Destiny and Internal Monologue

buttonsThe man sits alone behind the rock, his camera jammed tight to his eye. He breathes quietly, ignoring the cramp in his left foot. The baby deer in his viewfinder stumbles a little closer and he steadies his already shaking hand. His pale blonde hair falls in his face, distracting him for a second. He shifts his camera and brushes his hair out of his face. He grins as he remembers the ridiculous amount of money he’s being payed to film this deer. “It’ll be the nature documentary of the century” his boss had said to him, back in their London office, “It’ll be bigger than David Attenbourough, more exciting than…than any other nature documentary.” And then he had sent George off to film deer in Wales.

Wales, George thought happily, had to be the easiest assignment he had ever gotten. He began to relax, reaching into his pocket for a granola bar. He settled into a more comfortable position and began eating, the deer didn’t seem to be going anytime soon. He kept the camera focused on the deer, it had settled down too and was watching a bush closely, as if it might be jumped any minute.

The deer itself was very content, it had no idea it was being filmed for the nature documentary of the year. It lay quietly in the grass, munching whatever it was he was supposed to munch and thinking about whatever it was deer were supposed to think about. It was eyeing the bush suspiciously but this not unusual for deer.

The bush itself sat quietly, wishing that George would leave so he could get up and start his day. He was a very important bush, known to his people as Grimbenthorne the Bush. He was leader of the Bush tribe and had meetings to attend and lesser bushes to boss around. Grimbenthorne rustled his leaves impatiently, he was rapidly becoming annoyed at the human who sat there filming a deer with a camera. He knew why George was here, he had heard him muttering to himself earlier. Nature documentary of the century, Grimbenthorne thought scathingly, more like the most boring thing in the history of infinity. He had no idea who would want to watch a deer sitting around, this one wasn’t even doing anything interesting. He wondered vaguely what would happen if he suddenly revealed himself to George, told him the truth about the Bush Tribe of Wales and the living bushes of England. That would be the nature documentary of the century, he thought.

George was getting bored, the deer wasn’t moving and he was still supposed to get another 2 hours of footage. He started to wish he’d gotten the African assignment, Paul was probably filming a wildebeest being eaten by a buffalo or an alligator fight, something more exciting that this. He was filming a deer watching a bush. He wished there was more tension in his life, some major event that would move him forward. He sighed and leaned back against the rock.

Grimbenthorne the Bush suddenly decided that he had had enough waiting around for this peasant to leave. He stood up, as much as a bush could stand up and walked away, deciding it would be best to not look back and to act as though this was a perfectly usual thing for a bush to do. The deer, who was becoming quite used to the bush doing this by now, gave a small start but continued eating grass.

George stared at the bush, which had started doing a weird shuffle away. He grabbed his camera and ran towards, yelling, for a lack of anything better to say, “Excuse me! Where are you going? You can’t just do that.” Grimbenthorne turned to George and said “I’ll have you know I can do whatever I want peasant!” George did not speak the language of the bushes and he merely stared at the bush as it spun around and rustled at him. He kept his camera on the bush, slowly realizing that this actually could be the nature documentary of the century. He had discovered some new life form, a bush that moved and rustled, not the most exciting creature to appear on film certainly but it was new and that was all people watching these films wanted to see. He wondered if he could persuade the bush to eat a penguin or something, people loved those kind of things.

George suddenly stopped, the camera that had been filming the bush slowly lowering to his side. Was this the right choice to make, he thought, was it wise to reveal a living bush to the world? Would it be like that film where the things were revealed and then bad things happened? George paused in his internal questioning to criticize his lack of knowledge about animal films. Perhaps it was Free Willy or Bambi, he wasn’t really sure. Moving back to his brain he continued to question himself, full of self doubts. Maybe, he reasoned, it was destiny, maybe he was in the right place at the right time and he was supposed to be filming this bush. Reaching an important internal decision he threw the camera down aggressively, destroying the footage of a living bush forever. With one last sweeping glance at the clearing he turned his back on the clearing and strode away. The deer opened one eye lazily and watched him go before falling back asleep.

If anyone had seen what he had done and the choice he had made they would have thought of George as a good human, but they hadn’t so in the eyes of the rest of the world he was merely a poor film-maker who had dropped a rather expensive camera.

Jacob and the Butterfly – DP Challenge

For the WordPress Creative Writing Challenge. Challenge was to “Tell us the tale of a human-animal transformation” and I once again demonstrated my ability to read things too fast and ignore important parts of the directions.

ButteryFlies(via)

The sun rose, a pale orb that grew softly, heating the small valley. Birds began singing, flowers spread their petals, deer shook the dew off their skin and the whole world felt like a sickly sweet Disney film.

Jacob stretched his legs, his back sore after sleeping on the ground and looked out at the valley. He hunted around in his sack for a piece of meat and waited for his father to wake up. The sound of his rhythmic chewing eventually woke his father up, Jacob Senior stretched out, used to sleeping on the ground from his many months spent hunting.

Jacob and his father slowly packed their bags and began the hike back out of the valley, pausing along to bond in a father and son type of way. Jacob’s father pointed out animal tracks and different types of plants, teaching his son about his trade. Jacob stopped and pointed out a caterpillar, sitting on a branch.

“Father what’s this?” Jacob asked.
Jacob Senior paused – he’d seen many animals while out on his hunt but he had never seen this before. The caterpillar was slowly wrapping itself in a cocoon, silk strands going around and around its body.
“I’m not sure what it is Jacob, let us wait and find out”

They sat down in front of the branch and waited, waiting to see what this mysterious creature was doing. The sun continued to rise in the valley, burning the dew off of leaves and stirring the animals. Still Jacob and his father sat, watching the little animal wrap itself up. By the end of the day it was completely covered in a cocoon and the sun was setting. Jacob wrapped himself in his furs and shivered – he didn’t dare to ask his father any more questions and thought it would be better to wait and see what happened. So they waited and waited, for three long days they stared at the cocoon, not sleeping or eating, just watching the little bug to see what would happen.

Finally, on the third day it moved, just a little bit, and they both edged closer, intent on the tiny little animal. The cocoon slowly broke to reveal a butterfly, its red wings glowing in the late evening, it was a pure thing, completely innocent and new to this world and it seemed to radiate in the valley. Its soft, sticky new wings flapped back and forth gently, trying to dry themselves in the remaining heat from the sun.

“My god” breathed Jacob Senior “It is a were-animal, transforming from a caterpillar to this demonic flying creature. Stand back my son! I must kill it before it infects this valley with its hellish soul!”

Jacob Senior stood back, drawing his knife. He raised it over his head and in one swift movement stabbed it into the butterfly, ending the life of what he believed to be a were-animal from the depths of hell.

A demonstration of plot, dialouge, and conflict.

Rawr

A man walked into a bar, sat down, and ordered a beer. The bartender came up to him and said, “Sorry sir, but we have no beer.”

“Are you sure?” asked the man, who’s name was Jack.

“Yes quite,” replied the bartender, who’s mother had had the foresight to name Bartender.

“Well,” said Jack, “that is quite the conflict. A sort of man versus natural depletion of resources thing, huh?”

“I suppose so,” said Bartender, “but there is plenty of wine, would you care for some of that?”

“No,” replied Jack, “in order to fulfill my quest that arose from the conflict of you being out of beer I must hold fast to my desiring of a beer. Please good sir, do not detain my search and let me venture into your backroom!”

“Ah! A quest,” exclaimed Bartender, “let me accompany you young man! I posses much knowledge of the treacherous realms in the backroom and would not hesitate to lead you down the correct path.” And so it was that Jack the man and Bartender the bartender set out upon a quest to find a beer in the backroom. “Ohmygoodness!” exclaimed Jack, “This is a large storage room, where would a case of beer ever be?”

“I do not know, mayhaps by the beer aisle.” said Bartender.

“Oh,” said Jack thoughtfully, “I don’t suppose you would know where to find this aisle of beer?”

“Well…no.” said Bartender.

“Surely this is the climax of our troubles,” said Jack.

Jack and Bartender wandered for a while, their quest pressing on their minds. At length they came upon a aisle marked ‘Beer’.

“Oho!” Exclaimed Jack and Bartender, at the same moment. But, upon entrance of the beer aisle they happened on a large beast, too horrible to be described by any words known to man. “Who be it that dares to enter my aisle!” the beast screeched, his voice like a cheese grater on a chalkboard.

“Well…it’s Jack and Bartender,” said Jack, his own voice rather feeble in comparison.

“Any wishing to pass me must get past my test!” said the beast.

“What sort of test?” inquired Jack.

“A test of bravery and courage!” screamed the beast, his horrible eyes glinting.

Jack and Bartender quivered, their minds awash with thoughts of what the test could be. The beast sat in silence.

“Well,” said Jack, “what is this test then?”

The beast continued to sit on the floor, prolonging the anticipation of Jack and Bartender.

“Look, will you give us this test or not?” asked Bartender.

The beast continued to ignore the two. The tension that was building in the room grew and grew. The beast’s indescribable eyes slowly opened and glared at Jack, giving him a look that could melt steel.

“Actually,” said the beast, “I’ve decided that you’ve had quite enough conflict, tension and anticipation in your tale so far and you may pass right now for the small fee of twelve dollars.”

“Well that seems reasonable.” said Bartender, handing over ten dollars and a toonie.

Bartender and Jack continued forth, past the beast of hideousness, deep into the aisle of beer where Jack discovered a dusty case of beer.

And so it was that Jack and the Bartender found a beer, fulfilling their quest and ending the conflict that had arisen so very long ago.