a poet walks into a bar and finds out it's a cafe. And he's the guest speaker....
Fade in Scene.
A block of darkness obscures the camera's screen. The pixels are grainy and aged but it's still dark. And black, fully black. A fuzzy pattern of still shadows blocking any and all light from the scene, but slowly the camera backs up. The shadows become a corner and that gives way to walls and a faraway light. Clue in, night vision.
Not working? Oh, well.
We continue right to a tiled floor slashed randomly with streetlights. Finally we see it. The camera moves back far engouh for the whole room open up.
The dark shadows hanging in every corner, as the clock on the wall strikes a silent 9:35. It's still early, still so very early. But the guest speaker has already arrived. There he is, tucked away in a corner of the room, conversing with the dragging shadows. His body wrapped in a long dark coat and face blocked by an equally dark hat. His moonshine face, sprinkled with tiny dark hairs, is watching the stage as each poet comes up. Some are young, others are old, still some are ageless with their voice quivering like the wind.
The club was usually a ruckus of radiating sound and in between colors. Light grays the color of rain fall, steel grays the color of metal railing and dark grays the color of an unknown future. It was all gray. A beautiful gray utopia of fade-ins and fade-outs, where the only color are the light shining on the stage and the vivid painting behind it.
But tonight it was silent with the beat of the city radiating deep in the voices of each of the speakers, and the background noise of the drum beat a He was sleepy. But that was what coffee was for. Waking you up. After whole hour full of ragged human emotion and jumbled words leaping off the tongue he was waiting to go.
It was still too early but he didn't care. Motioning to the owner he sat up and made himself know from out of the shadows. His figure stood and moved the darkness around as he let his coat and hat fall neatly on the chair. Oh, he was bad. But a poet is only as badass as his words.
Everything else is misery.
OWNER: Next up, a man whose mind is only as shady as his clothes are, who stalks words on the page like a dark knight on a rampage. The coffee veined, ink stained, brother in the back. Jeffery Cougorhorn.
A eruption of snaps begins, a few confused claps here and there. But the sound dims as soon as he gets up stage. His bright white shirt bounces the light like a pin ball and his dark shades hide blood shot eyes, from staying up all night. He stand by the microphone and makes his move.
JEFFERY: I died. Gulp.
Last night. The stars shined. The air was bright. The world was alive. Yet, I stilled died. I died. Died, maybe I cried, possibly hide. In the lost corners of mind, located just out of time. Near a wooden and broken desk with a lamp light, that shone all too bright. I died. Last night. Did I fight? No, not that night. Did I sigh? I sighed all right. I don't know why. Why you called that night. But I'm alright. I'm alright tonight. No, the monsters didn't bite. No, the shadows weren't kind. I'm dead and you should know, I'm quite. I'm quite alright. He pauses. That poem was Death Of An Individual Suicidal.
Thank you, all for being here.
He walks of the stage, to a hum of silence. It starts slowly , a single heart beat in a sea of dead souls. But slowly it heats up, the sound gets louder and louder to a heavenly chorus. Some tears are fallen. By the time he leaves the café and closes the door, an earthquake of applause has erupted in the room.
It wasn't him, he knew it wasn't, but his voiced had lifted into the air and sung out a helping hand in each of their hearts.
When he turned back to the underground café, all he heard was a swan's wing.
And Taking flight.
JEFFERY: They'll be alright,he said to the shadows. For tonight.
He turns back to the darken caresses of his home, straight to the alley and beyond.
Fade Out Scene.