A Drafted Closet Drama
(To be interpreted as symbolically as possible)
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The scene, a large room, luxuriously decorated. The rug is elaborate and persian; the furniture is bright cherry wood; the bed is elegant and antique. The sunset glows dimly through grand red curtains on a large oak bookshelf. On the adjoining wall is a small liquor cabinet undrneath the portrait of a woman. It all looks terribly magnificent. The other man — I mean the one not in the bed — is younger and sits in one of the chairs next to the bed. He wears a dark suit and his hair is immaculately groomed.
“Henry, would you refer me to a glass of the Chianti?” said the man in bed.
“Why, of course,” said Henry, with characteristic good humor.
“What an inhuman world.” He sighed deeply and affectedly.
“Ah, very true, just as you say.”
“What should we do? I don’t know what to do. I’m stuck in this damn bed. What should we do, Henry?” The man sat up and began to cough.
Henry looked at him inquisitively. “Just what we are doing, I think.”
“Yes, I’m terribly sorry. You’re right, of course. Thank you, Henry”
“Nothing to worry about,” said Henry.
“There’s nothing I would like more than a glass of Champagne, I think, just now, Henry.”
“Why, of course,” said Henry.
“She was beautiful, was she not?”
“Mmm,” said Henry.
“I wanted her, you know. I wanted a lot of things, but, well, when it comes down to it…when it all comes out in the wash… well, you know what I mean, don’t you, Henry?
“Yes, when it all pans out.”
“Yes, Henry, exactly.”
“We were brilliant, Henry, weren’t we? We were everything at once; we devoured the world.”
“Of course,” said Henry impassively.
“Sometimes I wonder… you know, whether it was at all…”
“What’s that?”
“Well , whether it was worth it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t get caught in that.”
“But, well… do you believe in God, Henry?”
“God?” said Henry.
“Oh, well, in my condition, these things, well, they don’t seem like I guess they used to seem.”
“I’m sure you’ll improve.”
“Henry, what about a glass of the old Bordeaux?”
“Why, of course” said Henry.
There was a short pause. The man in bed sighed. “Ah, Henry, you are a fool.”
“Why is that?”
“You don’t see,” said the man in bed.
“What don’t I see?” said Henry”
“What we both are. You know, there never was… Henry, when I die, I will die alone. Do you have…”
Henry waited to see if the man in bed would finish his thought. Then he drew a small revolver and shot him in the head, and shot him again. Then he opened up the old Bordeux.
The End
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Posted at 1:25 am EST on the 30th of April 2010 by N. E. Embrey. Under Untagged There are 8 replies. |
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You mean the poor fellow never got his booze? That IS inhuman!
Oh, fantastic allegory.
I suppose that the picture of the woman symbolizes the bride of Christ, and all the alcohol under it symbolizes all the wrong ways that people try to become their own “God”.
Also, it shows that people don’t like to listen to serious conversations about what happens after you die. And that people don’t like to share Bordeux.
Nick, that was amazing. I think that you effectively made your point that alcohol is bad, by showing that Henry shot the man, and then opened up the Bordeaux. Henry is a symbol of the alcoholic in all of us, ready to do anything to have the Corona’s all to ourselves. Or the Bordeaux. Or, for that matter, the Champagne. I thought your redemptive symbolism was excellent, in that Henry killed the man, who we can take as the Christ figure in this scenario. He is the symbol of the common man in this sense as well.
Another thing you showed well was that we must never be depressing. That was the mistake of the man in bed. He was depressing and kind of boring, and now he’s dead. If only he had remembered to be positive. Of course, how could he be positive if he never got the Bordeaux? I suppose this symbolizes how humanity can never be positive without positive BAC. A fact to which some of us tend to forget. I like how you worked all this in to the fabric of the story.
One thing I did object to was the dialogue. Could we get to the symbolism more, and have less of this mulling over life? Thanks.
I’ve met some pretty happy teetotalers, Philip.
(As in, the majority of people I’ve met who are under the drinking age limit. =)
haaahaa, Lucie. Not everybody under drinking age limit are teetotalers – most aren’t.
heh-heh.
Nick, John explained it to me, but I still fail to understand the purpose of this essay. Is it, in truth, what Philip says?
Philip, you have unlocked the key to my masterpiece of essential symbolic wisdom.
Nicely done, but I think it’s a bit of a waste of cyber-space for such a mundane meaning as “alcohol is bad for you”. The writing and the meaning are somewhat inconsistent, if that makes sense. But I did like the writing.
I was with you and enjoyed the story until the last paragraph. What is up with the young guy randomly pulling out a gun and shooting the old geezer? perhaps I’m missing something. Maybe I’m missing something, but it seemed unrelated. If you were trying to get your reader to not take your tale seriously and snap out of the story, you succeeded.