes, and a few other townspeople.
“Ooh, this must be your daughter! She looks just like you.” Axar said, flitting behind Mrs. Harrison and Faibi.
Faibi looked over her little shoulder directly at Axar as she sucked on her hand.
“I think she can see me!” Axar said. “Hi there! I’m Axar.”
While Axar socialized with Faibi, Tomás approached Mrs. Harrison. “You brought a baby to an exorcism.” Tomás said flatly.
“I couldn’t leave her home alone.”
“Where’s Alison?”
“Probably at that motel in Halpsburg.”
“Naturally.” Tomás rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “What’s with the get-up?”
“You like it?” Mrs. Harrison gestured at it with her free hand. “I thought it would match the mood of this perfectly.”
“You’re getting way too into this.”
“Ah, Tomás, you made it.” Pastor Reyes said, approaching them. “Ready to get started?”
“I guess. How are we doing this?” Tomás asked.
“I was thinking of blessing the sight where he died and having us all say a prayer for the dearly departed.”
“That’ll work, I guess.”
“Everyone, stand in a circle around me.” Pastor Reyes called.
The gathered crowd formed a circle around Pastor Reyes. He began a prayer as Tomás and Axar’s eyes met.
"I really don’t think this is going to work.” Axar said.
“Me neither.” Tomás mouthed. “God, I gotta get out of this damned town.”
Axar nodded. “You should. I think you have a lot of potential, Tomás. You can be more than this.”
Tomás nodded. At that moment, he made the decision, deep inside himself, that he would get out of this town, no matter what it took.
Suddenly, the ghostly Celica appeared at the end of the road. It screamed towards the assembled exorcists. Pandemonium ensued. Everyone screamed and scattered into the woods.
Tomás stood in the middle of the road, unmoved.
The headlights flashed blindingly, and the car vanished in a cloud of white smoke.
As the smoke dissipated, Tomás saw Axar across the road, just past the treeline. Axar smiled, seeming to know exactly what Tomás had decided. He gave Tomás a little salute and faded away into nothingness.
“Did you see that?!” Mrs. Harrison asked, face white with terror.
Tomás took a crying Faibi from her and bounced her on his hip. A half smile tugged at the side of his mouth. “See what?”
CITY LIGHTS - ACT 1
Nicholas Richard--Thomson
FADE IN:
TITLE CARD: “The literal meaning of life is whatever you're doing that prevents you from killing yourself”— Albert Camus
EPISODE 1: DEATH IS EASY; LIVING IS HARD.
INT. NELL'S APARTMENT A
PHONE is RINGING.
This apartment either belongs to someone impoverished or a person that is extremely minimalistic. The room is void of furniture, appliances, or anything decorative. The space is entirely empty except for two posters—one of Malcolm X and the other of a 90s Anime.
The floor is pristine, almost as empty as the walls, except for a pile of books that lay scattered in front of a couch, where a man is sprawled out on. The man is NELL NOIR (25). He is at rest, peacefully asleep.
On the table directly in front of him we see several PAST DUE BILLS in bright red.
The phone is still ringing. It rings several more times... Nell wakes up startled, rising from the couch. He stares at his ceiling grabbing his phone without looking.
NELL
(sleepily)
Hello?
BILL COLLECTOR
Hello, this phone call may be recorded for quality assurance. Hello, is this Mr. Noir?
NELL
Yes--
BILL COLLECTOR
--Well, hello! I'm Katie, How're you doing today?
NELL
(sleepily)
I have a funeral to attend later. But I'm breathing, so that can definitely be deemed a positive.
BILL COLLECTOR
Well, that's good to hear--
Nell gives a perturbed sigh to her response.
BILL COLLECTOR (CONT’D)
--I'm with a debt collector. NoMercy Hospital, has outsourced your debt with them— to us. Would you like to make a payment today on your balance?
There's a long pause. Nell looks around his apartment, he peers at the emptiness. He takes a deep breath.
BILL COLLECTOR (CONT’D)
Mr. Noir?
NELL
I'm here. Listen, Carol--
BILL COLLECTOR
--Uh, Katie.
NELL
-would I like to make a payment? Sure. Can I? No.
Nell starts adjusting, stretching, getting comfortable on the couch.
BILL COLLECTOR
(enthusiastically)
I'm sorry to hear that, sir. But is there anyway to get you enrolled in one of our payment plans today, I can help you get set up in less than 5 minutes.
NELL
You don't care. And I'm aware you're merely doing your job; another cog in the machine, fodder for the factories, a mindless sheep marching to the inevitable-
(a beat)
--death. So I don't blame you. In fact, you and I are actually one and the same. Yet, still, you mine as well take me off your call list, it's not gonna happen.
Awkward pause.
BILL COLLECTOR
(stuttering)
As I said we have many options---
NELL
Lady. I can barely pay my rent--why would I pay you--and become homeless? I don't think your employer is in threat of going out of business-
Nell glances at the Past due bills.
NELL (CONT’D)
--You'll be alright without my $500.
Nell gets comfortable on the couch and leans upside down.
BILL COLLECTOR
Well... Sir, actually the balance is $2457.69...
Nell has a blank face.
NELL
(laughing)
2000 dollars?!
Nell laughs for an extended amount of time. He ceases. A moment of silence.
BILL COLLECTOR
Sir, I--
Nell burst out laughing just as Kate begins to speak.
INT. APARTMENT LOBBY
The Lobby is completely empty. Nell is sleuthing around slowly turning the corner peaking around as to avoid running into someone. A HOMELESS MAN, MR. TOWNSEND sits on the floor near the exit. He's peacefully asleep, dressed in tattered clothing. Nell approaches and nudges him.
NELL
Mr. Townsend. Mr. Townsend! Wake up, before Mr. Lopez sees you and throws a fit again.
MR. TOWNSEND
(sleepily)
Nell? Oh. Yeah, I gotta get to the train station. What time is it?
Nell helps a struggling, Mr. Townsend to his feet.
NELL
It's 9:30--andddd I'm late for work.... Again.
(a beat)
What're you doing here anyway? What happened at the shelter house?
MR. TOWNSEND
I was there, see. And that lady you introduced me to, real nice, real nice--she smelt good too. She was helping me, right? But I got in a fight---and well, they kicked me out.
NELL
They have a strict, zero tolerance policy over there on that. You're lucky they didn't alert the authorities.
MR. TOWNSEND
Oh, they did--I ran.
NELL
What're you going to do now?
MR. TOWNSEND
Don't you worry about me. I'll figure it out. I always have.
Nell starts digging in his pocket.
NELL
Here. Nell takes out 20 dollars.
MR. TOWNSEND
I can't take this.
NELL
My life is already in shambles 20 dollars won't restore or destroy any balance.
Mr. Townsend is reluctant, but takes the money.
MR. TOWNSEND
Thank you.
Just then— MR. LOPEZ, the Landlord comes up behind Nell.
MR. LOPEZ
Oh, oh, if you're handing out money, I know you got my rent.
Nell takes a look around checking the entire lobby, a bit puzzled.
NELL
Man, I didn't even hear the door open. Did you drop from the ceiling?
MR. TOWNSEND
Oop, I'll be on my way. Thanks again, Nell.
MR. LOPEZ
(to Mr. Townsend) Stop sleeping here! Or I'm calling the cops.
Mr. Townsend is already out the door and pretends he can't hear through the glass. Nell attempts to make his way towards the door, avoiding the conversation about rent.
NELL
Listen, I'm late for work, but I'll have your money by today--
(whispers)
--or next week.
MR. LOPEZ
Nell!
NELL
Man, my checks are always fluctuating because the center isn't doing well. It's always a surprise how much I'm getting. When I get it, you'll get it.
MR. LOPEZ
I'm gonna fluctuate that ass on the street, if I don't get that rent by tomorrow.
NELL
That's a strange combination of words you said there.
Mr. Lopez let's out a deep concerning sigh.
MR. LOPEZ
Listen, Nell. You're a good kid. I Want to help ya. You know this, I really do. But I got a family too, that I gotta feed... You're two months behind. I need that space with someone in it with some consistent cash flow.
NELL
I understand. And I'll do my best to get you your money.
MR. LOPEZ
Okay, you've got three days, that's it, got it?
NELL
I'll figure it out.
(pause)
I always do.
Nell exits the building.
EXT. YOUTH CENTER - PARK
NELL
(apathetic)
I can't figure it out.
Nell is sitting on a bench outside with another Counselor. They sit across from Middle school age children running around on a playground.
COUNSELOR 1
Me neither, man, it's puzzling. They're both staring at CAPE KID, he's no older than 9 and is wearing a CAPE, he is either having a seizure or summoning a demon--hard to tell. The other kids attempt to avoid him and play around his odd ritual.
COUNSELOR 1 (CONT’D)
Like, what's he doing?
NELL
I'm not sure. But he does this every time they come outside. Think it's a coping mechanism.
COUNSELOR 1
Should we help or tell him to stop?
NELL
Nah, I think we should leave him to it. He's not harming anyone.
COUNSELOR 1
Yeah, plus they say he bit someone last week that interrupted.
(a beat)
Oh! And there he goes again.
They both look over at CAPE KID with wide eyes and get up frantically.
INT. YOUTH CENTER - OFFICE
All the counselors are gathered and are being reprimanded by their supervisor, MR. FORD, an older guy, out of shape with a bad toupee.
MR. FORD
HERE WE GO AGAIN! Another incident. What do I pay you guys for?
REGGIE
(whispering)
We barely get paid.
MR. FORD
What was that!?
REGGIE
I said this is surely an outrage. We gotta do better. I for one am sick of this abyssal behavior.
NELL
Abysmal.
REGGIE
That too.
Mr. Ford is bright red he continues screaming its inaudible, Nell isn't paying attention.
MR. FORD
Everyone out of my sight! Except you, Nell. Let me speak with you.
All the counselors pour out of the office with exhausted and disgusted faces. Nell hangs back.
INT. YOUTH CENTER
REGGIE
Shit wild, man. Can't believe he just screamed at all y'all like that. He ain't got no respect.
MATT
I don't know if you were present my guy. But he screamed at all of us.
REGGIE
Negative. My guy he wasn't talking to my black ass. I do my job.
The KID in the CAPE from outside is sitting in a chair wiping tears from his face. Nell approaches.
NELL
You good, Batman?
CAPE KID
Bat kid.
NELL
(laughing)
Yeah, right my bad. So, why we biting people, man. What happened to Batman using his wits to get out of trouble?
CAPE KID
I didn't do nothing. I didn't bite him, they were picking on me. So, I fought back.
NELL
Did you tell the other counselors that?
CAPE KID
They don't listen to me cus they think I'm crazy. I only act like that, so I'll be left alone.
NELL
That's a cunning strategy, seemingly ineffective--but cunning.
(a beat)
Look, I already spoke with Mr. Ford. You're just on a warning. But he is gonna call your mom--
CAPE KID
She's not gonna come. Whenever I get in trouble she stays away, it's why she doesn't come to see me.
Nell is speechless. Just then Reggie comes walking by holding one of the kids under his arm.
DEMON KID
The voices in my head are telling me to kill everybody here and peel your skin.
REGGIE
Don't let them voices get yo ass whopped.
INT. YOUTH CENTER - LATER
A clock shows 12:30 PM— lunchtime. Nell is sitting in a chair that is far too small for him accompanied by a tiny table to match, he has a brown paper bag which holds his lunch, he starts piling it on the table-- it isn't much. Nell's face holds a pensive expression.
Two other counselors walk over and join him. MATT (26) Nerdy looking guy, scruffy, looks like he just woke up, and REGGIE (25), a handsome gentleman with a clean cut.
MATT
Man, that lunch looks like the struggle.
(gesturing towards Nell)
NELL
Matt, you try too hard to use Ebonics.
Nell greets both Matt and Reggie with a handshake, that Matt messes up, they don't call attention to it. They both start to take out their lunches as well.
REGGIE
(to Nell)
What did the Penguin say? you getting fired? Can I have your locker?
NELL
Huh? No, he asked me what happened. I was sticking up for the kid.
REGGIE
The Noble Negro strikes again. You act like these kids yours.
NELL
As should you. It's literally the most important function of our jobs.
MATT
(whispers)
Don't end up like Ben and Carson. They got fired last week due to an infraction involving that same kid.
NELL
They got fired because they were terrible at their jobs and smoked weed on the grounds.
(a beat)
And it doesn't help that this place is going broke.
REGGIE
Broke as shit. They didn't order any extra toilet paper this month. Now, I have to go out and buy my own--selfish.
An older gentleman walks in, Mr. Jeffers, he's a tall, jubilant fellow, with an appearance that screams suburban white dad, sandals and all.
MR. JEFFERS
Hey, what sup! High fives!
Mr. Jeffers holds his hands up and is awaiting his high fives. Nell and Reggie give him limp dap. He moves on to Matt, who is eager and enthusiastic with his high five. Mr. Jeffers is pleased. He begins to walk off then stops in his tracks and turns around dramatically.
MR. JEFFERS (CONT’D)
Oh! I almost forgot! We've got a team meeting later. We have to come up with fundraiser ideas. We're taking all suggestions--
NELL
--I can't. I was going to leave early actually if that's alright.
REGGIE
Oh! You too good for the team meetings? Where yo black ass going?
NELL
A funeral.
REGGIE
Ope, my bad, man. You know, I just be talking shit.
MR. JEFFERS
(gasp)
I'm so sorry for your loss, Nell! Was it somebody close.
Mr. Jeffers, embraces Nell for a hug. Nell doesn't reciprocate.
NELL
A friend.
MR. JEFFERS
The grieving process isn't linear. So, anything you need, you just let me know.
He rests both his hands on Nell's shoulder with intense eye contact. Nell is weirded out.
NELL
I just need to leave to early.
EXT. FUNERAL HOME
A high-pitched bell RINGS. It is cloudy and stormy out.
NELL
(into Phone)
I just need to leave early. I've got a headache...
(into phone)
Plus, I don't like seeing old classmates and I've just been to too many funerals lately.
(into phone)
It's not that, but, like, it's all a performance. Half the people that go to these things aren't really grieving, it's like a spectacle. I don't know it just seems disingenuous. But I gotta go. Love you, mom.
(MORE)
NELL (CONT’D)
(into phone)
Yeah, I'll let Ms. Emery know you send her love.
Nell is in the front seat of a beat-up car, slouched in his seat, staring out the window watching as people file into the funeral home. An aloof expression rest upon Nell's face. Nell shines his teeth in the rearview mirror and turns up the radio. The stereo plays SENSEI's “DEVIL IN Disguise”. Nell grabs some aspirin off the dash it's empty. Nell checks his phone, yawns and gets out the car.
INT. FUNERAL HOME
Nell enters the room and plops down in a seat near the back and opens a book. Nell hears a CLICKING and TAPPING sound.
A girl directly in front of him is on Snapchat and is attempting to take the perfect picture. Nell attempts to ignore it. Doesn't work. She continues. Nell taps the girl on the shoulder.
NELL
What if you were dead?
SNAPCHAT GIRL
Excuse me?
NELL
What if you were laying in that casket and your parents were the ones grieving?
SNAPCHAT GIRL
Do I know you?
NELL
Do you know the deceased?
SNAP CHAT GIRL
The what?
Nell snaps back to reality. He hasn't said a word or moved from his seat, he imagined the encounter... Nell looks around and slouches back into his seat. It's an open casket event only a few people are gathered. Two people stand near the casket they appear to be grieving the most— It's the parents.
Almost everyone is decorated in black, except for several teenagers, who are dressed in jerseys, hoodies, and sagging pants.
People are waiting in line to see the casket. Nell sits in the back alone. He is reading a book. “Beyond Good And evil” A short man walks up and sits next to Nell. Nell scans the room peering at all the empty seats around the both of them. Nell shakes his head, then adjust himself in his seat.
The man that sits next to Nell is LUCA RASHAD (25), he is of a mocha skin complexion, and is polished in all black with slick black hair to match.
LUCA
What you reading, any good?
Nell reveals the books cover to Luca.
LUCA (CONT’D)
Nietzsche. I read about him a bit. Kinda odd to be reading at a funeral, nah?
NELL
I suppose. But funerals are odd to begin with, though. Is it a lament or a celebration?
LUCA
You right.
(a beat)
What's really odd is all these people here and half of em' barely knew him. When I die I need the entire thing V.I.P...
Luca points at a group boujee dressed girls.
LUCA (CONT’D)
Like that, You telling me they ran in the same circle as Ethel?
NELL
Love only received after expiration, is a fickle love I do not require.
LUCA
(snapping)
Facts. That shit was poetic.
Someone shushes the both of them. The reverend was about to start speaking. The sermon begins and a man walks to the podium in a black and gold garment and begins speaking to the crowd.
REVEREND
(screaming)
Mr. Emery. Is another lost soul to temptations of the devil. He lost his battle with addiction-- but is in a better place now, where his soul can finally be at ease!
TIME PASSES.
REVEREND (CONT’D)
(to the crowd)
THE DEVIL IS A MASTER OF DISGUISE AND TRICKERY. HE WILL DISGUISE HIMSELF AS YOUR BEST FRIEND, BUT I PROMISE, YOU THAT HE ISN'T. HE WILL TEMPT YOU WITH ALL SORTS OF DEVICES!
You can hear women in the back cosigning everything the reverend says.
RANDOM LADY
Amen!
LUCA
(whisper)
Yo, why the fuck is he screaming at us?
NELL
(laughing)
I don't know, man, but my head is already pounding, though.
Same lady shushes them again.
LUCA
I got something for that headache.
Nell gives a dubious look, but reluctantly gives in.
CUT TO:
INT. FUNERAL HOME - BATHROOM.
Luca pulls out a JOINT and shakes it in Nell's face.
NELL
Man, I thought you had some aspirin I don't smoke, I got asthma.
LUCA
Wait, you'd followed a person to the bathroom for some aspirin?
NELL
Funerals are weird.
Nell turns towards the door.
LUCA
My bad man, you used to chill with all the stoners in high school.
NELL
Wait. Did we go to school together?
LUCA
Are you fucking serious, we had psych together--
Nell looks puzzled still.
LUCA (CONT’D)
--and sociology.
Still doesn't ring a bell.
LUCA (CONT’D)
--Bruh, you were in my group for a final project.
Nell looks puzzled still— then an epiphany.
NELL
Luca Rashad.
Luca is pleased he finally got it, he takes a long hit.
LUCA
Yes! In your defense, I rarely ever came to class.
(shrugs)
NELL
I remember now, you make music, right?
LUCA
Kinda, I got a feature with Aurora legend, Bryce Jackson.
LUCA (CONT’D)
You heard it?
NELL
I'm always conflicted with playing his music. He's talented, he's local, but— his music is overly misogynist and violent. I can't play that with my moms or my nieces around.
LUCA
Man almost all hip-hop nowadays is misogynistic and violent.
NELL
That makes it, okay?
LUCA
Good point, I agree with you, but we should support our own. Otherwise, no one will.
NELL
Hmm, I actually agree with that. I'll give him a listen.
LUCA
(laughing)
Just like that, huh? That easy to convince.
NELL
Yeah. You made a logical and compelling argument, one I happen to agree with. There isn't enough local support with the artist out here.
(a beat)
If you want to go fast go alone; if you wish to go far, go together. African proverb.
Luca looks Nell up and down.
LUCA
So, you're an artist too. Hmm. What, you rap?
NELL
Because I'm black? That's tenuous.
Luca takes a hit.
LUCA
Nah, nah you got the hair of a frustrated activist.
(MORE)
LUCA (CONT’D) Got that conscious artist look going, some Jean Basquiat, ?uest Love, young Spike Lee type shit.
NELL
It's actually basquiat.
LUCA
What?
NELL
Never mind. You had it right at Spike Lee, though.
LUCA
(takes a hit)
I'm so lost.
NELL
I'm a filmmaker...or aspiring one at least.
LUCA
Oh, I got you. What's the objective? You want to make documentaries or movie movies?
NELL
I'm a storyteller, that wants to challenge perceived notions. The medium or genre are of little importance.
Luca nods, looks a bit lost— and takes another hit.
LUCA
I feel that. That's why I like to sing. Share my stories. Plus I'm cold with it.
NELL
Modest too.
LUCA
(under breath)
And hoes love when I serenade them.
NELL
(chuckling)
That's what I'm talking about.
Luca gestures the joint to him, Nell shakes his head.
LUCA
(coughing)
Sorry, habit.
Luca blows a couple of smoke circles and a couple of moments goes by, they both sit in silence
LUCA (CONT’D)
What you mean, though?
NELL
Huh?
LUCA
That earlier statement.
Smoke escapes from the bathroom door.
NELL
Oh, you called women hoes, not something I'd suspect from someone wanting to make storytelling music about truth.
LUCA
Nah, Nah, see, I use “hoes”, as a gender neutral term. You assumed I was talking about women— that's on you. Plus “hoes” exist in many forms they're human, their stories deserve to be told too.
Luca takes another hit. Nell is impressed with Luca's deduction. Just then — someone barges in the bathroom.
Luca throws his arms up like he was being stopped by the police— then slowly brings the joint to his mouth and takes a hit.
LUCA (CONT’D)
Bro, you didn't lock the door?
NELL
I thought I was getting aspirin...
CUT TO:EXT. FUNERAL HOME - LATER
Nell and Luca sit outside. Nell is listening to some music in headphones.
LUCA
What you think? Be honest
NELL
I'm actually really impressed. This could probably pop.
LUCA
Pop, like that old man back when you let him strong arm you like a rag doll.
NELL
He threw, you out too...
LUCA
Shit, you right. He had that old man strength, all them years fighting for civil rights, make a brother strong.
Both of them burst out in laughter. And they stare at a sunset for a brief moment. Luca checks his phone.
LUCA (CONT’D)
Shit. I'm late.
NELL
For what?
LUCA
I got a whole studio session in thirty minutes. Man, I'll catch you later.
They shake up. Luca starts heading towards his car.
LUCA (CONT’D)
Yo, hit me up on Facebook. Let's link. I got a single dropping and would love some visuals to accompany it. And it's without saying, I respect the artist, so I'll pay you. I know people out here be looking tryna pay people with clout.
NELL
Man, all my equipment, is typically rented. If you cover what we need. The video is free.
LUCA
My brother say less. Yes. Man, just DM me on the book, and we can get this cracking.
Luca walks towards his car he gets in. He goes to start it, but the engine doesn't start. Nell sits at the curb still — he motions towards Luca.
NELL
You good?The car finally starts, Luca gives a thumbs up and drives off.
FADE TO BLACK.
END OF ACT 1