So, I had an assignment for my Creative Writing class that was to alter a pre-established setting or character or plot. Basically to write a fanfic. So, here I am, and at the request of certain people (although I doubt they'll remember) here it is. This is the first four pages or so. I don't really feel comfortable posting more, (not for content, but because of my writing style, which leans toward Sturgeon's Law,) but if it's requested, I'll probably post it.
I sit in my chair in the dark and think, with my gloved hand on my chin, trying my best not to smear my makeup further than I already had. I was finally alone for the night. The silence was almost eerie…so quiet that I could hear myself think, and I never really like what I hear when that happens. C21H22 N2O2 keeps ricocheting around in my brain. I wonder what I could do to make that compound more sardonic, less bitter and more fun. The door to my office quietly creaked open, a sliver of light and a faint voice cutting across the room.
“Uh, boss?” A man with a deep voice said tentatively, “We got the money you wanted. What now?”
“Do you know what cyclodextrins are?” I asked, my doubts affirmed by my employee shaking his head. “Fine,” I snapped, “get me yams and bags of sugar. Lots of them. I’ll have to synthesize them myself. After all, we have a show to put on for the whole city!” As I forced a grin, the mook shrugged and asked if I needed anything else. I waved him off, as I always do. The door closed, and I was left in the dark again, listening to the voices outside my door. They always talk as if I can’t hear them. Some of them are worried that I haven’t been sleeping or eating well, but I never really do anyway. Why would I waste time on such trivial things? There are much more fun things to be done.
The faceless masses ebb and flow in my little organization constantly, yet we burn through money like there’s no tomorrow. They always make excuses for where it goes, but I don’t care. I simply wish that there wasn’t always so much to do, and care for, and care about. I don’t mind dirty work. I prefer it, in fact, to this drudgery of keeping people and resources in line. Life was so much better when it was just me against the world. I couldn’t help but look up over my shoulder. I knew that he was listening. He was always listening, everywhere, unceasingly. I stood up out of my chair, and began to pace around the room, nervously. My back ached from sitting for too long.
“My old friend,” I said aloud, “I know that you can hear me. I just want you to know that I appreciate all the challenges you’ve brought into my life. I appreciate all the little details that you go over, all the thought you put into me. I appreciate that I could never really do the same for you, but know this: I will see through your eyes someday, and when that day comes, you will see through mine.” My laughter was interrupted by the door opening again.
“Boss,” a worker said, “they need you at the lab.”
I spat the reply, “Fine. I’ll be there in a moment.” I stepped out of my office into a dimly lit, grimy hallway. The old, abandoned Memorial hospital had served its purpose well enough for me, I thought as I headed toward a staircase. The corners of my mouth unconsciously twitched at the thought of my newest prototype being tested. I happily thought of all the lives I would change with my newest chemical formula. The thought of all the smiles on peoples’ faces when they tasted it practically sent shivers up my spine as I reached the last of my stairs. I straightened my face, and stepped out of the stairwell, into an extremely well lit, spotless hallway. I headed down the hall to my favorite part of the old hospital, what once was the maternity ward. I stepped into one of the rooms, and couldn’t be happier with what I saw.
In this room, the white tile floor and walls were flawlessly gleaming. Tables were arranged in rows along the left side of the room, and on the right was a video camera pointed at a man chained to a chair. He looked nervous and angry, and his bright orange prison jumpsuit probably wasn’t helping his outlook.
“What the hell is going on?” He screamed at me furiously, “What are you going to do with me?” I sauntered up to him casually, put the tip of my nose against his, and replied calmly, looking into his eyes,
“I’m going to put a smile on your face.”
When I looked up, I was greeted by a worker in a lab coat carrying a small dish with pink dust in it. I lightly coated the tip of my gloved finger with it, and casually stuck it in my mouth, to the horrified expression of my poor, brain wracked minion. I nodded approvingly, saying,
“Not too bitter, not too starchy, and just a little tart. Exactly what I asked for! You’re brilliant…ah…” I stopped and pulled his nametag closer to my face, “Dave. Brilliant.” I pushed him away from me, flatly saying, “You can follow a recipe. Good for you.”
He recoiled away from me momentarily before asking meekly, “Should I turn on the camera now?” I nodded, holding back a warped grin. The man in the chair froze as the red light on the camera turned on. I stepped into view, adjusting the collar of my suit.
“Good people of Gotham City, I stand before you with a conundrum. You see, I want nothing more than to make this town a more colorful place. I want it to be a magical place full of smiling faces, laughter, and most of all, I want to make this city fun to live in.” I pointed to the man in the chair, stating calmly, “This man and I share many similar traits. We are animals, doomed to wander this planet in search of satiation of our basest desires. Wealth, status, power…these things mean nothing to us. We simply want to have what we want, when we want it. We are monsters. We are all monsters on the inside. What if, however, deep down beyond all the animism in our very souls, there was some other unifying trait? What if we all just need a good laugh?” With that, I took a handful of the dust, and blew it into the man’s face. He coughed a few times, then took a few deep breaths and began laughing hysterically.
His shrieks of laughter echoed throughout the quiet room as his muscles spasmed uncontrollably, straining against the chains that held him in place. He attempted to scream, but his voice betrayed him, as all he could muster was a high pitched giggling noise between fits of guffawing at the top of his lungs. I couldn’t help but join him, giddily laughing like a child with a new toy. Tears ran down his red, strained face as he gasped for breath, continuing his onslaught of hysterics. Finally, his eyes rolled back as his body fell limp and his voice caught in his throat as if he had been hanged. His head fell forward with a terse cracking noise. After a moment of watching blood and foamy saliva drip from his lips, I grabbed the front of the camera, whispering hoarsely,
“Don’t you see, Gotham? Don’t you see? All we need is a good laugh, and I’ll happily oblige you all. I will make you laugh despite yourselves, Gotham. I will make you laugh, and you will all see through my eyes. You will all be the monstrosities you really are, just like me.”
The camera shut off as I wandered toward the door. The labcoat followed me, asking, “What do we do with him now?” I looked over my shoulder, stating, “We have dogs that need to be fed. Oh, and one last thing. Let me know when the yams come in. We can really get to work when we get those.” As I left the room, I heard the lab tech start working on his computer. Doubtless, he was sending my recording to the news stations around town. Computers were useful tools, but that didn’t mean that I particularly had to like them. There is no way to intimidate, or threaten a computer. They don’t have families to murder, and don’t care if you rip their guts out. They don’t scream or beg for mercy, which was by far the most pleasant part of dealing with people.
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Topic: Vector's BIG REVEAL, and Max writes crappy fanfiction! (Read 820 times)