21 December 2012
Rick stared at me from the half-filled page, incredulous.
"You're going to make me do that?" he asked. "Yep." "You can't..." "And why not?" "Cause I never killed anyone," Rick sighed. "I can't kill. Especially not with bare hands." "Would you be more comfortable with a knife?" There was panic in his eyes. "I can't..." his voice trailed off. "C'mon, a knife? The butcher's kind - big and wide, pointy and sharp, so you can slice and stab quickly. There'll be a lot of blood, mind you," I was having fun. Rick wasn't. "Where do your savage manipulations stop?" he asked. I grinned. "Last time you made me run. A marathon, of all things! I almost died," his voice was getting higher in pitch. "You didn't 'almost die', you were a bit sick at the end, that's all. It happens to others too. You also had fun, at least at the beginning, and you met that gorgeous blonde whose ass hadn't left your mind even while you were 'almost dying'." "She was gone at the end." "But she gave you her phone number..." "...which I was too sick to memorize," Rick whined. "You do hold the grudge for a long time," I said. "You have sick imagination. Why can't I do something mundane?" "Because mundane is bo-ring!"
We stared at each other in silence. Finally, Rick spoke: "I am not killing anyone, knife or no-knife!" "Oh, yes you are!" "Why are you doing this?" "Because I can. And because I need it for the story." "You are not the Almighty, you know," he said, kicking a pebble in frustration with a tip of his shoe.
"Actually, I am," I said, and just to prove it, I snatched the pebble from him:
..."You are not the Almighty, you know," he said, kicking the air awkwardly with a tip of his shoe...
Rick shoved hands deep into his pockets. His shoulders slumped and a frown cut a deep line in his forehead, right above the bridge of his nose.
"When we started this, it was going to be drama," Rick spoke slowly. "You never mentioned a murder." "Look, drama is dull. People want action. And, killing IS action. I can turn you into a vampire if you like, I know a lot of young readers would love that!"
He shuddered. "God, no vampires." He locked his eyes on mine - "What happened to the intimate relationship between a writer and his main character?"
I stared at him. Intimate relationship? Really? "Demagogy doesn't work on me, Rick. Remember, I hold the pen!"
He bowed his head staring at his shoes. Minutes passed. He was a picture of dejection. I wasn't certain if that's just a pose, or he really was resigned to whatever I have planned for him.
Finally, slowly, he raised his eyes, but stopped just short of meeting mine. "Will I die?" he asked. "I don't know yet," I said honestly. His eyes filled with pain and fear. "See, if you were a vampire..." I smiled. "Oh, to hell with you, where's the knife?"
I pressed the Enter key twice to start a new paragraph: ...as the footsteps approached, Rick looked around the kitchen. His eyes fell on the knife block on the counter. There was no time to think; he pulled the knife from the top slit in the block - a big butcher's knife...
Deep in the subconscious layer of my mind Rick muttered: "why the hell can't he write a comedy? Or erotica!"
*** ©2012 Marino Bosco. All rights reserved.
Rick from the page • Opuss № I