The End

Don't pretend-- you're not surprised. It's coming to an end. Not any end. It's the end. (The End, actually, but who cares? Exactly.) The End has been at hand from the very beginning. You could've seen it coming, really. It was always right around the corner (hmm. maybe not, since how could you have seen it then?).

Either way, this it how it goes:



For now it's over
But please --fear not,
ends will be tied,
gaps'll be filled.

Soon we'll return
for another look upon
the stories of
Harry, Mark and John.




The End. (for now)

Back on some kitchen floorrrrrrr

...probably around the corner from your house there's this great thing going on. Something which is more than just a party, something that might be called a "Happening". On the other hand it might just be something that's happening. And after all, everything is, at least once. So, what's a happening, pardon capital H: Happening, then, anyway?
Whatever, something's going on and you're missing it. John, Mark, Harry: they're in the middle of it. It basically revolves around them. Actually everything revolves around Harry, Mark, and John. Which is kind of weird since they haven't been around that much lately. Kind of like back earlier this year, remember? (Much longer this time, though.)

Anyway-- Mark's like: "You know, there's hardly a thing I hate, but if there is anything I hate more than faggots, it's homophobics" --wait a minute...

Goddamn--it's Friday

for J.G.B. & A.C.

Harry, Mark, and John are at some pary, some of these weird places in the space time continuum where things happen, people cop in and make out. Now, everybody is waiting for Worl War III to start. "It's about time for a sequel," someone says. "Yeah," Mark agrees, "given how successful number two was."
Another five minutes (or maybe two hours) pass and still: no World War. Change of subject then."Hey, John--Why don't you tell us about that time when you went backpacking through ... what was it? Wonderland?" Alice asks. That girl is an obnoxious bitch. Nobody really remembers who brought her along in the first place. (It was Harry, but he'd deny it thrice before dawn, if necessary.) Rumor has it she never really got over being molested as a child. Still, even her therapists hate her (all of them).
This moment a machinery starts its procedure, wheels start turning, levers click in place and vault release steaming pressure, but not a sound is heard. Mark's features freeze and he turns on the spot, it seems, without moving his legs (without actually walking that is) and disappears off screen.
Cast for this scene: Alice - Scarlet Johanson, John - Jim Carrey. The movement might need to be done with CGI in PP or some camera trick. Gondry is not available, unfortunately. Other negotiations are still pending.

Some awful hiphop track is playing on the stereo at that moment --that needs to be changed to something emo or so that implies meaning. (Too bad that in "real life" meaning is not even implied, most of the time at least.) The camera zooms out, we see the crowd without any familar face, everywahn talking in their accents foreign, local, and non-descript. Whiteout (-> 6'u.)

...for long, but not for good (for no good?)

The door slams shut. John loudly ascend the metal stairwell, puts his coat on the railing at the upper landing and drops his baggage next to it. He enters the enters the kitchen to walk straight to the fridge. On the door, as if untouched, there's still his note that he left a virtually unmeasurably long time ago.

He takes out the plastic bottle of OJ, drinks, realizes that he actually bought it weeks (months?) ago before his departure -- runs to the sink, spits, drinks a lot of water and finally: allows the sentence to end.

On the way to the bathroom he passes Mark's dinner party who are playing Chinese Checkers now (Chinese Checkers of all things!), but with some twist to the game, so that it involves drinking. Mark's friends can't help noticing that John's shirt is heavily stained with blood, as though the fabric had been soaked, sprinkled with it, and now dry-- it had turned into an ugly brown. His hands are dirty too --"but that's not necessarily blood too," sombeone thinks.
John: "I'm back." (pause) "Am I the only one to ever buy groceries in this place?"
Nobody answers. John plods on towards the bathroom.
"I didn't even notice he'd been gone."

--John was gone

When Harry came in, late at night, drunk -- he failed to notice the small piece of paper on the fridge. He went to the kitchen, looking for aspirin... which he wanted to take as a precaution for the night's aftermath. He opened one cupboard after another, but he couldn't find the small brown bottle filled with white pills. He didn't know that John had taken it along for some reason.

It was only the next morning (approx. 1.30 PM) that he realized that something was ... well, not exactly wrong, but definitely different. He fixed himself some coffee, cursing about the lack of aspirin --and finally saw John's note. It read something like this:

"hey mark, harry, there are some things I need to take care of, might take some time. I'll be back -- J."

And then--

When John got on the train, the station seemed completely deserted, with not a single person in sight. Nobody saw him leave. He didn't carry any luggage except a guitar case and a small backpack.
He got off the train in another place far, but not that far away. It was early in the morning. The sky was veiled in a thick cover of clouds, but the air was clear and refreshingly cold. He hadn't slept on the train and felt tired. Tired and drunk. John decided to have breakfast (well, at least coffee) and entered one of these stylish coffee chain places.
He ordered on the counter, paid, and was given his hot beverage. Putting his bags next to him, he sat down on one of these benches with a high leather backrest which look nice, but is useless. From his backpack he took a newspaper from the day before, unfolded it-- but he didn't even look at it.
The windows started fogging up while the place was getting more and more crowded. A young girls short jacket and low pants exposed a sight on him didn't really enjoy. Pale white flesh and black-lace underwear. He averted his eyes and started stirring his whatever-you-call-it-fair-trade-low-fat something with the wooden this-is-not-a-spoon device.
This is not a spoon.
No. It's. Not.
Ceci n'est pas une cuillère.

just a note

Harrymarkandjohn havebeenprettybusylately we
ll actuallytheywerenotbecauseiftheyhadbeen t
here werestoriestotellsee?howevermostofthe t
ime theydontreallyknowwhattheredoinganyway c
onfused? wellthatswhatharrymarkandjohnfeel l
ike mostofthetimesodontcomplainanddont compl
ain aboutthepicturenothavinganyrelationto th
is texteitherifyouactuallywouldthis a text.

"...and a happy new year, for fucksakes"

Ow.

January 1st, 4.15 pm Mark was violently woken up by a single piercing beam of sunlight, penetrating the window of his room and the little gap between the curtains. Instead of getting up and getting rid of his artificial darkness by pulling the curtains aside he turned on the light.

He could reach the switch just by extending his right hand. A very low buzzing noise caught Mark's attention-- and he saw the flickering lightbulb slowly fade to black.
Maybe he said something or maybe he just fell asleep instantly thereafter. If he said something, it might have been: "It'll take weeks to recover."


Another New Year's -- and not a single speck of memory left.