I did a fictional take on a non-fictional event (death of a certain somebody). I managed to get most of the pre-prepared story below in, and I managed to mould it pretty well to the second quote/stimuli so it doesn't look like vomited out pre-prepared crap. It's pretty obvious who it is, but hopefully the marker can pick up on it. That's what makes the story great IMO. Hopefully I can get a 12 or something. I got 5 for my creative in the trials so I changed the story completely (my trial was journal entries of a Jew in Nazi Germany lol).
*scroll down if you don't feel like reading lol
Heath
I awoke that Monday night, the streets bustling with life, making sleep almost impossible. I tuned in to that constant familiar sound of cars passing, the background hum of people chatting, with a piercing horn, probably caused by a taxi driver. Even on a weekday, the night still breathed life. It reassured you that you were in the heart of Manhattan. I forced myself up and out of bed. I lamented the fact that I had yet again only acquired two hours of sleep. Most people would be falling asleep at 11 o’clock. The recommended amount of sleeping pills had lost their potency; they did nothing to break the curse of insomnia, but I still took them, along with the obligatory painkillers and anti-depressants in hope that they would numb the pain. Finding a chair in the corner of the room, I sat in the darkness, alone.
The past months had been a transformation. More and more I shied away from the outside world, entertained more so by the creations of my own mind. I grew tired of producers and managers telling you where to walk, whom to talk to, what meagre role you would play in your next ‘box office hit’. The closest thing to happiness was found within myself. That green haired, black eyed, pale-faced man with the big red smile – he gave me a sense of comfort maybe no man should obtain from him. But ever since I started that film I had wrapped my entire being around him. I wanted to think like him. Become that twisted villain. Always working alone. An outsider not welcome in his world, only embracing the dark.
Ordinarily, people like me are supposed to leave their prescribed persona on the screen. But now I think the ones that can truly leave behind a role are the worst at their jobs. You see, each day that I played that role a small piece of me turned into him. That spontaneous twitch, how he nervously licks his lips, his sadistic laugh; I took on his habits. My co-workers simply thought I was dedicated to my character. They had no idea. Even though I was supposed to take on a new role, a different person all together, the green haired man never left. He could never leave.
Dawn finally broke, and I suppressed the green haired man once more as the new light shone and the faceless maid approached. You could hear the floorboards groan as a she brought up a small breakfast. I left early and roamed the streets of SoHo, looking within the shops filled with pointless items that I either had or had no interest in owning. I did somewhat like SoHo; the quaint cafes I often frequented were cosy. The small size and lack of people made the atmosphere quiet, it was easy to feel alone. I had grown to detest the thought of large crowds inserting themselves into every aspect of my life. Fuelled by the insatiable media, the thought of the public knowing the ins and outs of my everyday life made me want to escape from reality and delve into a different world. I imagined a world where there were no paparazzi, only the familiar dark, black city where the green haired man was in his element.
By the afternoon I had grown weary. My mind was racing, always racing, but the body was weak from a lack of rest. One learns to ignore the pointing and gasping as strangers noticed the ‘celebrity’, but of course you get the tired old routine of obsessed fans desperately asking for an autograph or a picture. They always acted like we were the most intimate of friends, just because they had loved my last movie or had read about me in the last issue of ‘People’ magazine.
I decided to retire to the confines of my apartment, where I could truly be alone. I drew the curtains shut, trying to block as much of that damned light as possible. Again I allowed myself to be entertained by my own mind, and explore that black city, where I was the green haired man, cackling as he enjoyed the struggle against the dark knight. It was the stuff of dreams, how I wanted to sleep. I reached for the Ambiens; I forget how many I took, but it was too many. Finally I could be him, and stay as him, forever roaming the streets of the black city. There were no desperate strangers, no faceless maids, and no paparazzi, just the green haired man.
