Previously on the blog: I choose to take a leap of faith! …The following piece I wrote around 10 years ago. It’s taken me that long to “open the door” you’ll see what I mean at the end of the story. Thanks for reading 🙂
Did I ever tell you about that one time, when I saved world?
Well, it all started, so very innocently, with my sitting in this thing called a Correctional Facility. I’d been there for a while, I’d say. So long that I’d forgotten whether I was a prisoner or a guard. There really didn’t seem to be much difference between the two. Either way you’d show up, perform your requisite social function, which was to act as miserable as possible, while pretending that everything was just fine, that this is the way that things are meant to be, and that when tomorrow comes around maybe things might actually improve; although they never really did.
I’d been honing my acting skills for some time (I was so good that not one soul even had the slightest idea that a genuine thespian dwelled in their midst, so subtle and seductive where the techniques that I employed), and it was getting to the point now where I was just frothing, like a double-agent choking on cyanide pills, at the chance to really get into character and finally make my big break. All I needed at that point was a hint as to what my actual fucking role was in this place. Thus, I decided to open my eyes and search for clues.
I was definitely in a cell. There were bars, a cinder block wall, a non-functioning toilet, some slop on the ground that may have been food, excrement, vomit, or a mix of all three? I couldn’t be sure. Yes, this cosy little living space had all the paraphernalia that you might expect from a post-modern dungeon. I sat there wondering: If an actor gives a people’s-choice-award-nominee-worthy-performance and no one’s there to see it, has he completely wasted his time? Scarce resources like my burgeoning talent should not be so frivolously squandered. My adoring fan’s deserve somewhere to direct their unfailing adulation, so it would be selfish of me to stay in prison alone. I needed to get out. My inner-creative-child demanded it.
I stared at the keyhole of my prison door as if the sheer intensity of my gaze might pick open the lock and usher in a new era of freedom, prosperity and method acting. After about 5 minutes of this, I ascertained through observation that my whereabouts appeared to be pretty much the same as before, in fact, identical in every respect except for a cartoonishly large cockroach that had crawled on to the scene. It was twitching in a way that hinted at indecision, standing before the aforementioned slop on the ground.
I looked down at my new friend, perhaps hoping that his or her decision making process might serve as a catalyst, or at least inspiration, for solving my own dilemma. As my mind wandered, I imagined that this disgusting oversized creature was actually Gregor Samsa, who had accidentally ambled out of Franz Kafka’s nightmares and into mine. As if responding to my thoughts, just to add to the mise-en-scene, he decided that the mess on the floor was edible and as such, began to gorge himself.
I felt trapped. Life presented me no such luxuries, eating that shit was not an option for any self-respecting human. Oh to have the life of a cockroach, not even thermal nuclear war is a threat to these little pests. He didn’t have a care in the world.
I sat there still deep in thought, the idea of escape proliferating uncontrollably. Thankfully, before insanity took full hold, fate intervened and a tangentially related idea began to take shape.
“Alfred.” I decided to give my friend a name. “Would you like me to perform for you? You won’t be disappointed. I promise. I’m without a doubt the most spectacular actor, that you’ll ever see in a place like this.”
Finally, a captive audience to conjugate with my creative genius. It was perfect. I stood tall re-energised by the presence of this unlikely muse. Alfred looked up at me, turned and quickly scuttled away, out of the cell, out of my life. I slumped to the ground and remained there for a very long time.
When I later emerged from the brink of oblivion, something occurred to me, that I couldn’t quite believe at first. Alfred had casually escaped this cage, by simply doing what cockroaches do: walking around. I’m an actor, and actors act. Could I have gotten myself into this god forsaken situation by simply doing what actors do? Was I so transcendentally good that I had managed to fool even myself? Was this all an elaborate fiction? I walked up to the jail cell door. I was the key, I thought, and this has been unlocked the whole time, I told myself. I reached out almost certain that the door would slide open, but I had to know for sure.
The End