Lacrimosa Pt. 3

In New York, nestled in the middle of a room smelling like old paper and bad coffee, a writer stared at the blinking vertical line in his computer. Before the line were words that didn’t make sense and after the line was nothing. Just space. Just goddamned space and oh dear fuck I have to— huh? Shit! A standard Motorola ring tone pierced through the silence.

“Yeah?” his voice was low and raspy. Like he had been drinking vodka for so long it finally pierced a hole through his throat.
“Hey man! How’s the novel doing? We’re all excited! You haven’t shown–”
“I’m BUSY. You want me to finish this? Stop calling in the middle of the fucking night!”
“John? It’s 2 in the afternoon” the voice at the other end of the line quivered. “Well, I’m just checkin’ up on ya buddy. We can’t launch a book without the pages!” his editor and good friend, Kyle, laughed nervously.

A beep and then silence. John placed his phone down and continued staring at the blinking line. A burst of inspiration. A new idea. A muse. That’s all he needed. John rummaged through his books and found a particular one he loved when he was a kid. He browsed through the pages, desperately searching for something that would click. Something that he can use. A phrase that can spark a plethora of ideas. Anything goddammit!

But there was nothing.

Patty Cake, Patty Cake,
Baker’s Man;
That I will–

“Who’s there?” John turned in his seat in a quick, clumsy movement, knocking the tower of books on his desk off. The books went cascading down and then finally, settling on the floor. “S-SHOW YOURSELF!” John looked desperate and afraid. Mostly afraid. “Tsk.” the voice that replied belonged to a young girl. “Maybe you like the new version, then?” Her voice mellowed to a sing-songy hum. The sound slithered through the creases of his books and seeped through the dark gray walls of his room.

Mister John oh, Mister John, oh poor little man.
Write me a book as fast as you can~

—-

In an airplane heading to New York, Momo was sleeping beside her mother. Mrs. Yamamoto gently stroked her daughter’s hair and a deep sigh escaped her throat. When they get to New York, she’d be giving up the child she have taken care of for 5 years. Momo will be sent to her true parents. Mrs. Yamamoto sniffed and looked away. She knew that it was going to happen but she didn’t know it would be this soon.

Momo shifted in her sleep and murmured.

—-

Back in New York, John wanted to turn the lights on but he was too scared to stand up. The only light in the room came from his computer and it was an eerie white light. He’d actually feel much more comfortable if the computer was off but even then he can’t bring himself to move a muscle.

“Why are you so afraid? You’ve been looking for me!” the girl appeared from the darkness. She had chin-length hair.
“Looking– for you? You’re.. you’re a muse?” to which the girl nodded. John slumped back in his seat and felt his muscles relaxing. “Jeezus Christ! Those idiots at the Scriptwriting school didn’t mention that a muse was as REAL as this!” John started to laugh. It was the laugh of a man who was convinced that he was dreaming.
“Well then! Start writing!” Momo grinned and walked towards John. She stopped right behind him and peered through the computer. “Wow! That’s good! Tell me what happens next!”

And then the blinking vertical line moved forward. It spewed words, oh glorious words! John rammed through the keys in madman euphoria. All the characters danced around his head and gave him words of encouragement.

“Tsk. What is THAT?” Momo pointed towards a line that John just produced. “That doesn’t look very good. In fact, the whole thing doesn’t look good at all!” John bites his lip and deletes the line. Eventually, he deletes everything he has written and was back to the blinking vertical line and the vast expanse of white space after it. Momo smiles and pats John’s shoulder. “Go on then, write!”

—-

Momo wakes up. She grins at her mother and asked for her coloring book. Momo opened her book and observed the picture of a man with a pencil pierced through his heart. She giggled. And then the lines in the picture swerved and hopped and danced until finally it read:

A Demon Chorus
(a play written and directed by Mr. Lucy)

Venue: Lucille Lortel Theatre
121 Christopher Street
New York, NY 10014

Show starts at 6pm.