Prison Break
They put him behind bars for something he hadn't done. In fact, no one really knew that he hadn't murdered his neighbour. Except for him. It was a stunning sensation. To pull out a knife of a person who had just been freshly stabbed.
They sentenced him to fourteen years life imprisonment for brutal first degree murder. Well, all he could do was chuckle. There were at least fifteen eye witnesses. And all those witnesses trusted their eyes. No wonder they were still paupers.
The first year at prison was acceptable. Then it turned bad. Crime, drugs, ruthless beatings, fight clubs, you name it. The prison itself was a mini breeding ground for nascent criminals. It was a place where criminals could get intern jobs without risk being fired.
By the end of the second year, it had all become too much for him. All his attempts to stay away from the prison gangs went futile. All his pleas for peace went unheard. He had come from a respectable family, and yet there was no way he could make it out of prison alive without acquiescing.
Twelve years later, when it was time to be released, he had committed more crime than anyone else in the world. It had become second nature to him. At least ninety-nine percent of the life-threatening beatings inside the prison in the last ten years were master-minded by him. Still, no one knew. Not a soul. The first rule of fight club had been that no one was to speak about it.
When he got out of prison, people had figured he wasn't the neighbour's murderer after all. The real culprit had owned up. The judge offered compensation money in return for the time spent in prison.
And yet, there was a distant semblance of latency somewhere.
Godot
If you've read Waiting for Godot by Nobel-prize winning author Samuel Beckett, you'll recognize the following as a quickly crafted pastiche.
So let's take it away.
"Get me the fork!" I commanded.
"No, you get me the fork!"
"Where the fork?"
"What?!"
"Um, I meant, where's the fork?"
"I don't know. Try behind you."
"Yeah, there's the fork. What now?"
"Eat it!"
"What?!"
"What does a sane man do with a fork? Eat with it!"
"But I can just use my hands. They're very dexterous, you know."
"I don't care for any deck stores. Do as I say."
"I thought I was the one in charge here."
"You were, not any more."
"Tell me, are you always so bossy?"
"Me, bossy? You must be out of your mind."
"I thought you were under the impression I didn't have one."
"Yes, yes, you're right. And I still maintain that impression."
a very pregnant pause
"So if I'm right, how can I be out of my mind?"
"Seems like a paradox, doesn't it?"
"Not just any paradox, it's a Russell's paradox."
"Who's russell?"
"Never mind russell. He used to be a good friend of mine …"
a few leaves rustle in the background
"Until he …"
"Until he what?"
"Until he passed away. It was quite a sad event. Quite a sad event it was."
"See now you're beginning to sound all poetic."
"He was great man, you know. Russell."
"I though you said never mind russell. And you're still talking about him."
"Arright, let's change the topic."
"So will Godot ever show up?"
"Not if Pozzo comes back again."
"You know, sometimes, I think Pozzo is Godot."
"But according to mythical fiction, Godot never existed."
"Really? Then why are we waiting for him?"
"I don't know, it was your idea."
"My idea?! Good gracious me. It was your idea for heaven's sake!"
"Now, now. Don't you dare put the blame on me."
"So you're saying it was your idea?"
"It was your idea alright. But it was my plan. Don't you dare try take away credit from me."
"Sure buddy, you take what you want. Just leave me alone."
the two stare at each other as if they'd each discovered something godly
"See that's why I don't like these kind of meetings. They're too formal for my liking."
"How could we possibly make this more informal? We're waiting for Godot, not some chicken contemplating if it should cross the road or not."
"Why this unwanted reference to a chicken? Is that a mythical bird as well?"
...
man two stares at the sky waywardly, as if trying to avoid man one's eye.
"I'm asking you a question for heaven's sake! Is the chicken a mythical bird as well?"
"How would I know?"
"Because you referenced it along with Godot?"
"Look, you're interrogating me like a criminal. Stop it.. at once."
"Why should I possibly do that?"
"You know, that's a very profound question to ask."
"Are you mocking me?"
"I asked you the same question yesterday, and you gave me an equally mocking reply."
"Revenge, huh? Getting your tit for a tat?"
the sound of cow bells interrupts the atmosphere. both men are puzzled, if not petrified
"I wasn't expecting Godot so early. Were you?"
... looks at his pocket time piece
"No, it's still only a Tuesday."
"Your stupid time piece is out of battery. It's a Friday."
"You must be right. It was a Tuesday three days ago as well."
"Your point being?"
pauses, as if preparing his response
"Can I ask you a question?"
"You just did."
"When did you get so smart?"
pleased at his own innate smartness, straightens his tie
"I was born with it", he proclaimed aloud.
"You know, when people die, they write them an elegy. I should have done the same for you when you were born."
the mood becomes tense at the outright attack
"You weren't even born when I was born."
"Oh yeah, that's right. I'm younger than you."
"Genius."
"At least I'd have asked someone else to write it for you."
"No one would do it. They wouldn't be up to the task."
"Maybe I could have asked you to write it?"
"Is that a question or a statement?"
"A bit of both."
"Like jeopardy? The question is actually an answer?"
"Sorta, yeah."
(pause)
"You know, we're getting side-tracked."
"Yeah, we must remind ourselves to always stay on topic."
"Lest we miss Godot's impressive entrance."
