Scrapt III

First draft, formatting is a mess but it’s somewhere closer to being real.

Would appreciate feedback!! 

Re-invented the start, thinking how to combine and grow into level 2.

The artist is female. Her dress can only be described as firery, her face flame resistant, her tone omnipresent, her heart in many places, combing multiple emotions to appear as one. Full figured and fierce, not like a drag queen, what a drag queen wishes they were. More egotistical than Kanye, the difference is you don’t laugh, you weep, for the hope you could live up to the expection. Perhaps she is smoking a cigarette, perhaps that moment has past, like a girl from a dream, you’re not sure whether time is passing too slow or too quickly, regardless in her performance, you can become lost, for she burns time in a most extraordinary manner. 

She appears concerned, the kind of look you might give if you’re trying to figure out if the pain I your head is a thought or a headache. Somewhere between these two things, she speaks. 

  “Wait, say something. Say anything. As long as you stay another moment. It would be worth it if only…”

She loses her words, or maybe another headache, like a memory stands in the way.

“Fine, if you won’t say it, it will. We fucked up, I fucked up. Everything was like that, but WE made it that way. Please remember, how I apologised and suffered. I would have done anything to wash out this bitter taste, this..feeling. 

  But this feeling is inside, not unlike how you were. But now, unlike you, this feeling never pulls out or releases. It lingers and grows to no end. A fire, that turns to rage that becomes hard. Unlike the last time, a stone, unlike you, passionate, aggressively so.”

She once more takes a step away from these words. As if the intensity is a game. 

  “It seems, just like you, a wall, I’m talking to and worse, a blank page and worse, nothing is written and worse, the book is unopened and the front cover untouched. Afraid to ever start, even with a date or title or to even have a pen handy. To say…anything.”

Homo, bi-polar and extension applaud. 

Bi-pilar; “I almost believed what you said. It’s amazing what you can do, especially knowing you and how actually past all that.”

Artist; “I might actually have something to say, nothing so eloquent if I’m honest.”

Bi-polar; “but you figured it out. I mean you got out and you did something with your life, which is more than I can say for some.”

Extension lights a cigarette at that precise moment, there really couldn’t be any other time for it. 

Artist; but I came home, it doesn’t feel like home when I’m there. And it should. 

Homo looks flustered. 

Artist; “is that what stopped you?”

Homo; “not really”

Artist; “did it work out with him in the end?”

Homo’s face says what he’s unable to say.

Artist; are you serious? 

Homo pours himself a glass of wine. 

Homo; “I love the bouquet”

Extension; “do you know about wine?”

Homo drinks slow and deep. 

Extension; “f’real though, I wonder what it would be like to be one of those people. I mean shit. I’d love to understand the difference but it all tastes the same for me.”

Bi-polar; I think we should go to a wine tasting, there’s a festival in town next week.”

Artist; I’d go to that. Homo? 

Homo; ” we could.”

Artist; ” I’m sure there’d be a bunch of cute guys,”

Homo;” those things are fag tasting”

Bi-polar; “that’s Actully a great idea. You’ll find a guy, we’ll learn about wine, we can find something cute for you to wear and we can organise your ward-drobe.”

Homo gets up, “I’d like to dance.”

Extension dances with him, neither of them are quite in each others rhythm, the two find themselves laughing as they figure it out. 

Bi-polar and artist watch grinning. 

Artist gets a phone call, she answers, “hello?” 
She gets up, moving bi-polar out of the way. “What do you want?”
Artist enters the bathroom and locks the door. 
Homo – who was that? 
Bi-polar – if you’re asking me it’s either her ex or its that’s girl who was hanging around before she left.
Extension – oh yeah, what was her name? Clymidia? 
Homo shrieks with laughter as extension lowers him into what would have undoubtedly been a kiss if he wasn’t straight. 
Bi-polar; her name was Lydia and she was a hot mess. 
Extension pulls homo up; she’s been busy as hell up there, maybe she needs a good bit of pussy, I mean as a man I can relate. 
Bi-polar slaps extensions leg, “you’re a dick.” 
Interior bathroom 
Artist is sitting on the toilet. She has her hands on her forehead. She is agitated. 
“Why, why, why did you have to call. It’s not fair.” 

She lights a cigarette and sighs. 
Living room. 
Homo is laying across the sofa over extension and bi-polars legs (they’re sitting). Extension is playing video games while bi-polar texts (cigarette). 
Homo sprawls out. “It’s so hard having a good time…” 
Extension; “alright Frankie keep the melodrama to a minimum” 
Bi-polar; “she’s such a fucking bitch, why does she only text me when she needs something?” 
Homo; “what’s a gay boy to do in such homo-phobic times.”
Extension laughs, “I think we’re the only straight friends you have, the rest of your friends are gay.”
Homo; “they’re just friends, where’s my white night on a unicorn? That’s my gay right, to have at least that.” 
Extension shoves homo’s hip. “Hang on I need a piss.” 
Extension knocks on the bathroom door, “artist? Are you alive? I’m bursting. 
He starts knocking, the door abruptly opens. Artists glares. 
“What’s up buttercup?”
Artist shakes her head. And takes extensions place as he enters the bathroom. 
Bi-polar, “that’s it, I am calling this bitch.” She enters another room and shuts the door.”
Homo and artists sit alone, silent. He offers her wine, she gestures rejection. We sips. 
“Who called.” 
“What does it matter?” 
“Well we narrowed it down to two, either way it’s not good.”
“You’re taking bets now?” 
Homo takes a prescription sedative and washes it down with wine. 
Homo; “do you have Whitney’s number? 
Artist clenches her fist. 

“No, why do you think I would still have that number?!”
“I’m young, I’m gay, do I need a reason? Also I’ve been thinking about talking it over with Bradley, I think a little flour would help. Neither of us care about Mondays anyway.” 
“If that’s what you need to ‘fix’ your relationship then you have no relationship to begin with. We went through that together, don’t make me do it again.” 
Homo leans into his seat, relaxing his body. 
“Welcome home, sweetheart.” 
Artist slaps his shoulder. He opens his eyes wide, showing some kind of forced effort to stay awake. 
Artist, “how can you be so selfish, is that in your gay bill of rights?” 
Homo checks his phone. 
Artist, ” seriously, who could be texting you?!” 
Homo sighs, ” I’m on this dating site. Someone I’m talking to…” 
Artist, “are you going to do this forever? Go from one bad relationship to another? I need you there with me, performing, it’s what we should be doing. It’s what you should be doing. How we planned.”
Artist; you’re wasting your talent. 
Homo; “you’d love me either way.”
Artist; yeah I guess. 
Homo can barely keep his eyes open. 
“Listen, I fucked up, the way things are going, I’ll be in this town forever, but you. You have a chance. Don’t be like me, go after your dream. I know you can.”
Silence. Homo lets out a quiet snore. 
Artist opens her mouth to say nothing. 
Bi-polar comes out of the other room. “What’s wrong? Is he asleep?” 
Artist, “it’s just, I’m..”
Bi-polar bangs on the bathroom door, “extension, can you come out? I told you I was going to need the bathroom after this phone call.” 
To artist, ” I bet he’s just watching videos I his phone. Can you believe Whitney is asking me to shift pills? Why is it every time she texts me it’s because she wants something, she’s going to have no friends if she keeps behaving like this…”
V.O. Artist; “and that’s how my story ended, with three words. Every problem I had with being here, reared its ugly head and I needed help, desperately, to sort through it, figure out why I needed to be here again and move ahead. But all I could get out were three words. Maybe I wanted to stay stuck here forever, trying to say something that I would never get a chance to say, maybe i just couldn’t see a life without the faces I grew up with, but I ended up quitting, just like homo. I ended up putting off that scene for three years and realised, in that moment of performance, I wasn’t talking to an ex or someone who should have been, I was talking to myself. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be as involved or passionate or hopeful as I once was, but I’m sure that I’m going to try to face myself and be honest about the situation. And I know this isn’t much but it’s a start and that something.” 


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