1st round

Book 1

Chris Barnett Must Die

or

The Pursuit Of Happiness

Act 1:

Status Quo

“What do you mean? Are you breaking with me?”

The computer screen was the only bright spot in the room, and it lighted Chris’ face from below, giving him an eerie look. He realized after a few seconds that he had in fact spoken out loud instead of written his thoughts, so he did that.

What do you mean, he wrote.

You know what I mean, Chris, you’re old enough to read, wrote the person at the other side of the line.

Could we skype, asked Chris.

Not in the mood, she replied. Chris face was cycling between disappointment and disbelieve, with some anger thrown in from time to time. “I can’t believe this,” said Chris out loud. After a few seconds, he realized that he had done it again. He started typing but stopped. He tried to type again, but instead deleted what he had already written. After staring at the screen for a few minutes, he finally closed the laptop, leaving the room in darkness.

He stood for a couple of minutes staring at the closed laptop, without really thinking about anything. He was trying to figure out what the hell he was feeling, so he let his thoughts wander. He shook his head a couple of times, he even started closing and opening his fist. “It should be anger,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’ve got a perfect excuse to be pissed off.”

He stood up and stumbled through the room trying to reach the kitchen. When he flipped the switch, the light blinded him for a few seconds. He was particularly upset by the fact that he wasn’t angry. “It’s maybe the shock, that’s why I’m not angry yet. Dear Lord, please let there be OJ.” He opened the fridge and found nothing but two eggs and a moldy piece of cheese: “Disappointed again,” he said.

He looked back into the dark room, somewhere in there there was a computer, and somewhere in that computer Dianne was still talking about feelings, distance and loneliness. “Why don’t real life conversations have a pause button?” asked Chris, becoming instantly self aware of the fact that he had been speaking to himself for a while. He then realized that no one could hear or see him, and promptly stopped caring.

“Fuck her. I’m better off single, I’ll call all those girls I’ve been looking at the past few months.” He thought about them: There was Julie, the wife of his boss at the copy shop, and the barista whose name he didn’t know, and who was convinced that Chris loved mocca, when in fact he hated it. He decided right there and then that next time he was in the coffee shop, he would ask the barista out.

That gave him the strength to return to the laptop and reopen it. He looked at the flashing window, that still read Not in the mood and sighed. He told himself that he didn’t have to care anymore. The fact that he wasn’t feeling angry or even upset surely meant that he was already over her, and that this was for the best.

Is there someone else he asked wondering why he was even writing that when he didn’t care at all.

…

He looked again at her answer, three simple dots, and wondered what she meant. Was she being passive aggressive? Was she upset that he had thought that? Was it a yes or a no? He was happy to realize that that answer had indeed made him angry, so he decided to hold on to that feeling.

Is that a yes or a no?

That’s a FU, Chris.

He smiled and closed the laptop. He was slightly pissed off, and that was something that he could cope with. He had been living on his own, in a strange town for five months now. Dianne had been really supportive at the beginning, and was the one who had insisted on keeping the relationship even after the move. However, the past few months they had been talking less and less, until she had finally dropped the bomb. Chris realized that he was actually happy it was over. He had been feeling awful since the move. He felt alone, ostracised from his old friends for leaving them and from his new neighbours for being the stranger. But now, the last string had been cut. He was completely free and could do whatever he wanted.

That thought scared him. He suddenly felt tetherless, with nothing to stop him floating away. Hope gave way to despair and he opened the laptop once more. However, Dianne had gone offline while he was dealing with his epiphany, so the despair grew even harder. He struggled with the idea of calling her, but decided against it. He went to the window and looked outside. The street still seemed alien to him, like there was always something out of place about it. He could see that most lights were turned off, after all this was a residential area and it was past midnight. He wondered if the small shop behind the corner would be open. If it was, he could buy beer and that way he might be able to sleep tonight.

He decided that he wasn’t going to dress himself. He had the right to be depressed, so he could play the part. He threw a sweater over his jammys, grabbed his keys and phone and left his apartment.

The cold air cut like knifes, but he actually welcomed the pain. They gave a physical support to his sluggy mindstate. He even wondered if this was the right moment to get that tattoo that Dianne had always talked him out of. The thought brought a smile to his face, and he strolled to the corner.

The door to the shop was open, but there was a silhouette blocking his way. He got closer and saw what looked like a bum wearing an expensive suit. The man was talking with the shop owner, and turned when Chris approached. He was carrying a sign over his chest, that read BEWARE WELCOME THE ESCHATON. Chris had actually seen that sign a few times around town, but still had no idea what it meant. The bum smiled to Chris and nodded, stepping out of the way. He walked inside with an uneasy smile and went straight to the back, but couldn’t help overhearing part of the conversation.

“...So then, when the times comes, we will be ready and waiting.”

“You mean, like the Rapture?” said the clerk.

“No, no, this is not religious at all.”

Chris ignored the men and grabbed two six packs of beer and a bottle of vodka. He walked back to the counter, and saw that the bum was leaving. He left the bottles of a counter, made some quick mental calculations and realized he was missing something.

“Excuse me,” he asked, “orange juice?”

“Back aisle, top row,” said the clerk. He started packing everything into bags while Chris followed his indications. He looked out of the window and saw the bum walking into a building, which he knew was one of the expensive ones. He wondered what his deal was.

The clerk was busy chewing gum when he returned.

“Who was that guy?” asked Chris. The clerk shrugged his shoulders. “Some dude,” he answered.

“Well, what was the deal with the cardboard sign? He looked like a bum.”

“Guy was loaded, actually, but apparently he’s spent all his money this last month. Something about the End of the World and shit.”

Chris put his hand on his pocket and realized he had forgotten his wallet back home. “Fuck,” he said. The clerk looked at him expectantly while he patted every pocket he had.

“Dude, can you hold the bags for a minute? I forgot my wallet, I live just round the corner.”

The clerk shrugged again.

“Hey, no big deal, I know you, just take them. You can pay tomorrow or the day after.”

Chris was startled for a minute. Finally, he managed to speak.

“You know, that’s actually the kindest thing anyone has done for me in the last months,” he said.

“Dude, your life must be very depressing then,” said the clerk.

Chris could say nothing else. He took the bags and five hours later passed out in his sofa, after drinking one of the six packs, half the vodka and no orange juice at all.

The next day, his life changed forever.