Storytellersunplugged

Hi everyone. It’s great to be here, but as I’m suffering a little from stage fright, I’ve decided to hide behind a couple of my characters on this, my first post.

Enjoy!

She pursed arterial red lips and tapped the cleft below her nose gently with an onyx index nail.

“Characterization is a chameleon act in the world of fiction. But is not merely the changing of one’s skin. It has much more in common with lycanthropy: a complete transformation of self, from man to doggy, civil to savage, beauty to beast.”

Adam licked his canines to see if they had grown points. “We’re talking werewolves? Howling at the moon, man-eating horror movies on four paws?”

“They are an apt metaphor, although I am not suggesting you shall be sprouting those canines any time soon. Nor will baying at the full moon necessarily be a requisite.”

“Then it’s just like putting on a mask, acting like you are something else for a while.”

“Not acting, darling. Believing. It requires putting your identity in the blender, pureeing it to a creamy consistency, and pouring it into a mould of your choosing. Acting is mere demonstration. You can smell the pretence on an actor. You can taste their bitter mimicry at the back of your tongue. You can feel the breeze of false whispers against your skin.”

The mention of skin caused a rapid descent in his line of sight. “Okay, I think I get it,” he said, desperately trying to look her in the eye, rather than in her artfully presented cleavage. “It’s about becoming at one with the character. If I forget I’m me for awhile, if I believe I’m a character, then someone else will believe that character too.”

“Quite.” She smiled as she took a sip of her wine. There was the faintest, tiniest scream, as if the wine were blood being extracted drop by drop from a distant, unseen victim. “And that’s when the Fiction Engine can begin its work on you. It’s easier for us fictionals, us characters. I am the Wicked Witch – always have been, always will be. An archetype with a one hundred percent proof sense of self. But you…“ she levelled a midnight talon at his face, “…human types are never completely sure of anything. There’s always a doubt, a crack in your belief, and therefore, a chance for transformation.”

“I think therefore I am?”

In answer, the Wicked Witch placed a deck of cards on the table. “Pick out the ace of spades. You are permitted one movement only.”

His mouth went dry and his teeth felt one size too big. He tried to hold the image of the Ace of Spades in his mind, rotating it slowly. The back of the card was a red and white checkers board. He placed a shaking hand on the deck and thought of the movie “Maverick”, thought of Mel Gibson willing an ace into existence. One ace equals one million dollars. Couldn’t be simpler.

The edges of the cards dug into his fingerprints. He split the deck. The cards were heavy sheets of gold. He opened his eyes and looked at the upturned card.

Two of clubs.

He pressed the card back down onto the deck and curled his lips in disappointment. “Bugger.”

The witch chuckled. “Not so easy, is it?”

“No.” He folded his arms, building a little flesh and bone wall between him and defeat.

“Mistakes are the best teachers with the loudest voices, but so often we ignore them or wish they would simply shut up!” She slammed her palm down onto the table. Adam jumped as thunder rumbled about his head.

He placed his own hands on the table, dropping his defences. “Where did I go wrong?”

“You tell me.”

He’d tried to will the card into his hand. But why would the ace of spades suddenly be there? By luck? No. There was no luck in gambling. So how could a gambler be so certain that an ace of spades would come to his hand?

Realisation slapped him in the squishy forebrain, sending it a-quiver. “Because I put it there myself. I manipulated the deck. I bribed the waitress to drop a tray of glasses so that I could use the resulting split second of distraction to slip a spare Ace of Spades into the deck, just where I wanted it.”

He split the deck once more and flourished the Ace of Spades at the now smiling witch.

“Bravo.” Her smile turned seductive. “Would you like your reward?”

“Yes, please.”

“Remember, I’m not real.”

“Then I’ll just have to believe you.”