"Off Broadway" and "Stuck in an Elevator"

Off Broadway
It was heartbreaking... seeing her come in.
I remember when we used to stalk the strees, diving down 13th avenue on the way to somewhere that would us up one last cocktail before heading home after hitting three piano bars.
Inseperable, we were in those days, two fallen agnels looking for one last thill in no time off broadway.
I remember picking her up at the academy after dance practice, her mixed cassette blaring "What a Feeling" from Flashdance out my tape deck. Cheesy, but I really didn't mind because she was elated.
Now she's deflated. Her crutches tapped upon the floor as she leant in to hug me, tears welling in her eyes Out of commission.
She really was a wonderful actress.


Stuck in an Elevator
Jay an Abigail are stuck in an elevator together. There's a slightly antagonistic feeling in the air.
Abigail. Oh my God has... has it stopped?
Jay. ...Looks like it's stopped
Abigail.  What are we going to do?
Jay. I don't know... It's stopped.
Abigail.  You're loving this, aren't you?
Jay. What? What a ridiculous thing to say. Of course I'm not loving it, it's stopped hasn't it?
Abigail.  Yes well you don't seem to be taking it very seriously.
Jay. I just don't see any point in panicking about it. I'm sure it'll start soon, look, let me press the bell. Oh look, there, see it's rung.
Abigail.  You are loving this! You're smirking
Jay (smirking). Honestly! What?
Abigail.  Urgh!I have so had it with you today!
Jay. Awww... And you're so cute when you're angry!
Abigail. URGH!!!
Jay. Come here... [trying to wrap his arms around Abigail] Come on... Come on...
Abigail. Don't touch me!
Abigail tries to ignore Jay and takes out her phone.
Jay. You not speaking to me?
Jay. Alright then. We might be here a long time though.... I guess I'll just stand over here and....
Jay seizes the phone out her hands.
Jay. ...Tap on your phone!
Abigail [reaching for the phone]. Give it back!
Jay [holding the phone on the other side of her out of reach]. You texting Rosa?
Abigail. Give it back!!!
Jay [Having read the message]. We're stuck in an elevator and I'm being a dickhead? That's not very nice.
Abigail. I hate you!!!
Abigail starts pounding on his chests, Jay just bursts out laughing until he manages to slide his arms around her back, popping the phone into her bag or pocket. Unable to win her head is partially tucked onto his chest.
Abigail [with less zest]. I hate you.
Jay. I know, I know I hate me too.... [trying to make Abigail smile and cuddle him] come on... come on.
Jay leans back and takes her hands, the phone drops to the floor as they kiss on the lips, she cuddles her head into his chest.
Jay. Still hate me?
Abigail [Smiling]. Yes.

Counting Down The Days - totally need to turn this thread into some kind of something, a bit Chekhov

Pop on the kettle, I'm headed home.

• • VJ
    I'm sick of your insane demands
    

    
    
  • 
    
    

    See this is exactly why I work late honey, I've just had enough, is it so much to ask that when I come home after a hard days work to put food on the table for you and the kids and make sure you've never wanted for anything in your life that I get a nice warm cup of tea when I get home. Jeez.
    
    
  • VJ
    I've gone apeshit and buried the tea in the garden. Why do you leave me at home all day with these precocious little brats?! I hate their accents and the way they wobble around my living room. I want to be free, FREE to dance and stick class As up my bum! Is it really so difficult for youself-important patriarchal cunts to understand a these basic female needs?
    

    
    

    
    
  • 
    
    

     Now come on darling thats completely unfair, you know I tried my best to support you getting into the academy but it's hardly my fault you had two left feet, I always warned you to practice more or at least take up singing or improv classes to broaden your skill set. As for the kids it's not my fault that you were to coked up in our former years to remember your contraceptive pill, and if they're brats it's only because you always appease them and let them get their own way because you can't be bothered to put your foot down. As for their accents it was your own caprice to leave them with that Romanian house maid, she cost an absolute fortune, but did I say a word about it? No, even when she raided the cabinet for my 35 year old single malts and topped then up with water as though I'd never notice. Horrendous woman she was.
    
    Yes, you made our cold, cold, desolate bed and now I'm the one who has to lie in it. We both do darling, so we might as well make the best of what we've got.
    

     
  • 
    
    

    Alas I remember all to well those endless days when we were young, and innocent and in love and never had to ask anything more out of life than those eternal walks through the park in summer time, our hands clasped inseparably together.
    
    You used to laugh at my jokes back then, however frivolous they were. Now you just snort and make snide remarks.
    
    Ah to be back in those days, when you smiled that glorious smile I knew I gave you butterflies in your stomach, and the mere notion in turn gave me butterflies in mine.
    
    That was before you lost your looks of course. Yes, you let yourself go the moment you cleaned up trading in one vice for another. You no longer felt the need to inspire my attentions clearly, and on the rare occasion you did let me make love to you it was more like going through the motions, putting coins into a machine to keep the music playing, satisfying a basic need. No, there was no love being made then, none at all, but it was at least better than what passes between us now. How was I to guess the woman I worshipped, my sun and my moon and my very northern star, could turn out to be such a soulless, soulless, godless harpy? God forgive me for saying so.
    
    I've turned old, and I'm dull. I've lost whatever limited intelligence I once may have had, and what's more I'm hopeless. Not even I have hope for myself now. I'll never know
    the feeling of what it is to be alive again. Not likely.
    
    I'm just counting down the days now. Counting down the days.
    
    Finn Townsley If you had only listened to me Antony, back when we strolled the streets and the name Victoria had never even entered your mind. A free spirit you were back then, a little dove caught in the up drafts of lust and life. Intelligence and women abundant had you those days, and when the wine flowed free and the fragrant summer air rolled off the hills and made hearts leap and minds soar we would head out unto the town. Drink and dance we did, making much merriment and speaking of lofty things as we enriched the lives of those around us.
    
    Finn Townsley  
    But then, on that fate-full night, when your eyes locked across the room and I felt a piece of your soul go forever. Her stare captivate you my friend, and the man I knew was over come by giddy passion. "Be on your guard dear Antony," I said as we strolled lazy down the banks of the river one afternoon "for she is a pretty poison, a sweet scented devil, and I know you may for now think she is a very goddess come to earth, the Helen of our time. But be not foolish as was Agamemnon, and squander your kingdom for your bride, for there is so much promise in a spirit such as yours, and to see it drained by this harpy would truly break my heart." Ah, if I could turn back time, the things I would have shown you, but alas you were proud and reckless. You shrugged of my concern and day by day waste in front of this opiate of a woman.
    
      Finn Townsley  
    But now, what have you become my friend? The husk of a shell and nothing more, for if what I witnessed done to a great mind is love, then I shall have no part in it! Will this travesty ever again share in the sweet bounty of Eros, as the raven quoth, never more. But my friend there is still time, spare thy farthing from Charon's hand and trade it for an ale instead. Return to our haunts, dear Antony, although we are richer in years, neither you nor I are passed this hills crest yet. We will once again return to the lives of men with a future and goal, a life of freedom and pleasure. Spare not another thought on that harpy Victoria and return to the true companionship of a brother in arms.
    
    
    
    

Bits and pieces of creative writing

It was that one thread emerging from under the seam. That one damned thread. Pull at it and the whole garment would surely wave up all rugged. Haggard. Snap it off entirely and it would leave a subtle line a third on a inch thick held taught, so out of place in its surroundsings. So very out of place. That one damned thread.


I never noticed until I finished the cigarette I rolled with such haste to spare my hands, but my breath proffered its own tiny contribution to the thickness of the fog.


The walls will remember the times we share here. The empty space the couch left marks an eliptical eclipse in the dust. The paper, what's left of it, hangs off those bear walls in tatters, but there will be new paper soon, when we are far away, and the walls will remember.


And I'm sitting touching my brow, ouching it agains and again and no it can't be. That one silver hair I tore from my receding hairline. Sylvia said she likes grey hair. That it's charming. What does she know? She can't see my face turn red or feel my hands go clammy. One silver hair sparking off a chair reaction.


Reilly never raised his voice but his tone turned swift and daggered. His shoulders spread out wide from his chest, his eyes lain themselves bare, wide open - his pupuls dialated, two black moons the closest in their orbit to earth. Me.