“If I ever see you writing again, you won’t be allowed to step foot in this house.”
Perhaps those words from my father were what changed the trajectory of my life.
I feel pathetic, thinking of such things while sitting alone in the subway. My head on the glass pane as I fiddled with the pack of cigarettes in my pocket. Empty.
The dim lights overhead mingled with the stench that could only be described as the ‘smell of the subway,’ to form my familiar little cage.
A cage called routine.
Wake up. Brush. Bath. Go to my shitty job at the law firm. Return. Bath again. Drink a beer. Head to sleep. Fucking life.
But then again, it was my choice to not write more. Maybe I am the one to blame.
[Next Stop - Ruberry Boulevard]
“Haah.”
I sighed and pushed myself off the seat. The metal floorboard clanked as I walked over to the doors.
Lights overhead flashed on and off.
“How rare is it to make money as a script writer anyway?”
There was no one else in the carriage. It was fine to talk to myself.
“I did well. Becoming a lawyer…”
The subway passed underneath tunnels. The flashing of yellow and white lights through the glass panes made my mind buzz.
Would it feel like this? If I was a star writer who made blockbusters? These broken subway lights would have been replaced by flashes of reporters, and the clacks of the train would have been replaced by the chatter of fans. How nice it would be.
[Next Stop - R?berry Boulev?rd]
Images flashed in my head. The time I was at my desk, up late in the night, sneaking glances at the door while writing.
[Next Stop - R??ber?? B?ulev?r?]
The time I said I’d become a lawyer, clenching my fists and biting down the words. That I wanted to write, to make stories that people all over the world could see.
[Next Stop - R???er?? B??l???r?]
The time I picked up my first cigarette. Watching the campus, atop the roof of our dormitories. Late in the night, when I would usually hide and write.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
With my friends, I decided to say ‘fuck it’ to the thing that carried me ahead as I took the drag.
Ah… What a fool I was.
[Next Stop - R?????? B????????]
The time a girl rejected me and I laughed, that time I really wanted to write, but didn’t.
[Next Stop - R?????? ?????????]
How the classes went past. Failing some, acing some. It felt like a never-ending vacation.
[Next Stop - ??????? ?????????]
The convocation. The passing. The time I grabbed my certificate and bit my lips. Thinking ‘Now at least I’ll forget about writing’
The interview. The hiring. The grilling as a new employee. The days I spent as a lawyer, slowly climbing up the corporate ladder. Still climbing up. Forever climbing up.
And yet.
Yet.
I couldn’t forget.
I couldn’t forget that time when I was young. When I was typing away with a smile, hiding my scripts from the world.
[Next Stop - ??????? ?????????]
My vision blurred.
I really… wanted to become a writer. That’s why I decided to end it today.
End it all. Try again. In another life.
[This Stop Is - ?????????????]
[Passengers are requested to alight carefully]
I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and slowly stepped ahead. Onto the purple platforms and the gray darkness of the subway station.
Huh?
Purple? Gray?
My head buzzed. I looked back and the train was gone. Instead of the tracks, all that remained was the wide dark space and thousands, thousands of stars in the distance.
I looked ahead again and saw the world that had completely changed.
High up in space, I could see the pale blue dot in the distance.
***
“HAAAH!”
A buzzing headache woke me up. I quickly tossed my blanket to the side and grabbed my forehead. Sweat made my clothes stick to my skin.
“Shit… what happened?”
A weird dream was all I remembered. I looked around. My suit was thrown around haphazardly in my small one-bedroom apartment. A few broken beer bottles were lying around.
I couldn’t even tell when I came home and when I made this mess.
“What the hell is the time?” My hand automatically went to the table clock on my side.
“Fuck! I am late!”
The alarm flew as I jumped off the bed and rushed to my clothes. Trousers, shirt, and tussled hair is fine. Bath can be skipped once, but I need to brush. Phone, phone, battery. Should I call a taxi instead of the subway?
I quickly unlocked my phone to call an Uber when my messages opened with my boss.
[Me: I quit. Settle my pay tomorrow.]
[Boss: You can’t quit without a one-month notice]
[Me: Fuck you.]
[Boss: What did you say?]
[Boss: How dare you? I will sue your ass! You will be destroyed in court]
[Boss: Hey, Edward! Reply, you bastard! Reply!]
[Boss: You know what? Don’t you dare show your face in the office again. We don’t need you. And forget your fucking pay]
“W-what is this…”
Have you ever felt your body move on your own? If not, try having this exact exchange with your boss. It felt as if the ground had disappeared from under my feet. My hands flew to my hair and yanked it as if to pull it out.
“When the hell did I do this!?”
I quickly went back and checked the other chats. I cursed out the manager who always bothered me, and also said nice farewells to people who treated me well.
Then I noticed another message. A confirmation message from a bot account. A series of two messages back to back.
[Thank you for registering in the First-Draft Screenplay Competition]
[The deadline for submitting your Screenplay is 29th August at 11:59 PM]
“Huh?”
Screenplay Competiton? First draft, which was the most popular script-writing software had a famous competition. And I submitted an application to join it?
Didn’t it have a large entrance fee?
I quickly checked my messages again and found a big transaction late in the night.
No job. And now a huge loss in my finances.
Somehow, in a single night, all I had left was a screen-writing competition.
“Fuck… what even happened!?”