Author: Elruade

Chapter 0

Audition one, late septembre.

        -He acted opening the door and closing it, politely

        -Name was too hard to pronounce, he waved at it.

        (I will tell you when I get it, he said)

        -I gave him the 83th Scripture.

        -The hand, the head, the absent.

        -Jury felt sympathy.

        (He had brought along a box containing props)

        -When we played the tape it appeared he was ready to leave; then he recognized an old voice.

        -He said, give it to me, now.

        -How he got the job is a matter of our privacy.

        (It will be written in ink for anyone to read, provided he can find it)


        Audition two, early Octobre, it is cold.

        -I cannot lend you any—

        -Next audition.

        (Muffled noise)

        -Come in. Name?

        -**** *******.

        - Accomplishments?

        -Dramatic Trips, Fullteeth Smiles, Bilingual Tapdance.

        -You are, appropriate, you say?

        -I can do anything.

        -Here is part 56 of Fate Scripture. Act out the Tear Ballast!

        -Huiq jeo, yui-u let akwa mit, bisfiqi , ewurieds awe, uwos? Yowj, Udljaiowi. Yja anaw , asdioa naowi.

        (From the other room came applause)

        -That will be enough. Pronunciation was intact, I daresay.

        -Straight from the Tomb, yes.

        -Very well done. Little to no lisp. Accurate handsignals. The dot and the comma arrive at the precise moments. Tell the others to fly away; this is our man.

        -What about him?

        -Hm? Oy, him. Let him stay for now, but I much prefer this guy.

        -Me too.



        Late November, the leafs are all dead.

        -If it is one thing it is that he doesn’t follow orders.

        -What is up with him?

        -Don’t address him as such! Watch your mouth as you speak; shall I buy you one of those small mirrors?

        -Mine has catscratches all over it.

        -Then I will replace it.

        -I’d much appreciate it.

        -Never mind the camera. It is watching us; we needn’t respond with our eyes. But I must admit, it is hard to say if it is the cameraman watching or the camera, or the person looking at a TV.

        -Third eye blind. There is an old saying, used in systematics, that says we’ve lost our third eye. It used to be on our forehead, right here. Place your finger between your eyes and then go up an inch or two. That’s—

        -Yes I know. What’s that have to do with us, now?

        -I guess it is all old stuff.

        -Not only that. That was millions of years ago. The fact that we have only two eyes now is obviously a cock-up from our T-T Creator, of course.

        -Why did he mess up?

        -Here is my suggestive theory. There was a blue plan with a diagram of the head, the shoulders, and the torso, of our body, truly. (Amen) He lives in an unknown space, but it cannot be infinite, because it spoils my senses. It is more of a little room, well-furnished at that.

        -What could he do in there?

        -Hm? What do you mean? I can think of plenty to do in any space, however small.

        -What did he do with the plan?

        -It was there, right? Under his nose on a table. He fell asleep; snot dripped out his nose exactly onto the third eye; when he awoke he tried to rub it off; he totally smudged the paper, and in his Infinite Stupidity, he forgot all about the eye, and we were fucked. Either that, or he just didn’t bother drawing a new one.

        -Is all of this consistent with Scripture?

       -I am no expert in systematics. Call on one of your penpals and ask them, if it’s ‘consistent’. Where is our lunch?


        The box contained a salamander costume, complete with a sharp jaw and red eyes. Here is a complete list of contents.

        -A rubber trumpet, for announcing end of the day.

        -A rubber mouse, with squeaking capability, similar to the real deal.

        -A gray and filthy tuxedo, with slip-on tie. The pockets are stuffed with poker chips, and the collar is coming loose at the ends.

        -A drawing of a woman—sitting on a toiletseat. The toilet is too small and it doesn’t fit. Her hips jut out. There is an expression on her face that is hard to read.

        -A guide to Westminster at sunset. It explains how everything may look totally unrealistic. It is because of the sun’s angle.

        A pair of shoes, badly worn. They are covered in dust and there is mud on the soles. There is a pin stuck in the heel.

        -A fake script for the movie Tomorrow Doesn’t Die.

There is marking all over it. Someone has obsessed over it. This cannot be healthy anymore. It’s as if each sentence put a dagger into his chest; whoever wrote these notes.

        -Inside the left pocket of the tuxedo you find a piece of paper. It folds open; it is a quickguide to poker. It is done by hand. Whoever wrote it didn’t quite understand the rules. ??? No this isn’t right. You have to bet after the other has bet. You have to move your hand quickly. Your face should be blank, completely expressionless. What has he written here? ‘The other people look like puppets. This guy here is a mannequin. I see his sort in the fashion outlets surrounding England. I should fix my eyes onto an object that isn’t that far away. A star wouldn’t do. I will bring along a toy tractor and put it there on the table. The rules of the game must come to me then, or they never will. I don’t  get the ****** time to learn this sort of tripe!’

        -Of note also is that the box wasn’t secured at the top. How did he get it all the way over here? It is too heavy to lift. This isn’t ordinary cardboard.

        -The tape we played was a very old one. I cannot imagine what he got so upset about; it’s not his generation. It has nothing to do with him. It could be, however, that he still regards the past with solemnity and reverence.



        On the extremity of cold, he stands with a fur coat blowing into his hands. A star glides across the air. A trumpet echoes as in echolalia. Passengers ride past in limousines; chosen few ride a camel and pleasure ride.

If he could do it all over again, he wouldn’t doubt for a second that he would refuse the offer. All references aside. He wished there was something he could refer to in a moment as fitting as this. As a beginning as this. He stood in the street with a dumb expression. This is the Twenty-First Century. Everyone has retreated inside for a life ‘in the breech’. The cold wind increased its ferocity. James Bond, you son of a bitch. Make my day, will you? If anyone, you can. I have reverence to you and the Creator of your bones. Shake my hand, with the other cover the hands and blow on it. The frost evaporates. His stupid posture was still somehow intact. There are many ways to get through a season as cold as this. This is one of the ways.




It rebounds across and straight.

        He has found the end of the world.

        (His dog ate the script, wink)




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