Short Story

The notice, pinned timidly to the billboard outside of the auditorium, informed them of their fate. The phrase Final Cuts had been printed in bold oppressive letters across the top of the notice in a pseudo-sadistic attempt to emphasize the finality of this thing, this little thing. Adam scanned the names. A...no. A...no. A...yes...no. ADAM! His name, emblazoned in fantastically uninteresting and uneventful lettering on the second to last line. A feeling stirred deem in his gullet that could only be described as fantastically overinteresting and overeventful. Across the pileup she stared at the board, those bold oppressive letters hurt her eyes; she could feel the ever so inevitable tears building up behind her eyes. She could feel the deluge of her soul pushing viciously up against the back of her eyes, a madman slamming at the bars of his cage, a baby pressing up against the glass. Andrea scanned the names. A...no. A...no. A...yes...no. nothing. On the second to last line lay, in fantastically uneventful and uninteresting lettering, someone else's name. She could not help, but feel that he probably did not deserve it as much as her, but than again...nobody ever did. She was the center of the universe after-all, one of 6 billion centers of the universe.

Their eyes met across the pileup, stunning blue and subtle hazel; shock of blonde and unshock of black; and, other forms of completely incompatible compatibility. The connection began and ended in a moment, the masses obscured them from each other and life moved on...as do all things.

The spotlights, boldly protruding from the ceiling from the ceiling of the auditorium, provided appropriate, damn near perfect, lighting for his damn near perfect failure. The lyrics slipped out of his grasp and off into the audience. The ushers probably forced them to be seating near the back. Adam froze. I...no. You and I...no. Everybody...no....chirp...chirp. His name, once illuminated in bright neon cliches, fell too fast into the volumes of lost souls, failed actors. A feeling stirred deep in his soul that could only be described as terribly uncontrollable and debilitating. In the audience she stared at the perfect failure, the bright lights hurt her eyes. The tears had dried a long time ago, a couple-of broken dreams ago. The mad man had died of starvation, or sleep deprivation, or strangulation; the coroner had stopped caring a long time ago. The lyrics sat right next to her. In fact, they had come to the performance together and, although she'd never admit it for fearing of being labeled promiscuous, she'd been planning on putting out for them that night. no...no...no...The three of us, thats me, myself, and I! Everything that should have been lay right in-front of her. He had never deserved it, nobody but her ever did. Remember, she was the center of the universe after-all, one of 6 billion centers of the universe.

Their eyes met across the third wall, dull blue and seething hazel; pallid pallet of blonde and a shock of raven black; and every form of completely incompatible compatibility. The connection began and ended in a moment, but God that moment lasted forever.