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tjreidwrites · 1 year ago

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"Silent Keeper"

By: Taylor Joseph Reid

Scene 1: Routine

Opening shots: Close-ups of an alarm clock, a coffee mug, a man lacing his shoes. The man’s apartment is extremely tidy and he is performing these tasks in a meticulous way. Quiet, ambient music.

EXT. CITY STREET - MORNING

JOHN (early 30s, cleanly shaven, wearing a shirt and tie with a baseball hat, backpack, in shape build,) Leaves his apartment and walks down the same street he takes every day to the bus stop. That's how he gets to work. His routine is methodical and precise.

CUT TO:

A seemingly homeless WOMAN (older than John but unclear on how much older, disheveled but with kind eyes) sits on the corner of the street. She’s always there in the same spot, writing in an old tattered notebook with a fancy fountain pen.

JOHN’S POV:

John glances at the woman briefly, their eyes meet for a moment. They see each other every day in passing and are acquaintances. She gives a small, knowing smile. He smiles back but drops eye contact and looks to the ground as he does. John picks up his pace. He steps onto the bus, the doors close, and it drives away.

Scene 2: Disappearance

John’s alarm clock rings again, signifying the next day. John gets out of bed and glances at a picture of him and his dad on the wall embracing at a ball game. He smiles as he puts on his tie and walks out of his apartment.

EXT. CITY STREET - MORNING

John walks his usual route. He listens to music and smiles. He’s in a very good mood today, but he stops abruptly when the woman is not in her usual spot and hesitates. He takes the airpods/earbuds out of his ears and stuffs them into his pocket. There is a man standing across the street with a broom in his hands. John recognizes the man as a local barber. He’s a heavy set middle aged man who owns the barber shop right around the corner. John moves his mouth like he is about to call out to the man, but decides against it, letting his arms fall by his side. He looks at the empty space where the woman always sat, then gazes to the ground and continues onward until boarding the bus. The camera pans to the barber and he is watching John from a distance with a raised eyebrow.

Scene 3: Discovery

The next morning, John is ending a phone call with his dad. They are making dinner plans for the following Saturday. They both wish each other a good day. John sounds happy and hangs up the phone. He continues on his daily route and walks past the spot where the woman usually sits and writes, but the corner is empty like the day before. The woman is still absent from her usual spot, but something else catches his eye.

EXT. CITY STREET - MORNING

In the corner where the woman used to sit, partially hidden under some debris, is her old notebook that she always wrote in. John looks around to see if anyone is watching, no one is, so he picks it up. He mutters an inaudible slur under his breath and his eyes widen as he recognizes the book. He flips through the pages, seeing dates and entries up until the day the woman disappeared. His eyes focus on the words written in the last entry. John reads what it says and reacts by nearly dropping the book while trying to cover his mouth. He fumbles the book around but recovers it before it can drop. The shot is focused on his reaction and doesn’t show what the entry says.

JOHN: "What the…?"

John hears a door open from across the street. It's the barber shop owner that he almost called out to the day before. Without giving himself time to think any longer, John stuffs the notebook in his bag, puts his head down, and briskly walks to the bus stop.

Scene 4: Notebook Entries

John sits in his small apartment after work, the room dimly lit. He examines the notebook closely. The camera zooms in on the entry that previously was not shown. It simply says, “Is she dead but not gone yet? Did you kill her? ” It’s written in male handwriting. John thinks it looks like his handwriting.

INT. JOHN’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

John watches the impossible unfold as new entries appear in the notebook. They slowly show up in ink from thin air like an invisible presence is writing the words. He has a bewildered look on his face and begins to sweat. The handwriting isn’t the same from the previous entries. The new handwriting that's appearing from thin air is John’s handwriting. John holds up a letter he wrote in the past to a family member next to the appearing words in the journal. His eyes race back and forth between the two papers as he compares. He itches the top of his head in a weird frenzy. His face is distorted like tears could be on the horizon. He takes a deep breath. The words appear letter by letter at a snail's pace. He reads a little bit out loud. The words describe actions from John’s point of view, saying things like, “I think my boss wants to fire me. He doesn’t like me and I don’t know why. Doesn’t dad know I work in the morning, why would he call so early when he knows I’m getting ready? Did the barber shop owner see me take the notebook? Why would the woman leave her notebook behind? Where did she go? How dare she interrupt my routine? I wanted to ask her if she was okay. I only gave her money once, but she never really begged for it. I wanted to ask her what she was writing about, but I never even knew her name.” Everything is disjointed but it's all following John’s inner thoughts as if it was him writing a diary entry. All things that would be in there if it was his personal diary. More of his thoughts and feelings in real-time. John is both terrified and mesmerized. John sits back in his chair and slicks his sweaty hair back. The notebook continues to write in itself. John takes his phone out and goes to the camera to record what is happening. When he looks at his screen, the new writing only appears when the whole page is complete. The camera doesn’t pick up the real time writing. John is confused and defeated. The screen fades to black.

Scene 5: Eerie Event

Days pass. John now has a beard. His clothes are dirty. John becomes obsessed with the notebook, his normal routine disrupted. It is implied that it is getting serious when he gets a call from his boss, and he ditches his phone and lets it go to voicemail. Then another missed call from his dad. They miss their dinner plans. Another voicemail. The shot is focused on the phone screen as dad leaves a voicemail. John is immersed with the notebook and staring at it in the background of the shot.

JOHN’S FATHER (V.O.) “John, it's Dad, I’m just checking up. You weren’t at the restaurant when I got there. I waited for thirty minutes. That's okay, we all get busy, I get it. I just want to make sure you're okay, son. Anyway, give me a call back when you can, I got a couple slices of french silk in the fridge. You can pick them up whenever you get a minute. After work or something. Okay, love you bud.”

Fade to black.

INT. JOHN’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

John is staring at the notebook and a new entry appears.

NOTEBOOK: "Find her."

JOHN (V.O.): "But… where?"

Another entry appears before his eyes:

NOTEBOOK: "She’s closer than you think."

This is the first time the book has answered him like that. John is paranoid and scared. He jolts up from his seat and closes the blinds.

Scene 6: Searching

John, determined to understand, returns to the spot where the woman used to sit.

EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT

The street is eerily quiet. John looks around, the notebook clutched in his hand. A chill runs down his spine. Suddenly, he hears a whisper. It could be a woman’s voice but it is unclear.

WHISPER (V.O.): "John..."

John spins around, but no one is there. Silence and street lights. He starts to walk away when he hears the whisper again, abrupt and louder this time.

WHISPER (V.O.) : “This way John, this way.”

Scene 7: Ghost Confrontation

John, terrified but determined, follows the whispers to an old abandoned building nearby. He walks past the barber shop on the way.

INT. ABANDONED BUILDING - NIGHT

John steps inside, the whispers growing louder and more insistent. The building is dark, with only the faint light from his phone guiding the way. He steps on trash, then squirrels and rabbits run past. An owl howls. He sees a shadowy figure at the end of the hallway. He jumps a little but he calms down and takes a deep breath.

JOHN: "Who is it? Who’s there?"

The figure steps forward—it’s the woman, her eyes hollow and haunting. She points to the notebook in his hand.

WOMAN: "I knew you would find and I was hoping you would take."

JOHN: “This? Listen, Rachel, right?"

John rifles through the book only to end up on the first page. He points at the name in the front of the book. It says ‘Rachel’ and she smiles.

Scene 8: Revelation

The woman steps closer, her face gnarled in a ghostly grimace.

RACHEL: "The book is yours now and forever. Or… until it's time to pass it along."

John takes a moment, his awareness heightened.

JOHN: “Well, I’m passing it to you then, because I don’t want it. At all.”

John reaches to give the book back, but Rachel doesn’t accept it.

RACHEL: “You can’t give it to the previous keeper. When the time is right, you will know who to give it to.”

JOHN: “I don’t want your note–your diary.”

RACHEL: “It looks like your handwriting, Johny, I believe it's your diary, not mine. Are you sure you don’t want it? Is it because you are such a routine-based man, Johnny? Did I interrupt your routine?”

JOHN: “How do you…”

Rachel interrupts. She has more energy.

RACHEL: “And what a grand similarity we have! Because, I was a very routine-based young lady. I had such a comfy daily routine… just… like… you. A loner too. The notebook is great for introverts. Yes, far more upside for folks like us. But, if I…can…be…frank… with you for a moment. Call your father back, Johny, would you? Right away. He’s worried because you only ever wait no more than thirty minutes to call him back. Your father loves you and he is a very polite man as well.”

JOHN: “How do you know all of that? How do you know my dad?”

RACHEL: “Your father and I knew each other on a first name basis.”

Rachel stares deadpan. John shakes his head in confusion.

JOHN: “Whatever. When the book writes in itself, I hate it. It's like there's an imposter in my brain. Like I’m not alone in my own head. I hate it. I’ll just burn the goddamn book if you won’t take it. That's what I’ll do.”

RACHEL: “You…won’t…dare. That’s not how it works, Johnny. The book has a keeper, and the keeper is you.”

Rachel points a gnarled finger at John. John is scared like he’s truly noticing her appearance for the first time.

JOHN: “Are you dead?”

Rachel ignores the question.

RACHEL: “You’ll know when the next keeper comes along. IF… the next keeper comes along. As I knew with you. You walked by me every single day without so much as learning my name. But I knew what is rightfully yours all the same. Now, open the book again, Johny. Open it again and look inside.”

John opens the book to the front page again where it had just said Rachel’s name. Now it says “Johny”. Suddenly, the notebook begins to burn John's hands. He screams, trying to drop it, but it sticks to his skin. Rachel’s face distorts into a horrific smile as she fades away, leaving John alone and screaming.

CUT TO BLACK

Epilogue: A New Routine

The alarm clock rings again, signifying a new day.

INT. JOHN’S APARTMENT - MORNING John sits up in bed, his face pale and haunted. He seems alarmed for a moment as he looks at his hands, but then he relaxes. The notebook sits on his bedside table, pristine and untouched. He reaches for it, hands trembling. He puts it in his bag. John dresses in his usual work shirt and tie, puts his backpack on and laces his shoes like he a regular work day. Then John calls his dad. They are talking on the phone as he walks outside his apartment. He assures his dad that he is ok and that he’s had a rough week at work but that he’s going to be fine now.

JOHN: “Dad, I have a question. In the past, did you ever go out with a girl named Rachel? Or, is the name Rachel important to you?”

DAD: “I don’t believe so. Maybe a long time ago. Why?”

JOHN: “I’ll tell you at dinner tomorrow night. Think about it, okay?”

DAD: “Sounds great, son. I’ll see you tomorrow. Rachel… Rachel… you know what, now that I think about it–”

JOHN: “That’s okay, Dad. Think about it some more. We will talk tomorrow.”

He hangs up the phone mid stride. Instead of walking to the bus stop, he stops at Rachel’s old spot where he found the notebook. John sits in her spot and begins to write a new entry in the notebook with a fancy fountain pen.

JOHN (V.O.): He writes, "Every day, the same routine. But now, I know that must change."

The camera zooms in on John manically writing in the notebook, then fades out until we see the man across the street, the barber shop owner. He has a broom in his hands. He puts the broom against the wall and cups his hands like he is about to call out to John. Before he can, John looks up at him and they make eye contact. John has a small smile on his face, looks down again, and goes back to writing. The barber’s hands hover in the air, frozen. The man opens his mouth as if he's about to yell something at John, but decides against it. The barber drops his hands below his waist and walks back inside. The camera pans to the bus leaving without John. The sound is enhanced on the bus door closing and the engine rumbling.

The End.

#book blog #writing #fiction #new writers corner #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #authors #literature #music #writers #writrblr

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tjreidwrites · 1 year ago

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The End Matters

A short story by Taylor Joseph Reid

My loft bed had a desk underneath and that’s where I did my homework and played video games. I had been practicing different combos against the CPU on Mortal Kombat until my thumbs ached. I knew if I played long enough for that to happen, then bedtime was around the corner. Sixth grade had only started, and tomorrow was a school day.

“I’m turning your lights out for you,” Mom said. “And Joe, you need to wake up when your alarm goes off tomorrow. I have way too much to do in the mornings as it is. It’s not my job to wake you up.”

“Got it, Mom.” I climbed the ladder and got in bed.

“Okay, goodnight.”

I said goodnight. She told me she loved me, and I said it back. Apparently, I said it too quietly because she replied, “What was that?”

“I love you too!”

She laughed and clicked my bedroom light off.

Sleep never came right when the lights went out. I stared mindlessly at the posters hung up by thumbtacks on the wall beside me. They were crinkled rectangles with blobs that couldn’t be recognized in the darkness for the Pokemon characters they were. I stared at the distorted images hoping my eyes would tire out.

It wasn’t working. I sighed and turned on my back, staring up at the black blank ceiling. Should I just keep trying to go to sleep? The thought alone made my mind race. What twelve-year-old needs eight hours of sleep anyway?

I sat up and reached down by my feet. A Gameboy Advance SP loaded up with Pokémon. Next to the Gameboy was my portable CD player and headphones. Both devices were lodged between the mattress and bed frame where I left them. I grazed the Gameboy but wasn’t in the mood to hide the light of the console under my blanket. I opted for the music and only the music.

I put the headphones on. The soft plush gently conformed to my ears. The sense of isolation from the outside world was now complete. At home in bed with the lights off and a pair of padded headphones on. Away from everything. Not bad at all. My video games served me as the ultimate escape, but even those adventures were worth getting away from sometimes. With a little help from music, I could create my own worlds.

Most of the records I owned were Christian music CDs I got from family members for birthdays and Christmas. Even though I liked some of the music, I was sick of those same old songs and obsessed with my latest disc. It was the first one I bought with my very own money! I never heard anything quite like it! I don’t think my mom and dad would have cared if they knew I had Linkin Park’s first release, Hybrid Theory, but I kept it a secret anyway. They had this thing about ‘secular music.’ I don’t know. Not going there. Besides, I didn’t like my parents knowing every little thing about me anyway. Having some secrets, big or small, felt right. Made me feel normal.

I lifted the comforter up to my neck and got cozy. I put the player by my side and grazed the buttons until I found the indented sideways triangle and pressed it.

The heavy-hitting trip-hop beat in the intro of ‘Papercut’ caused me to sink my head even further into the pillow. I shut my eyes and smiled as the turntable sounds went off. One measure later, the emotional hit of the full band—drums, guitar, and bass—came flooding in through my ears.

The explosiveness of the band with its genre-bending iconic nu-metal and alternative sound is what drew me in, but the lyrics and vocals are what made me obsessed. I let the music take me on a ride. It's like a whirlwind inside of my head. It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within. It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin.

I pressed my eyes shut tight. Then tighter. White flashing fireworks exploded behind my eyelids with purple lights trailing behind like sparks of lightning that danced to the beat. I was on top of the world and only halfway through the first song.

Gooseflesh raised up on my arms as Chester sang, “The sun goes down. I feel the light betray me. The sun goes down. I feel the light betray me.” I could tell that his singing voice was coming from deep within him. It was beyond powerful. It was like his personal pain and joy of performing was its own entity, extending an arm to understand. I knew they (Linkin Park) understood me too. It’s not like they wrote the songs for me, but as if they wrote the songs for people like me.

I never knew how to express what it felt like to get picked on and bullied and made fun of as a kid. Who knew having a stutter and a little extra belly fat could be such a detriment? I was angry and confused when older kids would call me things like fat and worthless or spit on me while they circled around me on bikes like vultures. I was just trying to walk home from school. I never bothered anyone. There was a time when I was even younger, and a different set of kids pushed me to my knees and kicked the breath out of me if I tried to leave the park to go home. They would trap me there. Why? I don’t know. I had built up some anger and confusion, but it was more than that. More unexplainable feelings that I didn’t have words for. All the memories I wanted to repress but couldn’t get to leave. These songs had a way of making me feel better. They gave me ideas I didn’t know how to express with words. When I listened, I could think about the things in life better forgotten through a different lens. Does everyone feel like this when a band resonates with them?

The angst I had must have rivaled the most pissed-off twelve-year-olds on earth. When Chester screams, “Shut up when I’m talking to you, shut up! Shut up!” I mouthed the words.

Suddenly, the fireworks that were behind my eyes flipped and morphed into stage lights, and in a flash, I’m standing in a crowd. A sold-out concert. It's them. All six of them. Spikey blonde hair and everything. The moment of being with the crowd was short. I blink, and now I’m up on stage. Mike Shinoda even introduced me to the crowd. “We want to welcome our friend Joe Kennedy to the stage for this next one!” I have a mic clutched tight in both hands. I sang the entire next song with them. I’m screaming alongside Mike and Chester! How is this possible?

During the times I was stuck listening to my parents argue, I snuck out of the house so I didn’t have to listen to what they had to say to each other. I would rather go to the park and make believe I was a character from one of my favorite anime or video games, someone with power. Power and control. I’d launch myself off the swing at the height of its elevation point and barrel roll across the wood chips, springing up in a fighting position. Make-believe is nice. I get to be far from the things that bother me. If I would have stayed and listened to my parents fight, it would only end in me fighting myself. How much of it is my fault? Is it my fault?

Even though the next song called ‘Crawling’ was surely not written about the imminent divorce of one’s parents, it still made me feel like I wasn’t as alone.

To find myself again

My walls are closing in

(Without a sense of confidence, I'm convinced)

(That there's just too much pressure to take)

I've felt this way before

So insecure

I was still riding the wave, but my eyeballs began to flutter, telling me sleep was around the corner. The song ‘By Myself’ had me imagining myself behind the drum kit. I knew how to play a little bit, but I wanted to get better. Maybe if I was a good drummer, my classmates would think I was cool. Then Chester let out that piercing high scream, “Myself! I ask why, but in my mind, I find I can’t rely on myself, myself!” And I can almost feel a scratching in my throat. How does he do that? That scream. How does he sing like an angel and scream like that? I’m going to learn.

And maybe the opening piano of ‘In the End’ is what finally lulled me to sleep.

The angelic line, “It starts with one…” I enter the space where a daydream becomes a real dream. I fly through cold clouds under an ethereal moonlight, flipping and turning and going the speed of sound. The crowd screams its applause. I can hear it from the sky. Maybe it's for me, maybe it's for Linkin Park. “In the end, it doesn’t even matter…” because the applause is for you.

But the words of the song don’t mean that nothing matters or that life lacks substance. No, I don’t think that's what they wanted to convey. It's about the futility of trying to control what we can't. In the end, it won’t matter if the bully kicks you down; you can’t change them. Did you stand up for yourself? If your parents get divorced, you can’t make them love each other. Did you ask them to try one more time? Did they? That’s out of your control. If the love of your life leaves you, you can’t make them love you. You can’t even make yourself love you, so how could you make them do that? If your best friend betrays you, you can’t make them care as much as you do. If your boss fires you, they don’t know what you sacrificed away from the job, but they don’t care, and you can’t make them care. Did you do enough for yourself during all of this?

My dream becomes a premonition, and I truly am on stage. I’m older now. I’m not sharing the stage with LP anymore. It’s my very own band. Our own song worlds. I scream my best scream. It's as close to Chester’s tone as it gets for me. Maybe he’d smile if he knew. Shoot, maybe he knows better than anyone.

The crowd’s applause is deafening. “Thank you so, so much,” I say into the mic. The stage lights let up, and I can see in front of me. So many people. But there's a spotlight on the one I’m meant to notice. I’m at a loss for words. It’s me. Just from a moment ago. My old self. A wide-eyed kid that’s going to get yelled at in the morning when his mom has to shake him awake. He was too busy daydreaming to fall asleep when the lights clicked off. Then dreams inspired by his favorite band. The one that got him through everything.

The End (matters)

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tjreidwrites · 1 year ago

Text

The End Matters

A short story by Taylor Joseph Reid

“Got it, Mom.” I climbed the ladder and got in bed.

“Okay, goodnight.”

I said goodnight. She told me she loved me, and I said it back. Apparently, I said it too quietly because she replied, “What was that?”

“I love you too!”

She laughed and clicked my bedroom light off.

I lifted the comforter up to my neck and got cozy. I put the player by my side and grazed the buttons until I found the indented sideways triangle and pressed it.

The angst I had must have rivaled the most pissed-off twelve-year-olds on earth. When Chester screams, “Shut up when I’m talking to you, shut up! Shut up!” I mouthed the words.

Even though the next song called ‘Crawling’ was surely not written about the imminent divorce of one’s parents, it still made me feel like I wasn’t as alone.

To find myself again

My walls are closing in

(Without a sense of confidence, I'm convinced)

(That there's just too much pressure to take)

I've felt this way before

So insecure

And maybe the opening piano of ‘In the End’ is what finally lulled me to sleep.

The End (matters)

#short story #linkin park #writing #book blog #fiction #new writers corner #writlbr #writers and poets #shorts #authors #literature #music #power of music #video games #amwriting #dreamy #writers on tumblr

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