Writings
delicate emotions
horros / thrillers
nursery rhymes / narrative poems
- The Scholar
- Interlude I
- The Boy
- Interlude II
- The Aristocrat
- Interlude III
- The Exorcist
- Epilogue
Dramaturgy / PLAYWRIGHTing
delicate emotions
horros / thrillers
nursery rhymes / narrative poems
Dramaturgy / PLAYWRIGHTing
A MOMENT OF RESPITE
A MOMENT OF RESPITE
11/10/2019
Word count: 814
Approximate reading time: 3-4 minutes
Word count: 814
Approximate reading time: 3-4 minutes
The city shrouded in the dead of night, Brady and Dan wearily returned to their hotel room. The weight of the waned adrenaline was etched across their fatigued faces. Dan tossed his duffel bag onto one of the twin beds, its contents spilling out all over the place. Then he moved to secure the window and draw the curtains. The room's ambient lighting dimmed, leaving behind a comforting darkness.
Meanwhile, Brady settled into a well-worn oak chair, removing his hat with a heavy sigh. While Dan peeked through the curtain's crease, Brady, his eyes still bloodshot, produced a crumpled piece of paper from his shirt pocket. It was an old photograph. From the look of it, it had been folded and unfolded for at least hundreds of times.
"We didn't use our real names with the receptionist," Brady whispered, a note of concern in his voice. "So, we should be safe for tonight."
Dan, still gazing through a thin slit in the curtain, replied in a hushed tone, "You think so? Unless there's an cop out there showing our pictures."
Unfolding the crumpled photograph, Brady revealed a faded image of a young lady in a white floral dress, her smile frozen in time. The background hinted at a train station, though the details had long faded away. He studied the photograph intently.
Ignoring the heavy silence, Brady suggested, "Let's turn on the radio and see if they're talking about us."
The radio crackled briefly, a moment of cosmic interference, and then classical music flowed from the speakers. As the melodies filled the room, Dan meticulously stacked the stolen cash and set it aside. A solitary revolver remained in the bag; he retrieved it and laid it on the bed next to a bottle of whiskey.
While Dan attended to their spoils, Brady began to roll a joint. From the desk drawer, he grabbed a box of matches, his hands moving with a practiced ease. In the dimly lit room, a haze of smoke started to swirl around him.
Simultaneously, Dan unscrewed the bottle cap and poured himself a glass, the liquid’s amber glow casting long shadows in the room. The classical music played on, creating a strangely tranquil backdrop to their chaotic existence.
"At least we got away clean. No bullet holes," Brady spoke, breaking the silence.
Dan examined the cash piles. "It's funny. With this money, we could change our whole lives and more. And the bankers won't even miss it." His eyes fell upon a Bible resting on the nightstand. He picked it up with a bemused expression. "Well, at least if we get bored tonight, we could have some light reading to kill the time," he commented with a wry smile. "I don't get why they put Bibles in these shagging rooms. They're more likely to end up with nothing but blood and cum stains." He set the Bible aside, the leather cover making a soft thud against the wooden surface.
Brady gave no response. He was looking at the photo again. The young lady in the white floral dress was carrying a handbag with her right hand. She smiled at the camera. The background seems to be a train station.
"Man, you're still looking at that picture of your girl?"
Brady's voice grew distant. "It's none of your business. You keep on counting them money."
The smirk disappeared from Dan’s face as his voice grew serious. "You need to put that picture away. It ain't doing you any good. Sherry is never gonna be with you. Now that you're a known Outlaw."
"Like a said. None of your business."
The music stopped abruptly.
"Breaking news on Brady Davies and Dan Collins," the radio blared, catching their attention. "They were last seen fleeing the scene of their latest crime at South Main and heading west. They are armed and dangerous. Police are warning citizens not to approach them if they spot them..."
Dan chuckled at the announcement. "Armed and dangerous they said, did you hear that?"
Brady, however, couldn't laugh. "We're never getting out of this life," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes wearily.
"They better kill me first," Dan said, reaching for the revolver in the duffel bag, “Well, they’re gonna have to with me.”
"They're coming," Brady whispered, and they exchanged a heavy, knowing look.
As the room fell into complete silence for thirty seconds, Brady finally broke it. "I have to say goodbye to Sherry. I'm going to call her."
"No, you can't be serious," Dan protested, moving the rotary dial closer to him.
Brady's resolve remained unshaken. "You know I'm serious. I want to hear her say she loves me. I know she does."
Dan knew Brady was right, Sherry loved Brady too much to do anything that would hurt him, yet, hearing the faith and passion in Brady’s voice, Dan couldn’t help but wanting to deny it.
"Nah, it wouldn't be that romantic. You call her; the police would surround her before you hang up the phone."
"She'd never turn me in," Brady argued. "I'm sorry, but I gotta do what I gotta do." Brady stated with such determination, standing up and taking a step toward the phone.
"The hell you don't!" Dan exclaimed, jumping up to corner Brady against the wall. "What are you doing? You want to get yourself killed so badly, eh?"
Brady looked at Dan, his eyes glistening with tears, his voice breaking as he confessed, "Maybe I do. Daniel, maybe I don't want to live like this."
Dan was stunned. He had never seen Brady broken down so bare like this before. He didn't know how to dissuade his partner in crime from making the call, or if he should even try. He didn’t know what to do, so he held him close and wrapped his arms around Brady, giving him a silent yet comforting embrace.
He didn’t even know what to say, either. So he mustered, "You're having a nightmare, that's all."
It was late at night, and the city was shrouded in the dead of night. Dan and Brady clung to one another, their breaths labored and heavy. Despite the looming danger and despair, they managed to find solace in each other’s arms. The classical music played on in the background, a melancholic soundtrack to their brief moment of respite.
Meanwhile, Brady settled into a well-worn oak chair, removing his hat with a heavy sigh. While Dan peeked through the curtain's crease, Brady, his eyes still bloodshot, produced a crumpled piece of paper from his shirt pocket. It was an old photograph. From the look of it, it had been folded and unfolded for at least hundreds of times.
"We didn't use our real names with the receptionist," Brady whispered, a note of concern in his voice. "So, we should be safe for tonight."
Dan, still gazing through a thin slit in the curtain, replied in a hushed tone, "You think so? Unless there's an cop out there showing our pictures."
Unfolding the crumpled photograph, Brady revealed a faded image of a young lady in a white floral dress, her smile frozen in time. The background hinted at a train station, though the details had long faded away. He studied the photograph intently.
Ignoring the heavy silence, Brady suggested, "Let's turn on the radio and see if they're talking about us."
The radio crackled briefly, a moment of cosmic interference, and then classical music flowed from the speakers. As the melodies filled the room, Dan meticulously stacked the stolen cash and set it aside. A solitary revolver remained in the bag; he retrieved it and laid it on the bed next to a bottle of whiskey.
While Dan attended to their spoils, Brady began to roll a joint. From the desk drawer, he grabbed a box of matches, his hands moving with a practiced ease. In the dimly lit room, a haze of smoke started to swirl around him.
Simultaneously, Dan unscrewed the bottle cap and poured himself a glass, the liquid’s amber glow casting long shadows in the room. The classical music played on, creating a strangely tranquil backdrop to their chaotic existence.
"At least we got away clean. No bullet holes," Brady spoke, breaking the silence.
Dan examined the cash piles. "It's funny. With this money, we could change our whole lives and more. And the bankers won't even miss it." His eyes fell upon a Bible resting on the nightstand. He picked it up with a bemused expression. "Well, at least if we get bored tonight, we could have some light reading to kill the time," he commented with a wry smile. "I don't get why they put Bibles in these shagging rooms. They're more likely to end up with nothing but blood and cum stains." He set the Bible aside, the leather cover making a soft thud against the wooden surface.
Brady gave no response. He was looking at the photo again. The young lady in the white floral dress was carrying a handbag with her right hand. She smiled at the camera. The background seems to be a train station.
"Man, you're still looking at that picture of your girl?"
Brady's voice grew distant. "It's none of your business. You keep on counting them money."
The smirk disappeared from Dan’s face as his voice grew serious. "You need to put that picture away. It ain't doing you any good. Sherry is never gonna be with you. Now that you're a known Outlaw."
"Like a said. None of your business."
The music stopped abruptly.
"Breaking news on Brady Davies and Dan Collins," the radio blared, catching their attention. "They were last seen fleeing the scene of their latest crime at South Main and heading west. They are armed and dangerous. Police are warning citizens not to approach them if they spot them..."
Dan chuckled at the announcement. "Armed and dangerous they said, did you hear that?"
Brady, however, couldn't laugh. "We're never getting out of this life," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes wearily.
"They better kill me first," Dan said, reaching for the revolver in the duffel bag, “Well, they’re gonna have to with me.”
"They're coming," Brady whispered, and they exchanged a heavy, knowing look.
As the room fell into complete silence for thirty seconds, Brady finally broke it. "I have to say goodbye to Sherry. I'm going to call her."
"No, you can't be serious," Dan protested, moving the rotary dial closer to him.
Brady's resolve remained unshaken. "You know I'm serious. I want to hear her say she loves me. I know she does."
Dan knew Brady was right, Sherry loved Brady too much to do anything that would hurt him, yet, hearing the faith and passion in Brady’s voice, Dan couldn’t help but wanting to deny it.
"Nah, it wouldn't be that romantic. You call her; the police would surround her before you hang up the phone."
"She'd never turn me in," Brady argued. "I'm sorry, but I gotta do what I gotta do." Brady stated with such determination, standing up and taking a step toward the phone.
"The hell you don't!" Dan exclaimed, jumping up to corner Brady against the wall. "What are you doing? You want to get yourself killed so badly, eh?"
Brady looked at Dan, his eyes glistening with tears, his voice breaking as he confessed, "Maybe I do. Daniel, maybe I don't want to live like this."
Dan was stunned. He had never seen Brady broken down so bare like this before. He didn't know how to dissuade his partner in crime from making the call, or if he should even try. He didn’t know what to do, so he held him close and wrapped his arms around Brady, giving him a silent yet comforting embrace.
He didn’t even know what to say, either. So he mustered, "You're having a nightmare, that's all."
It was late at night, and the city was shrouded in the dead of night. Dan and Brady clung to one another, their breaths labored and heavy. Despite the looming danger and despair, they managed to find solace in each other’s arms. The classical music played on in the background, a melancholic soundtrack to their brief moment of respite.