The panic that set in was quick and temporary. There was only so much worrying one could do about other things when you had a throbbing headache. It felt as if someone had pulled my brain out of my skull and was repeatedly smacking it against the ground.
Some medicines and water later. I found myself sitting in front of my desktop set-up. The pain had subsided a little, making it barely bearable.
“First Draft… when did I even enroll?”
I tried to nudge my memory, to remember all that went down last night. For some reason, all I remembered was getting off the train at a station that I couldn’t be sure was mine. Nothing else.
“What do I do now…?”
With no other choice, I dragged myself to my personal computer and took a seat. The First Draft application was already open, and on my browser were the instructions for the script.
It was supposed to be a short film competition, not a feature-length one. That was a relief.
“What is today’s date…” The ribbon at the bottom clearly displayed the date. 29th August it read.
August.
29th.
That was the day today.
That was also the deadline for submission.
I didn’t scream or get surprised, nor did I complain about a stupid competition that accepted applicants all the way to the date of the deadline, instead I simply buried my face in my palms and chuckled.
“Not even surprising anymore… Anything goes after you black out, I guess.”
Anything goes indeed.
The first thing I did was check my ‘writing’ folder which was hidden deeper than a teenager would hide their ‘homework’ folder on my PC. But, as expected, it was empty aside from 3-4 files that had nothing more than their names.
I had given up. The most I could make myself do was write the title and hope a little, not actually take action.
I sighed and slapped my cheeks.
“Since I am already in this position, let’s give it a shot.”
What use was lamenting over spilled milk? A strange sense of motivation filled me. Even if I couldn’t finish a screenplay on time, I would have tried.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Till the last moment, one could write at least one more word. There was no reason one had to give up simply because the mountain they faced was far too tall to scale. One could begin.
I switched over to First Draft and opened a new project file. Before I could type in the name, my hands froze.
It was unlike every time before—when I couldn’t write because of fear or hesitation—this time, it was because it didn’t feel right.
Almost instinctively, I fetched a bunch of papers and a pencil, being a lawyer meant I had to print a lot of stuff anyway, so paper was never short.
“It doesn’t feel right…” The desk space was cluttered with law books, my laptop, stationary, cards of god-knows how many clients from when, a whole bunch of stuff.
I moved it away. The laptop and fragile stuff went on the bed and I slid everything else off the desk, almost like in the movies.
There was just the paper, the pencil, and I left. That was enough.
The pencil’s tip hovered over the center of the page. The title page.
Dozens of images flooded my head. Not a single, streamlined though, but dozens of them all at once. It was a sensation that was numbing and freeing at the same time. I was unaware of the words that I planned to write, but all of it was engraved in my mind and soul.
The pencil touched the page.
A clack sounded as the sharp tip of the graphite roughly broke, and the stroke of the pencil followed.
At that moment.
The world turned black.
—-
Edward saw the stars. A scene that he had seen not that long ago. The subway station, his memories were momentarily flooded with remembrance of the station in the middle of nowhere.
It was only a moment because that was all the time he could afford to be in his thoughts. Since he had returned.
“Where is this… What…”
The purples and pinks amid the unending black stretch of the universe were in front of him once again. His feet were on the old station once again.
Instinctively, Edward’s eyes turned to the side. On the small LED board hanging from the ceiling, a complete contrast to the antique feeling of the station, he could see clear words.
Steam rose from the distance as a train rolled up in space, a trackless train that spurred through the universe.
[To: Under the Neon Skies]
The steam train whirred to a slow stop in front of him and the doors to the first and only compartment swung open.
A few more words were written on the compartment, again a mention of the destination, and below it were more details.
[Type: Short-Film]
[Rank: A+ Tier]
“Do I… get in?”
Hesitant, Edward slowly took a step forward. His hand curled around the iron bar timidly as he placed his foot on the train.
A slow hiss rang and steam filled his vision again. The train was preparing to set off. As soon as Edward got inside, the doors shut on their own.
The train looked rather luxurious. Red velvet cloth covered the plush, luxurious seats while wooden floorboards and walls, reminiscent of Victorian interiors, adorned the train. He took the third seat from the front on the left end, a decision that was as certain as it was inconsequential.
Edward couldn’t help but feel a sense of disharmony in his body, he was moving through the world at a pace that wasn’t his usual one. As if his body was guiding him through every movement before he could process it.
Soon, the train kicked into gear. The acceleration gently pushed him back against his seat. Edward looked to the side from his window and could see the vast universe again.
Stars spread around like distant grains of sands, large nebulae and supernovae filled his sight as if they were marbles a kid would play with. The train picked up speed, rapidly going at a faster pace.
The acceleration pushing him back increased. It kept on increasing. Before he could notice, the stars and the nebulae around started to blur from the sheer speed of the train. White lines filled the window as the train zapped through the expansive space.
The force on his entire body was almost crushing. Edward forced his eyes closed again, the last thing he could hear was an announcement.
“Now arriving at our destination.”
—
Click opened the door of the taxi. The driver glanced into the rear-view mirror.
An intimidating blonde man in a suit took a seat at the back and sighed. He pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his coat pockets, the bottom of a pistol peered through his pocket, and the man waved his hands at the taxi driver.
“Washington Heights, 181.”
The taxi driver gently adjusted the rear-view mirror and nodded. His weary eyes fell on his customer for a short moment before turning back to the streets ahead.
The year was 1994.
His work had just started in the dead of the night, the time when the city of New York was truly awake.