Posted by rathead on January 01, 2001 at 01:09:57:
In Reply to: Spilled Wine posted by rathead on January 01, 2001 at 01:07:49:
Demetrios´ corpse was hanging on the cross, limply; his chin was resting peacefully on his chest, as if he was sunken in a silent meditation on his own belly button.
Nothing happened.
For a whole minute.
Then he lifted his head, his eyes were looking through the computer screen, and he asked, his voice sounding surprisingly casual, "Are we done? Story over?"
"Huh? ... Oh, yeah, story´s over," rathead´s voice came from the other side of the screen.
"Then would you get me down here, please? It´s somewhat inconvenient!"
"Sure."
Three stage workers came out of the house, carrying a ladder, and began to untie the hidden cords which held Demetrios on the cross.
Rathead took a sip of the cheap Spanish wine he used to drink and lit a cigarette, quite self-satisfied-- he liked the story he just had finished. He saw Marcus and Plautus coming out of the house. Marcus wore a Roman toga and had a large styrofoam beaker with steaming coffee in his hand.
Plautus was still wearing his Roman costume, but had put on his egghead glasses. He lit a French cigarett, then looked through the screen and addressed rathead, "Damnit! That was the lousiest piece of trash you´ve ever been writing! Didn´t you spend a *single* minute to do some research on Roman history and culture?"
"Of course I did! I wanted this Spartacus affair and the mass crucifixion as a background for the story, but I didn´t remember some of the dates and names, so I made a quick search on the net and found a document that provided all the infos I needed."
"A search on the net, huh? Wow-- I´m impressed! Of course there are still these funny, oldfashioned thinggis calles "books" one could read to get some real informations, but... uh, well, tempi passati... Yeah, these data on Spartacus were correct... and they really crucified six thousand rebellious slaves along the Via Appia... but: Are you sure they were nailed on the crosses? Sometimes they just bound them on the crosses."
"Hmm... no, but, shit, this is a story and there´s something called artistic license! Nailing is so much gorier and cooler!"
"Cool, huh?" Demetros interfered grumbling, while he tried to scratch the dried, red color from his wrists, "Hope you´ve enjoyed it!"
"Artistic license?" Plautus was mocking, "Wouldn´t a real artist try to get the reader see all the details of the scenes? You know, all the little elements of Roman everyday life... for example: What about this bedroom? This whole, damn story is playing in a Roman bedroom, they are fucking and chatting all the time in this bedroom... but you didn´t describe it with a single word! Did the Romans have bedrooms at all? Did they have furnitures of the sort we´d call beds? Did they have mattrasses? Were they soft or hard? Did they really use linen? And what about the window: You said it was opened-- what does that mean? They didn´t have window glass, or did they? So what was opened? And did they really have cellars? Did they really drink their wine out of silver cups?"
"God you´re a pedantic asshole, Plautus!" rathead replied, beginning to feel pissed off, "This is a snuff story and not a fuckin article on ancient history!"
"Pedantic asshole, huh? And what are you?" Plautus asked, himself slightly enraged, "A serious writer-- or just a drooling freak who needs to write down his sick fantasies?"
"I´m a drooling freak who needs to write down his sick fantasies," rathead replied.
"Okay, you freak, but on one thing you´ve really blundered: You sent Agrippina to the colloseum. This weak excuse for a story is playing in the year 72 before Jesus Fucking Christ -- and the colloseum was only build 130 years later! I´m surprised that at least you didn´t let them kill christians!"
"Yeah, I know that! But this scene where this poor guy climbs up the arena wall to escape the lions, which I have stolen from "Quo Vadis", played at the colloseum! And you know what, smartass: Actually I had considered giving you a major role in my next story... maybe as the new lover of Agrippina... but I guess we´re not really cooperating very well... by the way: Where is Agrippina?"
"Taking a shower... she got pretty in heat in the end..." Marcus said, grinning smugly.
"You know, rathead, what really pisses me off?" Demetrios interfered, "I don´t fucking care about any itsy bitsy details of history-- but why do I always have to play the victim in your stories? Why do I always have to die? Why do you always portray me as a weak, stupid sucker who gets killed by her in the end?"
"Because... because… well, damnit, because someone has to play that role! And for this role I´ve created you! Never forget this: I am your creator, you wouldn´t even exist without me!"
"Ha! Am I supposed to be thankful? Thank you, thank you so much, oh my Creator, for giving me this wonderful life! I just can´t get enough of all this torture and dying!"
"Listen, Demetrios, you must understand this: You are a real important part of these stories. And, after all, you are an important part of myself."
"Yeah, but I´m only the crappiest part of you! I live the life of a caricature!" he complained.
"Are we back down to this discussion?" Agrippina asked, hearing the last sentences when she entered the atrium. She wore jeans shorts, a white tee shirt, casual white sneakers and a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses. A towel was wrapped around her wet hair like a turban. She asked Plautus for a cigarett and he lit it for her.
"Yeah, same procedure as last time," rathead grumbled, "I tell you what: I´m getting somewhat tired of this bullshit! Why do I always have to discuss with the products of my own fantasy?"
"Ah, c´mon! You like these discussions!" she replied, wiping away his words, "And let me tell you this: I´m tired of this steroetypical role I have to play all the time, too! Always the same: The cruel, heartless bitch. Rich and powerful. Perfect body. Fuck! I´m a real actress! I want to play something different for a change! Why not giving me a comical role in your next story? Or something tragic? Yeah, let me play a saint-like nurse who is sacrificing her live to her patients! That would be a real challenge!"
`A nurse, huh?... and sacrificing...´ rathead thought, `Not bad at all... yeah, you could be the nurse of my dreams...´ he smirked.
"Oh, don´t think I couldn´t read your dirty thoughts!" she said, "You´re a hopeless case!"
Rathead groaned. "Isn´t it great," he asked sarcastically, "I´m trying to write stories with a staff of intellectual smartasses, guys who are having a problem with their identity, and actresses who feel artistically undercharged! Anyone else who wants to complain?"
"I don´t have any problems with your stories, boss," Marcus said, "I like them!"
"Happy to hear that... but... are you really contented with your role? I mean, like this time: You did realize, that you were not much more than just a dick for Agrippina, didn´t you? You´re just the dick on duty."
"Yeah, boss, exactly. I love it!"
"But I didn´t like it!" Out of nowhere came the voice of Armin.
"Oh God!" rathead groaned, "I totally forgot about you! You´ve completely slipped out of my mind when I wrote the last scene..."
Armins tall, impressive form materialized in the atrium. He looked at the stump at the end of his right arm. "Can you fix that?"
"Sure."
A hand grew out of the stump and Armin was complete again.
"Okay, now listen, rathead," he growled, "I played two roles in this story, and, just by the way: That was pretty artless to have two Germans of just the same type within one short story, don´t you think? -- But what I really want to say: Why did I have to be the loser both times? What did I ever do to you?"
"AAAARRRGGHHH!" rathead shouted at the screen, "This is fucking enough now! End of discussion! This is my world and you all are my creatures and from now on each of you will simply do what I tell you to do and shut the fuck up! And tomorrow morning we will start the work on "Barbecue in Hell" and I want to see everyone on the set, PUNCTUALLY!"
"Well, there is just one problem," Plautus said, "We´ve all joined the Union of Snuff Story Characters. Well, with the exception of this twit, of course," he pointed at Marcus with utter disdain, "And before we begin the next story there are a couple of tiny issues we have to discuss..."
"ARGH! ARGH! ARGH!" rathead groaned while his forehead sank against the keyboard.