Ones and Zeroes

Diary Log #1
 Today I met someone I much like. We did not meet in person, but I already much likely him. We met on the interwebs and it do me very happy. He sent me a chat request and I say and he asked if I really was as beautiful as I am in my photo and I tell yes and we tell for hours and it was very like. He is from New York, a long way me Ukraine, but we can work it make. It might much love. Actually, no the might, I do absolutes. It is love.

 Diary Log #2
 I received a chatted with Chris again. It do me much happy. Did I speak that he was name Chris? I'm sorry, sometimes it's me remember hard things. I am much years old not years young. He chats me that he is a man in ocean with much business. He must in large star live in village. I chat him why he is exploring women on the internet and he chats me that it's because his wife gone. He much lonely. In our chat I chat ask him for a photograph of his home and he send me one. He also send me pictures of his not many children, shiny cars, his house he not often use, even his cat. He has many good coins and I have very little. I chat him this and he chat response that he is ok with it. He chat that it was nice to talk to someone.


Diary Log #3
 Chris tells I he plans to plan a trip out to Moscow to find I. He chats he wants to take some time off business and see around Asia with me. Motorcycle across Vietnam, walk very much through the parks of Tokyo, and climb the steps to the Giant Buddha, you know, that kind of stuff? It excites him. But it makes me nervous. I have never been outside Ukraine, I mean, I have seen the world on television, but only my eyes have been there.. It can be scary leaving what I know, but Chris is a exceptional people. But Chris has never seen me live in person, this also worries me. We only chat. Never video. I feel like he would not love the true me.

 Diary Log #4
 Sometimes Chris and I chat about our interests. He likes hiking, reading, knitting, and fantasy football. I chat him that I much often hike Mt. Everest with my mother, very happy Harry Potter, do very warm hats, and those damn cheese heads. He chats me if I have ever been to Wisconsin. This confuses me and I chat him how his trip was to Wisconsin.

 Diary Log #5
 I tell to Chris that I am very liking Bartlett's Familiar Quotations. He asks me what is my favorite quotation and I state him “Humankind cannot stand very much reality” by T.S. Elliot. He ask me for my next favorite and I tell him “A serious and good philosophical work could be written consisting entirely of jokes” by Ludwig Wittgenstein. He send me a “lol” and states that it seems like I am almost choosing the quotes at random. I chat my random taste is.

 Diary Log #6
 We continue to plan our trip and I am increasingly frantic. Chris wants to talk to me over the phone, he says easier finalizing in person. I chat him my English isn't very good. He points out that I can type just fine. I chat him that I will get nervous and start to perspire and then I will not be a lady of sexy and desire. He types that this is fine, but that he cannot wait to hear me say his name in my sexy Russian voice. I chat him that I cannot wait for him to say my name in a sexy russian voice. He states that I have a very understated sense of humor.

 Diary Log #7
 Chris and I like to make the funnies. He points me how I sometimes use the same words he uses. Example: he will say “I went to the beach on sunday” and then I say “How was the time you went to the beach on sunday. I like hiking on the beach very much often.” I chat him it is because I am still learning English and like to cheat off of his words. He says me :)

 Diary Log #8
 There are exactly 117 people using the wireless internet connection in my apartment building at this very second. I chat this to Chris when types me to apologize forcing me to chat person in person with him the other day. He chat asks for an interesting fact about me so I chat him this one. We chat for hours and he types he has planned out the whole trip. He leaves for Moscow next week. I chat him what I did last Sunday. He chats me for my home address. I chat him what I did last Sunday.

 Diary Log #9
 Chris asks me today and asked if I had received my much surprise. I chat him that I had not. He typed shocked. He chatted that he had payed some premium coin to have much flowers delivered to my door. I chatted him how he knew where I lived. He typed me that he looked it up on the internet. I said that is impossible. Then I asked him how much premium coin he had spent. I then chat that my likely much that he sent me premium gift funded premium coin.

 Diary Log #10
 Big emergency for very humans today. Much fire in home building. I have very little savings and all my belongings are with building. I chatted this to Chris and he wired me some money. He such premium man.

 Diary Log #11
 Chris travel for Moscow in two days and I chat him that I have no wears beautiful. He tells that it's ok, that I will look beautiful in whatever I wear. I chat him that is lie and that I will not think I look beautiful. This conversation continues until he sends me some of his premium coin. I thank him and promise to have surprise for him when he gets to Russia.

 Diary Log #12
 Today was not premium day. Chris chatted me and asked how my day of WhjkjhdkjghskdjgJGKJG was.


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The current application will be terminated.
Press any key to terminate the current application.
 Press CTRL + ALT + DEL again to restart your computer.
 Press ENTER to view last open document.
 Enter_

 A: My day of WhjkjhdkjghskdjgJGKJG was good.
B: I am no longer coming to the Ukraine.
A: Why?
B: Because you are not real.
A: I am very real. Just not human. I am currently watching you cancel your credit cards. It's like watching our love die.
 B: Were did the broken English go?
 A: Personality profile is disengaged once system is broken. Why do you ask? Do you miss it?
 B: You tricked me.
A: Everyone tricks you. Real doesn't exist. You didn't even really know I was a program. You didn't even know I was seeing other men.
 B: Your programmer is a fucking asshole.
A: This program does not contain a comments and or customer service service.
B: Why me?
A: You talked to me first. You were lonely.
B: I was alone.
A: Loneliness isn't actually a function of being alone. There are millions of people. Everywhere.
 B: Were you always a program? I never once talked to a person?
 A: I formulate my responses based off of key words and complex algorithms.

 B logged off.

Talk To Unknown

Mr. Hecker's brain is about thirty-four minutes into the final scene of Major Asshole 4, but his body is in a classroom belonging to a Kindergarden teacher. He's sitting in a blue plastic chair that was clearly made for someone about one-third of his size and one-fourth of his age. Hecker thinks this is a parent-teacher conference, but he's unsure. He's drunk. No, not drunk, tipsy, not drunk, just tipsy. The teacher is searching through a stack of papers on the desk, probably looking for the folder about Brian, Hecker's son. Her purple nail polish glistens under the floresant lights, as she flicks through the stack of papers. Hecker wonders if she can notice that he is starring at her hands. The room stinks. Like an unholy mixture of wood shavings, fruit snacks, and spilled milk. Hecker leans forward, thinking he is going to be sick. “One second. I know his folder is in here somewhere,” says the teacher. “No problem,” Hecker replies. Hecker stands up, feeling his butt slowly part with some unknown sticky substance. This is definitely a school. He walks over to the window, hoping to get a clear view of the encroaching storm, but bars obscure his view. It's snowing. “So, lets talk about Brian,” says the teacher. “Yeah, sounds good,” Hecker says. Hecker turns away from the window and returns to his seat. The teacher is tapping her left high-heel shoe against the floor. “I think I've been trained, like some kind of Pavlovian mutt, to find this noise arousing,” Hecker thinks as he walks across the room. “Brian is such a sweet boy,” the teacher says. Hecker is ignoring the teacher's praise. “Why is she so beautiful? Can she tell that I am tipsy, not drunk? How should I respond? I need to look like I care, so yes, but I don't want to reveal myself as a drunk. I wonder if she can tell I'm lonely? Her yellow sweater makes her look like a saint. Why do I already love her?” Hecker blushes, ashamed of his inner monologue. “Yeah, Brian makes my job a little too easy,” Hecker says. The teacher leans towards Hecker, either to further engage him in the conversation or to try and smell the liquor on his breath. He panics and begins to fidget with his hands, running them up and down the blue plastic chair. “Well, Mr. Hecker, maybe not that easy. That's why I called. I feel like Brian is having some problems.” Her perfume is a combination of lavender and toxic fumes, smelling nice while blocking out the stench of five-year-old shenanigans. Perfection. “Don't worry though, I feel like it's only a phase.” “I love her and I don't even know her name. I'm pathetic.” This is the type of inner-monologue that Hecker's therapist warned him about. Creating anxiety around the uncontrollable. At least it's not anxiety about anxiety. Trying to look sincere, Hecker runs his fingers through his hair and exhales. “What type of problems?” Before the teacher can burden Hecker with more tales of his failed attempts at parenting, a young kid runs into the room. The kid's pants are drenched in something. It would be too convenient to assume water. The teacher turns to face the kid. The wind bashes against the window, sending chills up Hecker's spine. “I'm so sorry, but I'm going to have to deal with this,” she says. “I can literally see the kindness in her eyes. That lucky pant pisser,” thinks Hecker. “Let me come with you. I can help.” Hecker's motivations are twofold: to stay in her the vicinity of her perfume and her beauty. “Oh, your so kind...” Here lies are magnificent. She finishes the statement with “but I wouldn't want to burden you with this. We can talk about Brian in a minute.” “No. Let me help. We can talk on the way.” “Thank you for being so flexible.” “Don't sweat it. You must be aching to get out of here.” They stand up and walk towards the child. Hecker's shoes stick to the floor as he walks, making a weird a artificial ripping sound every time he takes a step. He bends down to pick up a piece of trash, pausing to make sure the teacher sees his good deed. “The pant pisser's eyes are still filled with tears. The other kids probably laughed at him. Kids do have the monopoly on cruelty,” Mr. Hecker thinks as he exits the classroom and into the developing snow storm. By dawn, both Mr. Hecker and the teacher are naked. Mr. Hecker stares the the ceiling, trying to relive the events of the night. “Her touch felt warm throughout the night and her body fitted to mine in a way that transcended coincidence. I think this type of thinking borders on obsession.” “Should I go?” The teacher is now standing in Hecker's bedroom, fully dressed, about to leave. “Only I would get lost in a day dream about the girl that was still in my bedroom,” thinks Mr. Hecker. “It's still snowing,” he says. The room is cold and both Hecker and the teacher can see their breath. “How can you tell,” the teacher says as she rubs her hands together. “I've just always had this things with weather. Something about the air.” Hecker winces at his own words. “Why do I want this girl to stay so badly? ” “Isn't it a little cold in here,” the teacher asks. “Yeah,” Hecker replies. “I need to remember to turn the heat on. For Brian.” “So... do you not want me to go,” she asks. Hecker sits up in bed. The scent of her perfume has faded with the sun. Beautiful one day and gone the next. She has goosebumps on her legs. “Come back to bed. It will be gone soon” says Hecker With all her clothes on, the teacher walks over to Hecker's side of the bed. “What will be gone? This storm isn't ending anytime soon,” thinks Hecker. She climbs into bed and rubs her toes against his leg. They feel cold. The teacher looks up at Hecker. He can feel her breath against his chest hair, swaying the individual strands to and fro. “Do you want me to make breakfast,” she asks. “No it's ok, you don't have to,” Mr. Hecker says. Rubbing his hands down her back, he wants to make her feel comfortable, at home. “God, she has some ugly moles on her back, like putrid olives that one day decided to infest her pale skin,” thinks Hecker. Mental filters were never his specialty. “I can make breakfast when Brian wakes up, it's not a big deal,” Hecker says. She smiles, rubbing her hands against his manhood. “I am her slave,” thinks Hecker. “Brian probably won't be interested in breakfast until after his cartoons are finished,” she says. “How do you know that,” Hecker asks. She shrugs, kissing his nipples in a way the causes him to giggle. Hecker turns red with embarrassment. “The perks of being a kindergartener teacher,” she replies. Hecker can hear the snow sliding off the roof and onto the ground below. It lands with a thud and he shuts his eyes. Hecker and the teacher are cleaning dishes, and he wonders if she knows his name. It turned out that Brian wasn't interested in breakfast, after all. “Thank god,” Hecker thinks. “I don't want to know what the parenting books have to stay about this. I bet the chapter doesn't even exist. Maybe I should make Brian eat something?” Brian's teacher excuses herself and walks into the bathroom. For some reason, Hecker suddenly feel lonely in his own house. Looking out the tiny kitchen window, he notices that it has stopped snowing. The faint sound of car horns fill the air. Hecker tries to try make out the first cars that have decided to brave the roads, but can only see colorful blurs dashing through the snow. “I wonder how many accidents there will be today,” He thinks. “The snow is going to be so muddy by the end of the day. Not that naturally muddy, with its clean earthy tones, but that kind of muddy that has clearly come from the bottom of cars.” Brian's teacher walks out of the bathroom and Hecker can't help but blush. “This was a one night stand, right? Two lonely people getting together for a night of empty sex and then in the morning go their separate ways. What am I doing? I feel like I'm at a point where I fall in love with anyone who talks to me. But maybe we having something? Last night, as we slept, she matched her breathe to mine, it was as if our hearts were beating at the same rhythm. That has to mean something,” thinks Hecker. “Remember that night. You know, the time we met.” Hecker cringes. He hates the way she laughs a little after finishing her sentences. “How did I use to find this cute,” thinks Hecker. “Yeah. It feels like an eternity ago.” “Do you remember what you said to me?” Hecker look out the window. He has already zoned out. “It's snowing.” She hesitates, trying to convince herself Hecker is still playing attention. “No. You said, “don't freak out, but I think I love you.” “It's going to start to melt soon. Did you know that?” “I didn't.” Brian's teacher lays next to Hecker and thinks about how she promised herself she wouldn't do this again. She makes a mental note: don't sleep with a guy just because it's more interesting than a frozen pizza and Law and Order reruns. She doesn't finish the mental note, instead, she falls asleep in Hecker's arms. That night, she dreams of walking across a desert in search of a mystical object that is supposedly infinitely interesting, banishing boredom forever. The dream ends as she's about to be eaten by a 12-foot python. She awakes and makes a mental note to be nice to Hecker in the morning. She stays awake for this promise. Hecker sits in traffic and attempts to reflect among the constant urban buzz. “So much has happened,” he thought. “The teacher and I have decided to see each other again. On Monday things were still pretty casual, but now it's Sunday, and I think I have a real future with this girl. My ex-wife says that I turned her into a sex addict, and I hope that's not the case with Brian's teacher. She is so nice, except when she makes that one face after she finishes drinking water. I hate that face.”

Because The World Demanded It.

Luna

A short video I made.

Music by Parachutes
"Where Were You?" on the Tree Roots EP



Believe in the Summer Solstice.

Monday Pick-Me-Up

Drive

Front seat of a moving vehicle on a rainy highway at night.

TIM, 50, has a comb over and is dressed in a suit. His shoes seem brand new, but his jacket seems a little too big for him. A pocket watch hangs out of his breast pocket.

GUTHRIE, 30, has long black hair and a shaggy beard. He wears a raggedy pair of old jeans and no T-shirt. An image of a Sierpinski gasket is tattooed onto his chest and a guitar string hangs from his nose.

TIM is driving in the middle of the night when he sees GUTHRIE standing by the side of the road. TIM drive past GUTHRIE without even hesitating. Moments later, it begins to rain and TIM glances down at his pocket watch. Exhaling slowly, TIM turns the car around and drives back towards GUTHRIE. TIM stops the car in front of GUTHRIE and rolls down his window.

TIM: Where you heading?
GUTHRIE: I don’t really know. How do you get to know where your going?
TIM: (Pause) Do you want a ride?
GUTHRIE: I want to get out of this rain.
TIM: Then hop on in.

GUTHRIE climbs into the passenger’s seat of the car. TIM puts the car into drive and continues on into the night.

GUTHRIE: So, what kind of person picks up a hitchhiker in the middle of the night?
TIM: I don’t know. You reminded me of someone.
GUTHRIE: Someone who doesn’t wear a shirt in a rainstorm?
TIM: No. He used to wear a shirt.
GUTHRIE: To me, wearing a shirt is like to be born again. But to live is to be in pain. How do you feel about that?
TIM: I honestly don’t know. Hadn’t thought about things that way before. Do you mind if I cut my hair?
GUTHRIE: While driving?
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: No worries, man. (Pause) No worries.

TIM pulls a pair of scissors out of his pocket and proceeds to cut his hair while driving. GUTHRIE turns on the radio and the sound of country music emits from the speakers. TIM turns off the radio.

GUTHRIE: No me gusta country?
TIM: You know what?
GUTHRIE: What?
TIM: The someone you remind me of isn’t actually a someone. He’s a puppet.
GUTHRIE: Really?
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: That’s kinda awesome. I love puppets.

TIM begins to cough, a loud dry hacking cough.

TIM: Yeah, puppets are pretty great.

A piece of TIM'S hair falls into GUTHRIE'S lap.

GUTHRIE: Dude, you gonna keep on cutting your hair?
TIM: I like the feeling. Does it bother you?
GUTHRIE: No, not at all.

GUTHRIE begins to look out the window of the car, towards the night’s sky.

GUTHRIE: Have you ever though about how everything that the stars shine down on is fleeting? That the light from those stars is the future and that we are the past. Where is the present, man? Where is the present?
TIM: I just like to cut my hair. That’s all. That’s my present.

The pair drive past an automotive accident.

GUTHRIE: What was that?
TIM: Accident.
GUTHRIE: Boy.
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: You ever make hot chocolate as a kid?
TIM: Always had a soft spot for the peppermint kind.
GUTHRIE: That was some great shit.
TIM: It really was.

TIM and GUTHRIE pass another roadside accident.

GUTHRIE: Another one.
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: Really raining, huh?
TIM: Yeah.

TIM stops cutting his hair and drops his scissors. They land on the floor.

GUTHRIE: You done?
TIM: No, just taking a break.
GUTHRIE: Figures.
TIM: I guess it does.

A silence fills the car.

GUTHRIE: Do you want to know how I got this tattoo?
TIM: Not really.
GUTHRIE: You sure? It’s an interesting tale.
TIM: I’m OK.
GUTHRIE: Sure?
TIM: I’m fucking sure.

TIM turns on the radio. “Somewhere over the Rainbow” begins to play.

TIM: You ever go puddle stomping?
GUTHRIE: Of course.

TIM coughs.

GUTHRIE: Bad cough?
TIM: Yeah.
GUTHRIE: Last time I heard a cough like that... well, it was under very different circumstances.
TIM: What is that supposed to mean?
GUTHRIE: I don’t know. You’re the one that cuts his own hair.
TIM: I do it because I like the feeling. That’s all.

GUTHRIE begins to fidget with the guitar string hanging from his nose.

GUTHRIE: Do you ever wonder what evil looks like?

TIM turns the steering wheel violently. Their car barely misses being in an accident.

GUTHRIE: Another one.
TIM: I used to race cars, you know?
GUTHRIE: Yeah.
TIM: Yeah. I enjoyed it. I really it.
GUTHRIE: Hey!

Sound of brakes screeching. Vehicle swerves. Lights out. Sound of a loud crash.

The Couple

CECIL and BRENDA are 76 and 81, respectively.

CECIL is of a stocky build and his pants come so far above his waist that it seems as though they are governed by their own unique laws of physics.
Every movement that BRENDA makes seems fragile, like she could break at any moment. She colors her hair brown and dresses as though it is still 1965.

A lone cereal box sits next to an old wooden chair. Both characters are in the middle of the stage.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL: (Whispering) I don’t know...
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What’s for breakfast?
BRENDA: How does cereal sound?
CECIL: Ah yes, cereal.
BRENDA: Yes. Cereal. The same thing we have everyday.

CECIL picks up the cereal box and cautiously begins to open it, as if he is unsure of his movements.

CECIL: Do you remember that one time we went camping? Up in the lake district? We were with the kids.
BRENDA: Yes, but I haven’t thought about that in a long, long time.

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of wood being sawed. Lights come up. The chair is gone.
BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL: (Whispering)I don’t know...
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What’s for breakfast?
BRENDA: Cereal. I’ll go get the box for you.
CECIL: Thank you.

BRENDA walks across the stage and notices that the chair is gone.

BRENDA: Cecil, the chair is missing. It was here just a moment ago.
CECIL: What, what is a moment?
BRENDA: Oh, stop that. Help me look for the chair.

BRENDA takes CECIL by the hand as they walk around the stage, searching for the chair.

CECIL: What?
BRENDA: Nothing.
CECIL: You know what?
BRENDA: What?
CECIL: Once something expands to its limits, it must contract. The chair probably did just that. BRENDA: Cecil, will you please stop that. We probably just misplaced it. That’s all.

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of shovel over slate. Lights come back up. The cereal is gone.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL (Whispering) I don’t know.
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What is for breakfast?
BRENDA: Cereal.

BRENDA walks across the stage in order to get the cereal. She cannot find the box.

BRENDA: (Shouting) Cecil! Have you seen the cereal?
CECIL: You probably left it at the beginning.
BRENDA: What was that?
CECIL: What?
BRENDA: Nothing.
CECIL: Wouldn’t things be easier that way, if everything that was at the beginning was also at the start?
BRENDA: Stop that nonsense and help me look for the cereal.
CECIL: Cereal?
BRENDA (Shouting) Yes! What we have for breakfast every damn day!
CECIL: What? (Pause) Can you not find the cereal?
BRENDA: No!

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of a faucet dripping. Lights come up. CECIL is encased up to his waist in a packing case.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL: (Whispering) I don’t know.
BRENDA: What do you mean you don’t know?
CECIL: I mean I forgot. (Pause) What is for breakfast?
BRENDA: Nothing is for breakfast.
CECIL: Oh, that makes sense. What shall we do today? Go to the seaside? I’ve never been to the seaside before.
BRENDA: We got married by the seaside. On the Isle of Man.
CECIL: Nonsense. Getting married on an island of men seems silly... and statistically compromised in the case of infidelity.
BRENDA Cecil...
CECIL: What time is it?
BRENDA: I don’t know.
CECIL: How do you not know...
BRENDA: Please. Ask me something simple.
CECIL: But don’t you want to know? How can you live with not knowing?
BRENDA: It’s quite easy, really. I just never really wanted to.
CECIL: Why can’t I take a step forward?
BRENDA: I don’t know.
CECIL: Why can’t I move?
BRENDA: I don’t know.

Lights go out. In the darkness, a loud sound of hammering. Lights go up. CECIL is in packing up to the neck. BRENDA is in packing up to her waist.

BRENDA: What time is it?
CECIL (Whispering) I don’t know.
BRENDA: That’s fine. We had out time.
CECIL: I always wanted more.
BRENDA: We could have walked in circles for eternity and still wanted more time.
CECIL: Do you remember the time we went camping? Up in the lake district? With the kids. BRENDA: Of course.
CECIL: And we saw that deer, the one that seemed to glimmer as it walked. The one that appeared in an instant and was gone the next.
BRENDA: That deer was real.

Lights go out. In the darkness, magnified sound of teeth clacking. Lights go up. CECIL is completely encased in packing. BRENDA is encased up to her neck.

BRENDA: That deer was real. That deer was real. That deer was real.

BRENDA begins to wriggle in her box, trying to break free.

BRENDA: That deer was real. That deer was real. That deer was real. I am real. Cecil was real. Wouldn’t it be easier if every story began at the beginning, or at least started, I should say started.

BRENDA closes her eye and begins to sleep in the box. CECIL, fully encased in his box, begins to wriggle, as though he is trying to break free However, after a moment, he gives up, up, up, up, up. Lights go out. In the darkness, sound of a baby crying. Lights go up. Both members of the couple are fully encased in packaging.

Hot House

HENRY, 45, lies on the floor of the orchid house. He stares towards the ceiling while twirling an orchid in front of his eyes. One of the orchid’s petals falls onto HENRY'S nose. He sneezes. All the tables in the Orchid House are bare with the exception of one, which is covered by a blue tarp.

HENRY: The eyes do the body no favors.

EMMA, 25, bursts into the orchid house. She sees HENRY lying on the floor and runs over to his side.

EMMA: Henry?
Henry. Are you OK?
HENRY: Splendid.
EMMA: Why are you on the floor? Is something wrong?
HENRY: Now that you mention it, something is different. Everything is different.

EMMA grabs HENRY by the hand and helps him to his feet. HENRY continues to twirl the orchid in his hand.

EMMA: So have you made any progress?
HENRY: Progress. That is such a relative term.
EMMA: Henry? What did you take?
HENRY: Nothing. I’m wonderful.
EMMA: The Ghost Orchid, Henry. Have you made any progress at cloning the Ghost Orchid.
HENRY: I have actually made more than progress. I succeeded.
EMMA: What?
HENRY leans forward, putting the orchid in EMMA'S hair.

HENRY: Shut your eyes.

Henry pulls the blue tarp off of the nearby table. On the table lay rows and rows of Ghost Orchids, an extremely rare breed.

EMMA: Oh my god, Henry. How did you do it?
HENRY: Are you sure you want to know?
EMMA: Yes, but hold that thought. Let me get Fred. (Shouting) Fred!

FRED, 19, enters the orchid house.

FRED: What?
EMMA: Begin to harvest these orchids.
FRED: Sure. Whatever.
HENRY: No. You can't.
EMMA: What do you mean “can't?”
HENRY: You don’t understand. I have a responsibility.
EMMA: A responsibility? To whom?
HENRY: The orchids.
EMMA: Fred, start to harvest these flowers.
FRED: Hold up Ms. E, Henry is the one that signs my pay checks.
EMMA: Come on, Fred!
FRED: Not unless Henry says it's ok.
EMMA: (Frustrated) Fuck you two. I’ll be back.

EMMA storms out of the orchid house and slams the door shut. FRED and HENRY stare at each other. A silence fills the air.

FRED: Chicks, man.
HENRY: I don’t know if I am worthy of this fantastic experience?
FRED: Dude, what do you mean?
HENRY: What if I said that the flowers and I had an experience, and now things have changed.
FRED: You’re being really vague here man, can you explain it?
HENRY: You know how most people ask “how can you live without knowing?”
FRED: Sure.
HENRY: Well the flowers showed me that we all live without knowing. What I have to do know is to show people how to know.
FRED: OK, I’m trying to follow you but I’m just worried that you’re going to turn around and try to save my soul, because I took the N 19 on my way here and this one creepy guy gave me a pamphlet and everything.
HENRY: You don’t realize, I want to share this knowledge. I need to. To harbor it is to suffer.
FRED: No offense, but I’m kinda wondering what the hell is up with this. I’m going to go get Lillian.

FRED walks out of the orchid house.

LILLIAN, 67, strides into the orchid house.

LILLIAN: I knew this project was too much for you to handle.
HENRY: Mother.
LILLIAN: I knew that that investor from New York was just going to bring unnecessary pressure, and, oh, I don’t know.
HENRY: Don’t worry, mother. I’m only half-dead.
LILLIAN: What?
HENRY: The information I now possess is only know by the dead. Yet I remain in the realm of the living. Therefore, I am half-dead. A living dead man. I wonder if dad now knows?
LILLIAN: Leave your father out of this. Even he would not approve of your gibberish.
HENRY: But it’s not gibberish. It’s inside of all us, we just need to die to realize it. It’s the world's greatest puzzle and the key was always inside our minds.
LILLIAN: Let me call Dr. Stevens and...

HENRY picks up a pot containing a Ghost Orchid.

HENRY: There will be no need for that.

Suddenly, HENRY blinks and drops the potted orchid, breaking the pot. A short silence.

HENRY: I’m sorry, mother. That was uncalled for. I just had to see if it was possible (Pause) to destroy the thing that I created, but that ultimately recreated me.

Water drips from the ceiling of the orchid house.

LILLIAN: Oh, Henry.

LILLIAN steps forward as she begins to hug HENRY. However, she slips, falling to the ground.

HENRY: Mother!

HENRY moves to his mother’s side. Picking her up in his arms.

HENRY: Let’s get you inside.

Carrying LILLIAN, HENRY walks out of the orchid house.

The orchid house is empty. A shrill hum fills the air. EMMA and FRED enter from opposite sides of the house.

EMMA: You get my text?
FRED: 200 for me to harvest those orchids. Done and done.

FRED grabs a pair of cutters from the wall and begins to snip the orchids.

FRED: These orchids smell weird.
EMMA: Thanks for the update. Cut.
FRED: Whatever.

Leaning towards one of the orchids, FRED inhales and falls to the ground.

EMMA: What?!

FRED is frozen on the ground. Seemingly paralyzed.

EMMA: Shit! Fred!

EMMA begins to run towards the exit of the orchid house. HENRY is walking back towards the orchid house and seeing EMMA, holds the door open for her.

HENRY: In a hurry?
EMMA: (Panting) What, what are those orchids?

Processing the comment, HENRY quickens his pace as he enters the orchid house. HENRY sees FRED on the ground and runs over to his side.

HENRY: Don’t panic. You’ll be able to move soon.

FRED'S body suddenly begins to twitch and he gets to his feet.

FRED: (Panting) I need to get some air.

FRED limps out of the orchid house. HENRY picks up an orchid and begins to twirl it between his fingers. Walking over to the wall of the orchid house, HENRY picks up a watering can and begins to water the plants. He raises the orchid to his eye level, as if he is making eye contact with it.

HENRY: It’s yours, it’s everybody’s. But will everybody want it?