The serial writer, the story written for a prompt on Tipsy Lit. Now since there was a rule about a maximum of a 500 word count I had to delete some parts to get there. This is the original version written, tweaked to make a good story.
I hope it will be to your liking
The Serial Writer. (Director’s cut)
Third day into making a film, we have made all preparations for the next scene.
A living room is set up, where a teenage girl will be slashed by her father, who is under some kind of spell. Trying to film within a closed room where the ceiling can rotate an arm with a camera so we can shoot everything in one go. Various mini cameras are hidden in statues, paintings and picture frames for the different angles that we try to capture. All ideas came from the script writer, who became famous after writing, shooting and producing his first feature film.
It turned out to be a true thriller that was praised for its eccentric way of filming and such realistic effects. And that same man was set out to be here today to check on the filming of a slashing scene. And like all important people he is not here yet. The front gate has not seen anyone either. Been drinking coffee by the gallons and my impatience is just growing. I want to get this over with and start shooting the scene.
“Okay, listen up people, today we are shooting scene 176 first take. Mike you will be entering the room from the kitchen, with a knife in your hand. Are you fucking listening Mike… get your head out of the glass.”
-“Yeah, I got you Mister Important. See empty… happy now… burp.” The smell of Vodka fumes fill the little space of the trailer, having us all hold a hand in front of our faces.
“For fuck sake…Did you have to do that? Where was I? Okay he enters from the right, Kitty you are listening to your Ibot facing away, typing away on your laptop. When Mike reaches you, we signal you with a small red light on your keyboard, you laugh with your head thrown back and Mike slashes your throat. Got that? No rolling off the sofa. Please I beg you to let it happen and not freak out like you done before in one of our first collaborations.”
With an air that would make the new queen blush, Kitty turns her head around. “I got a degree in Political Science; I am not some dumb blond, you know?”
“Well I am glad that you shared that with us Kitty. But it took us 10 days then to shoot one scene with you getting killed.” My mind dwells on frustrated times. The slap in my face hurts like hell. It has been three days and already tired. “So slash and walk to your exit on the left Mike, That is LEFT and not back to the kitchen. That means to the door where the witch will kill you.”
I pour the last coffee from the pot and look around the room. Still no sign of the script writer and time is of the essence. It just makes me wonder and even more anxious. I already hate having someone look down on my fingers. Sure he wrote the script but he is not the one having to work with these actors. And the group is just a peculiar bunch. To be honest I cannot wait for the day to be over since this is the last scene with Mike and Kitty.
A big sigh escapes my lips. “Get on your places. I hear Isabel is ready at make-up, as well. Kitty do not forget to touch up your neck. Let’s go people!”
We all move from the trailer and I walk with the last sip of coffee over to the control room. I pass Isabel wearing a sheer black web fabric over a black dress. It has been torn to shreds. Purple accents make the fabric look alive and her tread sure helps. Her red hair hard on hair spray is draped to be a nest for a crow. Just her eyes give away it is her, the blue to almost white surrounded by make-up of wards, ripped skin and puss. Behind her a crop maker holding a staff of crooked wood that entangles a black with red sheen gem.
Inside the room the monitors of every camera for the shot are flickering and showing the angles we will be filming from. The laptop cam for the close up, a cammers point of view. Some static cameras showing the actors are in their places Lights are all green so I pick up the headset and call out to them that the cameras are rolling.
My sip of coffee only lasts a second but the entire scene speeds through my head, praying we can finally get it over with and go home. “Everybody ready… And ACTION!”
The camera moves along side Mike walking in from the kitchen, the knife reflects some light. ‘So far, so good. His face actually looks good now he is drunk. The eyelids being drawn down and loosing their glare from being under influence.’
All flows perfectly, light on. There she goes… She throws her head back laughing loud. Focussing on the cammers monitor next to the statue shot. Her eyes wide, showing shock, fear. Not getting the time to scream with a hand putting her to silence and the knife cutting fast across the neck NOW… the… slash…”
“CUT! CUT!” The shouts come from way out of the shadows. “What the hell is this?”
“May I ask who you are?” I stand up from my chair and face the man stomping up to me, he is clearly angry as his eyes squint and the bald fist is losing colour. Behind me the scene fell apart with the actors looking angry and annoyed into the cameras.
“Who am I? I am the fucking script writer. I am D. Prophet. And my writing or prophecies are the words from God. When I have written them down to die. THEY fucking DIE. Not having some fucked up director telling his drunken ass actor to be slashing the girl with a fake knife. She needs to fucking die!”
“Mister, have you lost your mind? We do not kill people. Rene, would you please call security? ”
“I am D. Prophet, damn it. What I write is to be followed to the letter!” His eyes turn red under enormous pressure created by his anger.
A dreary thought just occurred to me as the unknown actors he worked with were found months later, with the exact wounds as in the film. But the police never caught the “Prophecy” killer and deemed it as a fan of the movie going psycho. But it can’t be. He would have had a crew, they would know.
“You… you actually killed them for real in your movie?” I hesitated for just a minute as the shivers ran down my spine. “Are you insane? And you want … you… me.. you want me to kill them?”
His face is that of a clown smiling, the eyes sparkle with bliss. “I told you I am the prophet, people die when I tell them to die. Nobody would miss a drunk or little Miss Know It All who cannot act. Those from my first movie “The Prophecy” didn’t know. They all thought it was part of a show. They all gladly picked up a poke and smashed a head. Ha, ha!! They murdered each other without hesitation. My will…, will be done!” A knife is pulled from behind his back and he rotates it in the light. “I am doing all this for Isabel, my star. A rising star and if you cannot do as told I will do it for…”
Rene tackled him right before my eyes. With my heart beating in my throat I watch the whole scene unfold. The knife flying into the wall after the knock of this giant. With all his strength and weight he holds down the writer who is yelling and screaming in a rude language. Me and the technician sigh in relief.
As the actors heard all the commotion through the speaker they came running.
“I did it all for you Isabel, the queen of real filming. Not the fake they would like to show. You are my muse covered in blood…” His face I pushed into the floor again making him unable to speak anymore. As we waited for the Police, I explained to Isabel what he had done. Not a moment later her stomach was emptied above the toilet, knowing she killed for real. It was the last day any of us ever worked for a movie company again. Our minds have been broken, shattered dream state of reality.
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