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Another Day Off My Sentence
i thought it'd be consoling to imagine, for a moment, that there is a Scriptwriter. and it's all their (PC correct gender pronoun) fault. i know how hard it is to coordinate one's characters; there's always a few that only get one line, or sometimes not even that - they appear, hold up a Stop sign at the intersection and get run over by the bank robbers fleeing the scene of the crime. like sitting in a bathtub full of ice cubes, a line from a Joe Haldeman poem nudges against me. count the sparrows. it's not my job; i don't have to make sure that each character gets enough lines to make them believe that being there at all was worthwhile. was it all worthwhile? even if you did get one or two cool lines in, some recognition, you saw some interesting scenery - if you had a choice, would you sneak into the Scriptwriter's office late at night and then add a few lines - 'he finished his afternoon class, caught the train to her place, where they had a fight and broke up. he went home, sank into depression, went to sleep and just didn't wake up the next day' - or 'he was walking home from the station and the guy in the four wheel drive just didn't see him; he went over the bonnet with only a few incipient bruises but landed badly, breaking his neck' - or 'he snuck into the Scriptwriter's office that night and tried to change things for the better, but he didn't have any idea of what was going on with the other characters and it went horribly wrong. now he's even more miserable than he was before.' |
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