Tuesday's Ten Minute Tale - the result!
Jun. 3rd, 2009 10:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martinlivingsOkay, here we go. Thanks to kaelajael for "reflux", punktortoise for "naked ambition" (what's the obsession with nudity, huh???) and editormum for "removalist". And my apologies for the delay, I was at a doctor's appointment!
"The Audition"
(c) Martin Livings 3-6-2009
The removalists efficiently and ruthlessly packed Harry Diamond's life away, broke it down into its component particles and boxed it neatly, labelled and categorised and filed for future reference. He watched, fascinated, as they worked. They'd clearly done this a hundred times before, perhaps a thousand. Every single item in his central London penthouse was examined, disassembled, wrapped, listed and placed carefully into boxes, each one perfectly filled, no overflow, no wasted space. It was a real world game of Tetris, as far as he could tell.
"Any CDs you want to hold onto?" one of the removalists, a huge bear of a man with furry arms and a shaved head, asked him gently. The disparity between image and voice was incongruous, to say the least.
Harry smiled. "Nah," he replied. "I've got them on my computer anyway."
"Golden." He began packing the CDs into another box, in perfect alphabetical order.
Harry felt the soft burn of reflux at the back of his throat, the tickle of an acid cough, and sighed. His medicine cabinet in the bathroom had already been packed up, arranged in a cardboard box somewhere in the front hallway now. He'd forgotten to get his Losec out. Ah well, one day wouldn't kill him.
"Hey," the removalist said, "you're that agent fellow, right?"
The reflux turned from a tickle to an anxious surge. "Yeah," Harry said reticently, "I guess so."
"Golden," the man smiled. "What's it like, working with celebrities?"
"Like working with anyone else," Harry grunted. "Only richer."
"Yeah?" The removalist stood up, brushed his hands on the legs of his overalls. "Who'd have thought?"
"Right." Harry hated being cornered like this. It'd be a miracle if the man didn't produce a script from somewhere for him to read. It was almost as bad as being a doctor. Worse, in fact; it only took a minute or two to look at someone's sore back, but reading yet another pile of illiterate drivel could take an hour. Not that he ever actually bothered to read them, of course.
"Excuse me," the huge man said, and left the room. Harry was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that none of the other removalists were around. They must have been shifting the boxes to their truck, taking the mirror-and-steel elevator down to the parking garage in the baement of the building. Leaving him alone with his new-found stalker.
He should never have watched "Misery".
"Hey, Mister Diamond?" the removalist called from the next room. "Could you come here for a second?"
No, I really fucking couldn't, was what Harry wanted to say. What he would have said, a few weeks ago. But he was a new man now, a softer, kinder, gentler Harry Diamond. Yana... sorry, Ileana, had convinced him to sell the penthouse, move into a terrace house in North London instead. It seemed ridiculous to him, especially since his Ferrari was written off, but she was insistent. And he had to admit, the people in Hampstead were considerably more friendly than those in his penthouse's building; on those rare occasions that he even saw them, they were cold and aloof. As was he. Maybe she was onto something with that.
"Sure," he sighed, swallowed back the stomach acid, and walked to the next room.
The removalist was standing in the middle of the room, posing like a body builder. His muscles were impressive, at least the ones he could see through the thick body hair.
He was naked.
"To be," the removalist intoned, "or not to be. That is the question." He changed poses, showing Harry a side he'd hoped never to glimpse. "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them." His biceps and triceps rippled as he changed poses again. "To die, to sleep no more, and by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to."
Harry actually understood Shakespeare for the first time. His flesh was certainly enduring a thousand natural shocks. He just stood and stared, speechless.
"'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub."
Oh God, Harry thought, still frozen, don't actually rub...
Too late. The removalist's hands caressed his own torso sensually. Harry found himself trying to retreat into his happy place, far from the penthouse and the posing naked man before him. Somewhere populated by young women wearing very little. But he kept coming back. God help him, he kept coming back.
"For in that sleep of death," the naked removalist continued, kneeling down and extending his right arm out in a dramatic pose, "what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause."
And, for dramatic effect, he paused.
"Enough!" Harry finally managed to cough, through the reflux and shock. "Jesus, man, put your clothes back on!" He turned away at last, free of the paralysis that had seized him. "God damn," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Well?" the huge man asked from behind him. Harry could hear the rustling of what he prayed were clothes being put on. He tried not to visualise it, but it wasn't easy.
"Well what?" he snapped, still with his back turned.
"What do you think? Have I got what it takes?"
Harry's mouth opened, ready to give a typical Harry Diamond response, one laced with obscenity and . But he paused, thoughtful, trying to think past the shock to his system he'd just received. Because, he had to admit, the man's delivery had actually been pretty decent. And he had physical presence, to say the least.
And there was that remake of "Conan the Barbarian" looming on the horizon. He could always use background actors for that.
He smiled, still not turning around. His reflux had settled again. "What the hell. You're hired."
kaelajael for "reflux", punktortoise for "naked ambition" (what's the obsession with nudity, huh???) and editormum for "removalist". And my apologies for the delay, I was at a doctor's appointment!"The Audition"
(c) Martin Livings 3-6-2009
The removalists efficiently and ruthlessly packed Harry Diamond's life away, broke it down into its component particles and boxed it neatly, labelled and categorised and filed for future reference. He watched, fascinated, as they worked. They'd clearly done this a hundred times before, perhaps a thousand. Every single item in his central London penthouse was examined, disassembled, wrapped, listed and placed carefully into boxes, each one perfectly filled, no overflow, no wasted space. It was a real world game of Tetris, as far as he could tell.
"Any CDs you want to hold onto?" one of the removalists, a huge bear of a man with furry arms and a shaved head, asked him gently. The disparity between image and voice was incongruous, to say the least.
Harry smiled. "Nah," he replied. "I've got them on my computer anyway."
"Golden." He began packing the CDs into another box, in perfect alphabetical order.
Harry felt the soft burn of reflux at the back of his throat, the tickle of an acid cough, and sighed. His medicine cabinet in the bathroom had already been packed up, arranged in a cardboard box somewhere in the front hallway now. He'd forgotten to get his Losec out. Ah well, one day wouldn't kill him.
"Hey," the removalist said, "you're that agent fellow, right?"
The reflux turned from a tickle to an anxious surge. "Yeah," Harry said reticently, "I guess so."
"Golden," the man smiled. "What's it like, working with celebrities?"
"Like working with anyone else," Harry grunted. "Only richer."
"Yeah?" The removalist stood up, brushed his hands on the legs of his overalls. "Who'd have thought?"
"Right." Harry hated being cornered like this. It'd be a miracle if the man didn't produce a script from somewhere for him to read. It was almost as bad as being a doctor. Worse, in fact; it only took a minute or two to look at someone's sore back, but reading yet another pile of illiterate drivel could take an hour. Not that he ever actually bothered to read them, of course.
"Excuse me," the huge man said, and left the room. Harry was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that none of the other removalists were around. They must have been shifting the boxes to their truck, taking the mirror-and-steel elevator down to the parking garage in the baement of the building. Leaving him alone with his new-found stalker.
He should never have watched "Misery".
"Hey, Mister Diamond?" the removalist called from the next room. "Could you come here for a second?"
No, I really fucking couldn't, was what Harry wanted to say. What he would have said, a few weeks ago. But he was a new man now, a softer, kinder, gentler Harry Diamond. Yana... sorry, Ileana, had convinced him to sell the penthouse, move into a terrace house in North London instead. It seemed ridiculous to him, especially since his Ferrari was written off, but she was insistent. And he had to admit, the people in Hampstead were considerably more friendly than those in his penthouse's building; on those rare occasions that he even saw them, they were cold and aloof. As was he. Maybe she was onto something with that.
"Sure," he sighed, swallowed back the stomach acid, and walked to the next room.
The removalist was standing in the middle of the room, posing like a body builder. His muscles were impressive, at least the ones he could see through the thick body hair.
He was naked.
"To be," the removalist intoned, "or not to be. That is the question." He changed poses, showing Harry a side he'd hoped never to glimpse. "Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them." His biceps and triceps rippled as he changed poses again. "To die, to sleep no more, and by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to."
Harry actually understood Shakespeare for the first time. His flesh was certainly enduring a thousand natural shocks. He just stood and stared, speechless.
"'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub."
Oh God, Harry thought, still frozen, don't actually rub...
Too late. The removalist's hands caressed his own torso sensually. Harry found himself trying to retreat into his happy place, far from the penthouse and the posing naked man before him. Somewhere populated by young women wearing very little. But he kept coming back. God help him, he kept coming back.
"For in that sleep of death," the naked removalist continued, kneeling down and extending his right arm out in a dramatic pose, "what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause."
And, for dramatic effect, he paused.
"Enough!" Harry finally managed to cough, through the reflux and shock. "Jesus, man, put your clothes back on!" He turned away at last, free of the paralysis that had seized him. "God damn," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Well?" the huge man asked from behind him. Harry could hear the rustling of what he prayed were clothes being put on. He tried not to visualise it, but it wasn't easy.
"Well what?" he snapped, still with his back turned.
"What do you think? Have I got what it takes?"
Harry's mouth opened, ready to give a typical Harry Diamond response, one laced with obscenity and . But he paused, thoughtful, trying to think past the shock to his system he'd just received. Because, he had to admit, the man's delivery had actually been pretty decent. And he had physical presence, to say the least.
And there was that remake of "Conan the Barbarian" looming on the horizon. He could always use background actors for that.
He smiled, still not turning around. His reflux had settled again. "What the hell. You're hired."
