#now i’ve got my delusional headphones on and every other song sounds like it works for them

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

i’ve fallen face over ass into a (mostly) dead ship

[glassc0ffin]

Feedback

hee hoo i wrote a tma fic in the form of frankies statement to the institute

words: 2245

warnings: none, except for phil collins and thrown staples

pairing: oc (frankie james)/jonathan sims

[[MORE]]

FRANKIE JAMES:

-That a tape recorder? It's so cute! We've been trying to get one for the station, just so we can say we have one - y'know, to impress the hipsters - but they're well out of my budget. How did you get one?

ARCHIVIST:

I - Uh, it was here when I got the job, it was my predecessor's.

JAMES:

Wow, well, I'm jealous. [GIGGLES] A little tempted for thievery…

ARCHIVIST:

...Right. Would you like to begin your statement?

JAMES:

Oh, yeah, of course.

ARCHIVIST:

Alright. Statement of Frank James, radio DJ at -

JAMES:

Frankie. 

ARCHIVIST:

[PAUSE] Frankie James, radio DJ at Tranzishon Rock, London, regarding…?

JAMES:

Uh, a series of...obscene phone calls from an unknown person. 

ARCHIVIST:

Recorded direct from subject by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of The Magnus Institute, 21st of September, 2019. Statement begins.

JAMES:

Ah, so, okay. [SIGHS]

ARCHIVIST:

...Are you alright?

JAMES:

Yeah, I just… [SIGHS] I have a hard time...getting words out. I'm not...articulate.

ARCHIVIST:

Would I be able to help?

JAMES:

How would you? It's in my head.

ARCHIVIST:

[SIGHS] You'd be surprised. [PAUSES] When did it start? The phone calls.

JAMES: 

On my show. I have a radio show at Tranzishon, late nights, 7 till 10, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Towards the end of the show, from 9 till 10, we do a requests hour. Listeners call, or text, or tweet, or send a carrier pigeon, to ask us to play songs. The last one is only if they're fancy.

ARCHIVIST:

[SNORTS]

JAMES:

[PAUSES]

ARCHIVIST:

[PAUSES] Sorry. You were saying?

JAMES:

[LAUGHS FAINTLY, A LITTLE BREATHLESS] Ah, yeah, erm… [AMUSED] I can't quite remember where I was…

ARCHIVIST:

The requests hour?

JAMES:

Yes! Okay, so, er, I was announcing the requests hour, reading out our phone number and the twitter account, and as soon as I had finished reading the phone number, we got a call. I- We've got a small team of techies - well, two - that handle incoming calls, texts, tweets, whatever. One, Paul, looked up from the switchboard at me and put me through to the listener, and I did my usual spiel. Y'know: [RADIO VOICE] You're listening to Frankie at Tranzishon rock, dear listener, what's your request?

[NORMAL VOICE] And they didn't say anything. There was dead air for a couple of seconds, then as I began to say 'Anybody there?' my headphones are blown out by the sudden high volume. The person on the other end must have been right up on the mic, because there was an immense amount of feedback and white noise. I'm sort of thankful for that, 'cause it nearly covered up what they had to say.

[PAUSES] [DEEP BREATH] I... don't want to repeat what they said. Suffice to say, the techies had some lightning speed reaction time when they cut off the line. There was more dead air as I tried to recover from the shock, I think I made a joke about them wanting the number for Babestation instead.

ARCHIVIST:

[LAUGHS]

JAMES:

[PAUSES] [LAUGHS, WEAKLY] Yeah… Ah, so, w-we banned that number so they wouldn't call again, and I ended the show with Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) by The Offspring. Because I cope with bad experiences by burying them with humour. 

[UNDER HIS BREATH] Give it to me, baby. [EVEN QUIETER] Uh huh, uh huh. 

[COUGHS]

Uh. Anyway. I went home, had my day off, and went back into work the next night and tried to forget about what happened. And for the most part, I did. The first 2 hours passed without incident, and then when I announced the requests hour, I joked about the caller the other day. My techies looked at each other nervously as I laughed. I gave them a questioning look, but said nothing. I'd ask them after the show. I read the number and twitter and waited for the requests to roll in. Again, we had another phone call straight away. I said my spiel, and my heart was in my throat as I waited for the caller to speak. I looked at my techies. Sheena, my other tech, shrugged at me. I sighed, about to give them a signal to cut them off and answer someone else when the feedback returned, louder and more harsh this time. I threw my headphones onto the desk in front of me, but I still heard the words spilling out of them.

[SWALLOWS] Y'know that scene in Silence of the Lambs? Where Lecter asks Clarice to repeat what that other inmate had said to her? Y'know - [SOUTHERN AMERICAN ACCENT] 'He said, I can smell your cunt.'

ARCHIVIST:

Good lord.

JAMES:

Yeah. It was a bit like that. There was a lot more...squelching with mine, though. Ugh. The techs cut the call, as I knew they would. I was more than a little pissed off. I started playing a song someone had tweeted and turned off my mic, turning to my techies. I asked them, why didn't you ban them like you said you would last time? Sheena said she did, that she guessed they were using a payphone or something to harass us. Paul tentatively asked if we should inform the police, and I told him to F off. We've had no help from coppers in the past when we had Nazis and TERFs flooding our lines calling us all sorts of shit, why would they help now? Cops avoid gays like the plague unless its for propaganda. So, Paul backed down. 

Before the song ended, I quickly mentioned that maybe we shouldn't take calls anymore, just texts and tweets. I didn't want it to come to that, not really. I ended the show again with a song from a small local band, earning me a shoutout on their twitter. That felt good, at least.

I went home, picking up a 6-pack of Stella on the way. I wanted to make sure I slept that night. As I sat on the tube, a good 20 minute journey to my flat, my phone began to ring. At that moment, it didn't strike me that it shouldn't have been able to get any reception underground, yet there it was, ringing in my hand. I was more annoyed at it interrupting my music, but I answered anyway. It was the same fucking caller. I couldn't hit the 'disconnect' button fast enough. But I still heard what he said. [LAUGHS SHAKILY] At least the guy has some imagination. Never the same thing twice. [VOICE BREAKS, STUTTERING] I looked around the tube to see if anyone would be witnessing my quickly approaching panic attack, and finding no-one in the compartment with me, I broke down. The next 15 minutes passed with a blur, and then I reached my station, tears stopping as fast as they had came. 

I stepped off the tube and started walking in the direction towards my flat, and my phone started ringing again. My breath caught in my chest as I froze on the pavement, phone vibrating away in my pocket. I picked it up, screen lit up and facing toward the ground. Slowly, I turned it up, half shutting my eyes, as if the person on the other end wouldn't be able to see me if I couldn't see the phone. [SIGHS] Stupid. It was my mum's phone number. I answered, talked with her for a little bit - she lives a ways away, I don't get to see her a lot - and said goodnight when I got to my flat. I got blackout and passed out on my couch when I got in. Yeah, I know I'm a lightweight. When I woke up at 12pm, my TV was still on, replaying the DVD menu for Black Christmas - the 1974 version. I guess in my Stella-crazed state I was desperate to watch it again.

The entire day, I left my phone switched off. My boss won't be too pleased with me, especially after 2 shows of mine had very explicit profanity, thanks to our mystery caller, but I didn't care. 

[PAUSES]

Listen, I-I know, alright? I know it sounds stupid, I know I probably sound like a pearl-clutching housewife, how scandalous that I'm terrified of a few dirty phonecalls, but...you didn't hear them. You wouldn't want to hear them. Paul, Sheena, and I certainly didn't. At least they only heard them at the station…

Thankfully, on the Friday, we had decided not to do requests hour. Yeah, a few listeners would be upset, but the more loyal listeners would understand when one person ruins it for everyone else. We just settled for the last hour of the show to be requests from Paul and Sheena. Strangely enlightening, but I don't wish to hear any more Phil Collins than is necessary. And with Paul, he seems to think 10 songs is necessary. It isn't.

ARCHIVIST:

[OFFENDED] What's wrong with Phil Collins?

JAMES:

Apart from the fact that we're a punk rock station?

ARCHIVIST:

Fair enough. You were saying?

JAMES:

Okay, so, ah… I was on my way home again, and had all but forgotten the mystery caller. We'd figured it had just been some weirdo that got bored of us cutting him off. But as I was walking from the tube station from my flat, I heard that ear-splitting feedback again. Doubling over in pain, I reached up to pull my headphones off, only to find that I had left them at the radio station. I pressed my fists to my ears, crumpling to the ground as the whine of someone being too close to a microphone pierced my eardrums. I felt something cold trickle out of my ear. I didn't have to check my hand to guess that it was blood. I hyperventilated as I lay on the ground. Something was shouting, screaming at me, screeching slurs and threats of what it wanted to do to me, what it will do to me. I remember vomiting, and then blacking out as the overlapping cacophony reached a fever pitch.

I woke up not too far from where I had passed out, £10 and a phone lighter. It was probably some homeless guy who took them, and honestly, I'm not too bothered. I'm more angry no-one took me to a doctor or something. I think, the last thing I saw before I passed out was someone standing in the distance. Staring. Yeah, it could have been some rando, but the image stuck with me.

They were silhouetted against the bright signs of the takeaways on the street behind them, hands stretching too far down, a little too tall. I might have been delusional or in the throes of oxygen deprivation or something, but I swear I saw it smile as I lost consciousness. 

I haven't been back to my flat. I've been staying with Sheena for the past couple of days. She's alright, but I can tell she wants me out. She doesn't want what's happening to me to happen to her. 

ARCHIVIST:

Statement ends. ...Are you alright?

JAMES:

[SNIFFS] Er, I - Uh, I should be, in a bit. Thanks for, uh...I don't know. Listening?

ARCHIVIST:

It's my job. 

JAMES:

Is that it then? What happens now?

ARCHIVIST:

We'll get in contact with you if we find anything out.

JAMES:

Oh! Then, you'll probably need this then. [SCRIBBLING]

ARCHIVIST:

[SHOCKED NOISE] Wh- What are you doing?

JAMES:

Giving you my phone number, what's it look like?

ARCHIVIST:

Well, I'm sure you can give it to me on paper, not my hand! And didn't you say your phone was stolen?

JAMES:

[SCRIBBLING STOPS] Oh. Yeah. Well, if I ever get it back, then. You know where to call.

ARCHIVIST:

R-Right. Goodbye, Mr. James.

JAMES:

Frankie.

ARCHIVIST:

...Goodbye, Frankie.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST:

Mr. James -- Frankie's behaviour was certainly... strange during our conversation. He kept looking at me, pausing and then quickly looking away again, having to restart his sentence whenever he did so. Maybe he realised that he had virtually no evidence to back up his testimony. The only witnesses we have are this Sheena and Paul, and they can only back up the instances of the phone calls happening at the radio station, not anywhere else. Conveniently, Frankie does not appear to record his mobile phone calls, so we have no evidence the phone call on the tube happened. Assuming it even could happen.

Furthermore, his constant stuttering only made me think he was making the whole thing up. Maybe he just wants a story for his show. He --

TIM:

Knock, knock. Was that Frankie James?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, i-it was -- Tim, saying 'Knock, knock' is not a good substitute for knocking. 

TIM:

Did I hear you saying that he was making it up because he was stuttering?

ARCHIVIST:

Well, yes. It's a common tell for lying.

TIM:

It's a common tell for a huge goddamn crush.

ARCHIVIST:

What?

TIM:

Oh, come on. You didn't notice?

ARCHIVIST:

No, n-no, I didn't.

TIM:

Jon, he was the colour of a tomato. He wrote his phone number on your hand! Look, he even drew a heart, for god's sake.

ARCHIVIST:

[MUTTERING] Hmm, yes, I suppose it does look like a heart… No, don't be ridiculous, Tim.

TIM:

[IN A SING-SONG VOICE] Jon has got a boyfriend, Jon has got a boyfriend!

ARCHIVIST:

Are you twelve?! Get out! [SOMETHING CLATTERS ON THE GROUND]

TIM:

Ow! Stop throwing staples at me!

[CRASHING SOUND]

[CLICK]

[shefzone]

ON THE RUN

‘Wake up! Rise and shine, darling!’ my cell phone flashes.

I turn off the alarm for the second time and spring out of my bed. It’s 5:30AM already and I couldn’t let the previous day’s exhaustion stop me from going on my daily jog.

With earphones in and my favourite song on, I was ready to bring in the new day.

The beach has always been that calming and comforting zone; it has always helped me clear my head with the waves gushing, the sound of which trashed away the negative thoughts but at the same time brought back those memories – bitter sweet and yes, unforgettable.

It wasn’t a usual day though. The sun hadn’t yet emerged from amongst the clouds and there were no familiar faces on the run. Sensing some oddity, I decided to perch myself on a rock and just gaze into the oblivion. I wasn’t ready for the day, or the week, or the month, or my future… was I? I was fighting these conflicting feelings within me – all in my head. Or was it just the Monday blues haunting me?

I was clueless.

I then spot a guy, apparently painting a picture of the sea. Being the only other human on the beach besides myself, I got all inquisitive and decided to inspect the frame by getting a much closer look.

However, there was no picture on the white canvas. Not even a stroke of the brush.

‘What are you observing since so long? Unable to find the right angle for the picture?’ I ask.

Hearing a voice probably got him back to the reality from which he was afar for almost an hour.

‘Oh…,’ he was surprised by my intervention. ‘No, I know what I am going to paint. Just trying to find something unusual to incorporate into the picture.’

‘Something unusual?’ it didn’t make much sense to me.

‘You see, I’ve been coming here and painting the picture of the sea at this same spot for over a month now. And no two pictures resemble.’

He showed me all the pictures that he previously painted and they were unbelievable – each picture had something different – the colours and the vibes were altogether refreshing.

‘The sea changes its colours every day, we just need to see when and how. It’s all in our perception. And those who are able to visualise that, well, it is like a gift,’ he said with a smile.

‘I am amazed… how did I not notice you all this while?’

‘I did, though. You tried to switch off from this world with your headphones on, singing you tunes that perhaps made you dream about a perfect world – sort of a disconnect from reality that blurs all the things around you.’

‘Didn’t you too just do that before I interrupted you? Lost in some thoughts?’

‘I was finding my call for today – it’s not really the same. Not to offend you.’

I was dumbfounded.

‘But I need to do that, we all need to – recharge our batteries before heading for a long day.’

‘You are calling yourself a gadget then?’

‘What? No! I mean, we need to rejuvenate and unplug from this daily routine that we need to embark upon so that at the end of the day we still find the motivation to restart with that zest.’

‘I agree, we need to unplug ourselves. As an artist, I understand that quite well. But that doesn’t mean we need to find our calling in a world that we build where we are happy – it’s like creating an illusion and wishing for it to happen.’

‘Elaborate?’

‘Just find the unusual in the usual and you won’t need to transport yourself to some la-la land every day.’

‘That does sound pretty fascinating to me.’

‘It gets even more interesting as you practice it. Appreciate things around you and moments that life bestows upon you.’

That day, it was cloudy but still I felt sun rays caressing my cheeks as I somehow felt alive again while on my way to work.

‘That was a good presentation, Mira!’ everyone applauded. 5 years into advertising but today I felt myself getting pushed into a whole new dimension.

I wasn’t going to miss my jog the next day. I had to thank him.

Waking up on the first ring, I jumped into my shoes and headed straight to the beach with the hope of finding him again.

For the first time in all these years, I decided to ditch my headphones and I couldn’t fathom the emotions gushing through my body as the I heard the waves singing the tunes in the background as I observed the coconut seller blissfully making sales, young people doing sprints and the old people taking a stroll, the dogs sleeping peacefully and the rocks unmoved and unperturbed, taking note of all of these activities.

‘Life is a metaphor in itself,’ I hear the familiar voice and stop.

‘I was looking for you.’

‘That’s strange. I told you to find the unusual but never thought you’d take that as me,’ he said and chuckled.

‘Are you hitting on me?’ I raised my eye brow.

‘Oh no. Didn’t mean it that way. I thought you considered me as weird, perhaps.’

‘I came here to thank you!’

‘Really? May I know why?’

‘Well, your definition of the ‘routine’ has somewhat changed my beliefs. You ought to find your calling from even what you do every day by discovering something that you never knew you were capable of finding.’

‘Things take their own course. Change is the only constant and is the law of nature. Like these waves which are in the same motion every day yet there is some mystic feeling about them, different from each day – the change is unnoticeable but you know it is happening, they may not always be visible. Sometimes it is all about the perception. Change the angle and you would find a new meaning or just change the focus.’

‘You speak like an old wise sage.’

‘I’m sorry for the heavy dose of philosophy, but that’s the ultimate truth.’

I shake my head in reflex and realise that time is kicking in.

‘It was good meeting and knowing you… Mr…’

‘Arjun Grover. And here’s a small gift for you.’

‘Isn’t this a painting from yesterday?’ I was marvelled at how beautiful it was. Time just stood still. And there was me at the corner, on a rock, quite oblivious of everything around.

‘This is… just so enchanting. Thank you.’ I was filled with gratitude.

I return home and decided to Google a bit about him and check if he has any site of his own only to stumble upon a piece of information that shook me beyond words.

‘Arjun Grover – owner and CEO of VisionOne’ and there was a picture of him with that equivocal smile. A young talent that caught the industry by storm with his vision who did the usual in an unusual way.

I observe the painting and find a message at the back – ‘Don’t always look for roses when you know you have to walk on the thorns. Look for what you know would be coming as that will prepare you and help you go through it. Unplug yourself but never get delusional for you got to face the reality, however hard it may be. And change is sometimes all about the perception and the angles and the settings – as long as you know how to deal and accept. Life is unpredictable so do what you have always been wanting to do, say what you have always wanted to say and believe in just yourself. Hope you have a fulfilling life ahead. My best wishes! – A.G’

The next day, as I was on my usual morning run, ready to find the unusual, the spot was vacant. Maybe it was time for him to change the angle and for me it was time to get the reality in focus.

- Shefali Rao