I finished typing the document on my computer. I watched tiredly as the printer spewed out the finished product in a matter of seconds. I never knew I had the capacity of writing a 2 hour movie script overnight. It's my new project: My World Ends with You, a tragic love story set in the middle ages. There will be horses, 3D dragons and intense liaisons all in one flick!
Fans have stormed my personal blog. The news has been raving about it positively. History experts have deemed me perfectly accurate. I have unknowingly based my story on the obscure life of Julius Caesar, the father of Augustus. Information about them is scarce. Surviving ancient text depict Julius as a 'stepping stone' while Augustus as the 'venerable successor'. However between the two, Augustus was the one who successfully united the east and west by marrying Emperor Nobunaga's son. With full access to the eastern powers, conquering became an easy game for her.
Other than that, all information about them had been destroyed… intentionally.
Likewise, Augustus' family tree only stated Julius as her biological father, nothing more. He cannot possible beget a child alone.
Months after I published my synopsis, historians and archaeologists have found a sensational find: a surviving biography buried within a layer of soot. Genealogical testing had identified two separate DNAs within the unidentified ashes. According to the papyrus the ashes were her parent's remains. The team of scientists exhumed Augustus' tomb to retrieve hair samples and further led a paternity test on the ashes.
It was a match! The biography, their biological explanations and my story matched eerily.
The historians were dumbfounded. How could I possibly know the tale?
Who knew a dream can cause so much hysteria?
I brushed my white hair and gave myself an imaginary pat on the back for a job well done. I'm one of the most successful film directors/writers in the twenty-first century. And to top it off, I am also a CEO of a multinational company, the Campbell Enterprises.
And no, I'm not Christian Grey. The name's Jaime Campbell.
I went down the stairs. My siblings were making a racket. Shirley was making breakfast today; she was wearing a retarded apron with a 'Sexy Chef' emboss. It was her turn to make the meals. The maid has taken a 2 month leave with acceptable excuses, her mother's acquaintance died. The last month her uncle's aunt's uncle's cousin's grandfather also died.
"Yo, yo, yo!" Shirley said in a stupid fashion. "Isn't it hot in here? Oh, wait. It's just me!"
The twins booed noisily. "Go die in a hole!" Nell yelled. "You suck bitch!" Bianchi added.
I was the one who raised my siblings. When I was seventeen, our parents died in a tragic helicopter accident. From then on I had to manage our business while studying multimedia arts and finance. I was hoping one of my siblings would help me manage the enterprise after they finished college; my hair couldn't get any whiter.
But on the second thought… never mind.
Shirley ran up to me and grabbed my script. "What's this?" She slipped through the pages. "How can you read this shit? There's no pictures?!"
"That's a screenplay, Shirley."
"Ughh… This script is cheesy shit." Shirley scrutinized. "Cheesy like my omelettes cookin' on Sunday morning."
"Yeah and this cheesy shit will buy your new Iphone and laptop." I murmured indistinctly.
"Cheesy shit?" She chuckled sheepishly while whipping her tangled blond hair back to keep the strands out of her blue eyes. "I mean cheesy, finger-lickin' good as a hundred wet fucks shit!"
"Give me a break." I took the script from her and placed it on my bag. I fished out some money and gave it to her. "Buy a pizza for dinner, I might come home late."
"Nah, big bro is as kind as ever." She laughed and kissed the thick wad of bills before stuffing it in her apron. "So who's the lucky babe you're going to bang tonight?"
"My, isn't your vocabulary colourful?" I laughed. "How old are you to begin with?"
"Sweet fourteen, ya sly sex machine!" She snorted proudly. "Say, would you like some grub?" Shirley asked while waving her spatula in the air.
I took a peek at the monstrosity sitting on our table. A sad imitation of an omelette greeted me, a perfect label of 'grub'. The word grub itself did not sound appetizing. Rather it sounds like a noun used to describe a green blob mutated by high doses of radiation. "Umm… there's a party on the set. I'll eat there instead." I replied wisely.
"My cooking ain't that bad!" my sister defended.
"This is 9% eggshell, 1% cheese and 90% crap." Bianchi stuck his tongue out in disgust.
"We want big brother to cook. " Nell said. "Not some worthless piece of shit masquerading as our sister."
"Hey!" Shirley snapped to our younger siblings. "Get me my tasting plate and fork!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the devil incarnates tucking five jalapenos in the omelette. "Don't eat that." I warned.
Shirley raised her eyebrow as she took the plate from the giggling twins. "Do you doubt my supremacy?!"
"Not exactly…" I placed my hand across my face. I knew what was going to happen next.
"Fuck then! I'm chowin'!" She took a large bite. Her face turned red like a ripe tomato. "Motherfucker I'm on fire!"
The gods, I swear I could see smoke emerging from her nose and ears. She gulped two cartons of milk in one sitting as the twins laughed their socks off.
Coyote was chasing the two Roadrunners again. I watched them fondly as they trashed my $300000 sofa and vandalized my Playboy magazines they unearthed under the cushions.
I just hope they won't find my other 'toys'.
"Hey look what I found!" Nell held a canister of chocolate flavoured lube. She squirted some of the slimy liquid in her mouth. "It tastes delicious!"
I'm blessed to have such a normal family.
I arrived to the set on time. Lights, camera, action. The place was bathed in countless fluorescent light banks, making the studio feel cinematic. Several paparazzi stalked my every move, asking me very personal questions while clicking their cameras. Their lenses follow you everywhere, literally. Hollywood was glamorous; still it comes with its disadvantages. Not all that glitters is gold.
A brunette reporter from Cosmopolitan stepped up with a microphone in his hand. "Can you tell us more about your barely visible love life?"
The other paparazzi clamoured noisily. It was the best question anybody dared to ask.
I smiled and waved at the camera. "Currently I'm single. I have siblings to raise and businesses to manage. But I'm not closing the doors to opportunity."
Soon interviewers from The New York Times, Reader's Digest, CNN, etc. asked questions nonstop. After satisfying their curiosity they shook hands and left. I received a text message, saying there were more reporters looking for me. I took heels trying to find a perfect hiding spot. It was futile; they even scout the bathrooms and restaurants.
I passed a dark corner. A hand grabbed my collar. A silver haired male with black highlights placed his hand on my mouth while placing an index finger on his lips, signalling me to hush.
A stampede of obsessive reporters passed by without noticing.
I drew a sharp breath as he removed his hand from my mouth. "Thanks Noel."
"Anytime mate." he said in a fake country accent.
My saviour/assailant is Noel O'Connor, the millennial megastar or the acknowledged god of acting. He was legendary. All the movies he starred were blockbusters. He's a good friend of mine.
He led me to a pink pastel room with a white sofa as its center. A slim, black-haired woman sat on the sofa. She was signing several posters and notebooks with her gold marker. She took a break and sipped some Arabian brew. "Would you like some coffee?" she offered in Cleopatra's sweet voice.
"Pour some for me, Pauline sweets." Noel sat beside her.
"No thanks." I rejected politely. "I had five cups this morning."
She was Pauline Jenna O'Connor, the highest paid actress in Hollywood. The cameras adore her; rather the spotlight was born for her. She was smooth and extraordinary whether her character was doing a romantic tango in Paris or assassinating a nation's president. Pauline also did humanitarian duty outside her work zone, earning her a title of honorary damehood from the Queen of England.
One thought entered my mind: I need them for my movie! And I won't allow some whack-job, mediocre, son of a bitch rival filmmaker to steal them away.
I handed them a copy of the script I recently photocopied. They scanned through the pages with a hint of approval on their faces. "So?" I asked optimistically. "Are you interested?"
"Of course!" Noel said. "I won't deny an offer from by the greatest director of all time!" He gently blew the steaming coffee. "My role is Emperor Nobunaga, am I correct?"
"Yeah." I replied. "Is there a problem?"
"It's just that, you regularly assign me to the role of the protagonist." He smirked. "I presume your taking part of this production?"
"I wanted to test my acting skills." I said coolly. "But I promise; I'll hire you for lead in my next movie."
"No hay problema mi querido amigo!" Noel quoted jollily in Spanish.
Paulina placed the script on the table and smiled. "Funny. I have the same name as the Empress."
Noel became somber. He held her hand tenderly and said. "You're the Empress of my life."
Pauline hit him playfully on the arm. "I'm not falling for your flattery!"
"Would you believe me then, my Senyora if I say I want to spend my entire life in your embrace?"
They kissed afterwards. Secretly I envied them; love was a foreign term in my dictionary. They have been happily married for fifteen years. Maybe Noel was Emperor Nobunaga and Pauline was the Empress. In another world, they found their way back to each other's heart.
I had an incurable ache for longing something, or rather someone I have not met yet. It became apparent when I was eight. It was a confusing feeling in a young child's perception, yet an experience of absolute grandeur. The thought of having a soul mate was romantic in a sense; it makes me swoon even at my age of twenty-six. I wonder if I could find the one to whom my heart cries.
Something was missing in my life.
I ordered for two Belgian frappes on a French bistro. I sat down on a table for two set and watched my cell phone nervously.
"It's not a date." I assured myself.
I was tense. This was the first time I would meet a woman in a restaurant. I was so engrossed in my career that I didn't have any time for that dating rubbish. One of the film's sponsors wanted me to meet his daughter who was interested in the movie. She might be the perfect leading lady, the sponsor said. So I decided to give it a go.
I loosened my tight collar and heaved a sigh. It was a beautiful night; the sky was littered by constellations of twinkling stars. The low moon serenaded the earth. The smell of newly baked croissants and cream puffs wafted in the air. Nostalgic.
There was a live concert in the bistro. Peter Cetera was the guest tonight. The claps were deafening. As soon as the piano struck a note, the people mellowed down in quiet anticipation. The singer then sang After All, an award winning song which weaves a ballad about destiny.
It was my favourite, the song I listened to every time I wrote my scripts. I began to calm down. I then began to review my script, specifically the chapter where my character falls in love with his lady.
A strong gust of wind swept the papers from my hand.
The papers floated in the air's direction. I chased after the papers in a mad hurry. Each letters was worth valuable gold. By gold I mean an Oscar.
The wind led me to a lonely bridge illuminated by two lamp posts. Fireflies hid underneath its fragrant honeysuckles and roses. Soon I was able to gather all the papers lying on the ground. As I assembled them, I noticed some parts were missing: Chapter 8.
I scratched my head in worry. The papers might have been lost in the lake's waves by now.
My Iphone rang. I pressed the start button to revive the dormant phone. There was a message from an unknown number. It must be the chairman's daughter.
The text simply read: I'm right behind you.
I turned my back and saw her. She was wearing a blue Lamé dress; a white hat sexily adorned her golden hair. Her gloved hand held the missing pages of my script.
She was the girl I saw on my dreams.
She was not a stranger to my perception; there was a hidden connection between us. Several memories flashed on my mind, repressed memoirs worth centuries. I was travelling back in time. I understood. I was Julius and she was my old love, Jeanne. My heart seems to burst in its ribcage. I have never felt this way before, the giddy feeling of love.
She must be an enchantress for she had bewitched my mind and ate my heart. Shakespeare, did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, for I never saw true beauty till this night. I was bedazzled by the ascendance of a golden phoenix. Such beauty, she shames Aphrodite and her muses!
When I saw her, I fell in love. She knew and smiled.
"It's good to meet you." The blonde said warmly. "My name is Joan."