The Script - Epilogue

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The script was lying there, on the table. Multiple layers of ink, multiple neatly placed papers, held by nothing but a tiny staple. It lay neatly next to it, along with a tiny pot of ink, the expensive kind. Long were the nights when he stood in his chair, writing away. If his quill could speak by the third week, it would've begged for mercy.

Draft,
After draft,
After draft,
After draft,
After draft... and the sleepless nights that came. Waking up with a jolt of inspiration at 3 am is not for the faint of heart. That he knew.

And there it was, on the table.
Still, quiet, undisturbed.
Yet created by days and nights that were the complete opposite.

Every person behind those curtains had a copy, he could guarantee, yet Keith requested an extra copy for himself. Not that he didn't have one. It was there, on the lowest drawer on the table. The ugly one, with its folded lines, crinkles, stains of tea and thicker things.

That beast was trapped in the bottom drawer, begging to be released one last time. But it wasn't necessary, for he had the new one he transcribed himself. Keith never had pretty handwriting, yet his hand made its best performance on those pages. He had even asked for the fancy paper government officials use and calculated the very millimeter where that staple was placed. It was perfect.

So perfect he didn't let anyone touch it. Not even himself. It had been on that table for a while, with the quill and pot of ink. It was starting to collect dust. But he liked it there. Keith sat on the couch on the other side of the room, gazing at the still art he had created. It reminded him of the old days. 'Old' as in a couple of years ago. Crazy how many things can change in just a few years, right?

But they had. He still remembered the first time he was writing it. Ignorance is bliss, they say. Well, he didn't know how bad of a time he was about to have. Fighting words, concepts, himself, all in those pages, layers of ink.

Years earlier, he found himself finishing a rough draft. It was satisfying to write, put pen to paper, events into words, facts into scenes. But after a quick read, he had mixed feelings about it. This is what happened. How it happened. The way that it did, or at least the way that he had perceived it.

But it was boring.

He crumbled that paper into a ball.

And threw it

across

the room.

And years later, there it was, the final version, on the table. He still stared at it, thinking about it all. It ended up being three times as dramatic. He had changed names and any real defining clues, yet still enough for anyone to recognize themselves. It wasn't what had happened to him. He wished something as exciting and dramatic had, but isn't that what fiction is all about?

Someone opened the door behind him, urging him out. He should get going soon. So he stood up from the chair, his half-asleep legs complaining as he made his way out.

He walked through multiple dressing rooms, ending just behind the stage. Underneath the red curtains. It wasn't the first time he was behind one, but it was the first time he was responsible for everything going smoothly. It was the first time he was responsible for anything, really.

"Alright!" He said, clasping his hands together. He still wore gloves, muffling the otherwise loud clap. Some things never change.

"Gather around! Gather around!" An almost theatrical tone, his usual. Although this time it was fitting for the room they were in. Multiple actors approached, dressed in only the finest fibers. He remembers that letter, realizing how expensive fabric actually is.

"Yes, even you Aldric. Come oooonnn, you're important!" He pointed at the scrawny guy in the corner, urging him forward. Shy that lad was... but incredibly good. He promptly approached as well. "This is just stage fright. Alright-"

A circle had formed, akin to a team of American football. Keith had opted to not hire any big names, despite being given the chance to hire one. It's not like anyone knew him. This was his first production, after all. But even if it was his 5th, 10th, 30th, he wanted to give the underdogs a chance; he was once one too.

And from that came friends. Companionship. A family.

"So, I'm sure you all want to throw up right now." A pause, and silence ensued. "I want all of you to know to /NOT/ use the bucket in the back. I already did."

It wasn't even that funny, but cackles were in order. Nervousness makes you jumpy, more akin to humor, the only way to cope. "Alright, but seriously. We've all been working hard on this. You may not be the best... but..."

Anticipation hung in the air, quieting down. But?

"...alright, let's go!" He announced. Guffaws ensued as the group separated. Some could even be heard from the seating area.

It wasn't even that funny.

Spoiler: OOC Message

Hey! I'm TheWizarddd. I had a character called Keith. He was my first character, but technically my second character. Technically, my first character was Luke, a cowboy man who later turned into another character, Charles. I don't count him though, since I left promptly after I made him. So, let's just say Keith is my actual first character.

I shelved Keith a while ago since his arc had ended and I had no further ideas for him, but I didn't like the idea of just shelving him and completely forgetting that he exists. I wanted to give his story some sort of conclusion, some closure. Even if just for me.

I wish I could thank everyone who interacted with him. Everyone in Hawthorn's hostel as well as just the general thieving community would def get the biggest honorable mention. But generally everyone who interacted with him was great. I know I wasn't the best player at the time. Playing Keith taught me a lot of things- what to do, what not to do.

But I'm glad I played Keith. He's also the character with whom I really fell in love with this community. Yall are amazing.

So, just thank you. Thank you for being here, thank you for talking to him, thank you for beating him up, thank you for talking to my other characters, thank you for beating them up.

And thanks for reading! C: