It's Showtime, Mate! - the Weirdos Revolution

ONE

‘Everything comes to an end.’

‘Right.’

‘Everything except dreams, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘The only way to be immortal is to become a legend.’

‘Become a legend, checked.’

‘You shall die like a hero.’

‘Evident.’

‘And these, son, are just a few memorable lines we use at:’

‘LULLA-BALLOON!’ Albert shouted, interrupting the job interview for Coffins & Coffins, Your Unmissable Funeralcare. Then he stretched his arms and legs as if enjoying a rollercoaster ride at Disneyland. ‘We done here? I really need to go, Arth.’ he announced.

’Excuse me?’

’I said, I have to go. Thanks for your priceless advice.’

‘Is it a joke? You... you can't just leave!’

‘Yeah, well, you know.’

‘What?!’

‘Look, my friend’s downstairs waiting for me. We're running late.’

‘Late for what?’

‘Aw, you're gonna like this: we're hitting the landfill, it’s Inspiration-Chasing Day, Arth.’

‘My name is Arthur, and , please, don’t touch me!’

‘I'm sorry, Arth, I didn't mean to upset you. By the way, you should ditch these dusty coffins and join us.’

‘This is insane.’ cried the man, about to explode. He was really this close to… but he didn’t. Instead, he stood up, fixed his unmistakably black suit and combed his mane while snorting large chunks of air like an addict.

‘You ok?’

‘Sure.’

‘Come on, what’s with the long face? You look like you’re going to a funeral.’

‘...’

‘Besides, it’s nothing personal, you know it.’

‘I said DON’T TOUCH ME, for God’s sake!’

‘Oh, don't be that guy. There's no need to be angry, Arth.’

‘I don’t want to see your face ever again.’ he basically snarled.

‘Gosh…’ Albert sighed, relieved. ‘Finally, we're on the same page. I really hated this job.’

‘You…’

‘Fingers crossed, I'll never get it. You sure you don't want to come over?’

‘GET OUT!’

‘’Aight but you’re missing lots of great things, just saying…’

‘You, son of a…’

‘Whatever, nevermind, see you next time, Arth!’ concluded Albert, and slammed the door on his way out.

Arthur was steaming. He was so angry he would throw a chair against the window, and… yeah, he actually did it, twenty-five seconds after Albert left the room. What a day.

Downstairs, parked straight in front of the building, Steve witnessed in shock the fall of a majestic, hand-stitched, brown leather swinging chair from the 5th floor. The expensive piece of furniture swirled in the air like in the movies, 360-degree Matrix effect, and it floated along with a thousand shards of glass which sparkled light all over, in the most glamorous way. Then the crash happened: SBAM., a very disappointing deaf sound, too real to seduce. No Hollywood explosions, no blast when kissing the ground. A large crowd immediately gathered around the crime scene. Steve was observing that mess from the luxurious interior of his custom black BMW when Albert popped in and whined a long, loud:

‘Bo – O – Riiing.’

‘Uh?’

‘I’m talking about Arthur, the interview guy. Such a waste. News?’

‘Man, you won’t believe it.’

‘What’s that mob doing?’

‘Someone threw a chair from up there!’

‘Classic. And, obviously: ladies & gents, welcome the cream of society, popping on the scene like mushrooms.’

‘You don’t have to talk like a ‘40s radio presenter, Albert.’

‘Tut-tut. Here comes the edgy conspiratorialist psycho fueled by gallons of coffee (whatever a gallon is), affected by nervous laughing and, there you go!, he’s joined by the Catholic fools, convinced that Judgement Day finally came.’

‘Well…’

‘And, as they all reach for their phones to film the event, we end our transmissions. Sayonara, folks!’

‘I’m speechless.’

‘Innit? They’re wonderful.’

‘Who?’

‘People! A bloody bunch of talking plushies programmed to reply with pre-recorded answers: I'm too busy; I'm too nervous; I'm aw-kay, may(t).’

‘You sound stupid.’

‘Yeah Steve, cuz I hate them.’

‘Man, calm down, you’re gonna have a stroke.’

‘Sure. Anybody hurt?’

‘Nope, the road was desert on that side.’

‘Glad to hear it. That's great news. Fucking great news! Mate, I'm feeling supersonic! Shall we go now?’

‘Hell yeah!’

So, the engine started, lights went on and the car roared away, somewhere around Sherlintock. Steve loved his BMW more than anything else, girlfriends included, and that was the sole reason why he was so excited. Speed went up, the new Whatshisname top of the pops album pumped loud from the speakers and Steve began drumming on the steering wheel.

‘Man, why don't you stop doing job interviews?’ he asked ‘It's pretty clear you don't give two shits about them.’

‘As a matter of fact, I do not care, my friend, but it's therapy.’

‘Wow, that's…’

‘Free therapy!’

‘Like going to a shrink?’

‘Yepsy. Each time is a test. A squalor-level check-up.’

‘You’re insane, man.’

‘What? No, I’m not. Are you even listening?’

‘I…’

‘It's all about finding the strength for being yourself, fuck the system and its cliches, no compromise. Do I want to wear a stiff suit for the rest of my life? Hell no. Where do I see myself in five years? Fuck knows, Malibu? We shall never give in to society's rules, Steve.’

‘...’

‘And remember, it takes courage to refuse moulding into certain schemes. You need to train yourself.’

‘I bet.’

‘Seriously, it ain’t easy.’

‘So, job interviews, uh?’

‘Hell yeah, my friend. Guaranteed.’

‘You're an asshole.’

‘I'm just a survivor, mate. If I'd ever feel down because of the way they look at me or how they treat me, please blow my brains out. You'll find my suicide note stashed in the drawer.’

‘Woah, woah, I'm not Courtney, man!’

‘Don’t be modest, you`re pretty nice too.’

‘She ain't pretty…’

‘Good point. However, I'll be stone dead either way, so who fucking cares.’

‘Amen.’

The shimmering-black engined panther was slipping through the narrow streets of Sherlintock at a good speed, dribbling bikes, vans and whatever got in the way. Albert was observing his boring village scrolling silently outside the car window. They were almost there.

‘Any chance you're gonna tell me what we're supposed to do in a landfill?’.

‘Steve, you kidding me? It’s the most inspiring place on Earth!’

‘Is it?’

‘We climb over the fence and wander around. Your eyes won't believe how many treasures there are.’

‘Mmm...’

‘Listen, the potential doesn't lay in the object itself. Real magic lies in what you can see beyond it.’

‘Fab.’

‘Innit?’

‘So, Mr next-in-the-queue for the Nobel Prize, please tell us: you're gonna change the world, aren't you?’

‘Fuck off, Steve, think about it: why else should we live on this planet if not to make extraordinary things? This is the only way I can explain my existence to myself. I'll probably fail, alright, but I want to live it trying my best.’

‘Man, you’re so inspiring when you go bonkers.’

‘You for real?’

‘Nah. But I'm gonna write your speech down anyway. A bit of drama always works great with birds.’

‘You're a monster.’

‘Thanks, man.’

‘Pleasure.’

‘So, Albert, have you figured out what to do with your life?’

‘What a cheeky question, Steve.’

‘Well…’

‘Unbelievable. Besides, what do you mean?’

‘Come on, you live right next to the campus, you attend every class and you’re not even enrolled.’

‘So what? I like studying things, not getting a degree.’

‘How do you think I managed to buy this car?’

‘With all due respect, Steven John Damn I am the Big Sales Deal in Town: I have other plans.’

‘Fancy short nicknames, uh?’

‘Shut up. Now, stop the bloody car and follow me, I feel lucky. Today we're gonna catch the sparkle that will ignite our brains and give us the idea of the century! My friend, we're about to change the world for good!’

TWO

There must have been two-thirds of Sherlintock's entire population in Central Park that day, flying kites, barbecuing, drinking pints… everyone was there but her. The sun shone brightly between lazy clouds and the air was warm enough to make youngster’s tees blossom all around.

Victoria didn't even notice the clear skies. She was so busy she couldn't tell whether it was night or day. Like every morning, she put random clothes on, pretended to wash her face and quickly headed to her favourite place in town: the busy, noisy Sherlintock train station. She always carried a book, pencils, crayons and whatevers, all squeezed into the narrow pockets of her vintage cardigan. Armed to the teeth she was ready for secret mission “Enjoy Aloneness”. At least that was the plan...

‘You forgot your mobile, you fool!’ said Rose as they entered the station.

‘Did anyone invite you, at all?’

‘You're welcome, honey.’

‘I'm late.’

‘You're always late.’

‘Would you stop it?’

‘Careful!’

‘Uh?’

‘BASH!’

Victoria crashed into something enormous, dressed in marble, with a sign that read: Platform Two. Rose was laughing out loud, almost in tears, still pointing in the direction opposite the giant pillar.

‘You, idiot!’ Victoria screamed in anger, gesticulating wildly and shouting at Rose, who existed only in her mind, unreal and beautiful like a trip to Hawaii.

Obviously, all the stray passengers populating the surroundings turned, puzzled by that bizarre girl talking to herself.

‘Shhh…’

‘Don't shush me!’ Victoria yelled again.

A very refined, impeccably dressed old man was observing the scene with special attention.

‘Are you alright?’ he gently asked her, rushing there to help.

‘Thank you, sir, I'm fine.’

‘Are you sure, dear? Where are you going?’

‘Oh, well, nowhere. Everywhere. I mean, I've just arrived.’ replied Victoria, sitting on a dusty-old wooden bench.

‘That’s a graceful spot... oh, you dropped your book, here it is.’

‘Marvellous.’

‘This bench... why is it so special?’

‘To me?’

‘No, not to you, I’m trying to remember…’

‘For what it's worth, this brass plaque says Anthony Morvar’s Thinking Temple. Is it of any help?’

‘Good God, how did I possibly forget it? Christ. Fuck. Shit!’

‘There's no need to swear, sir.’

‘No need to... do you know who Anthony Morvar is?’

‘Should I?’

‘Sh... … I?’ he was shocked ‘What are you doing here anyway? What DO – YOU – DO on the bench?’

‘Mmm... things.’

‘Now we're talking! What sorts of things?’

‘Let's see… I read. A lot.’

‘Show me.’

‘No way.’

‘Show me.’

‘What the hell? Sir, don't you think you’re overstepp…’

‘Show me.’

‘Alright (bloody old man). Do you want me to read? I'll fucking read so you'll leave me alone.’ Victoria thought to herself. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened the book, a beautiful hardcover leather-bound piece stuffed with blank pages. Her fingers delicately danced over the thick wordless sheets as she started enjoying the story. A quiet smile rested on her face, eyes still closed, mouth shut.

The curious crowd was now staring at her, carefully approaching Platform Two, the one bringing people in and out from London, every day, like the graceful dance of the oceans. Victoria was performing her silent show when:

‘Wake up, the copper’s approaching.’ cut in Rose. ‘Put that book of yours away, we're going to have trouble.’ she muffled in the most discreet, impossible whisper.

‘Trouble? Why so?’

‘Just chuck it in the bag. Now!’

‘Good afternoon, madam. May I ask you to stand up and show me your ID?’ politely asked the uniformed guy.

‘Don't you see she's reading?’

‘Please sir, let me do my job.’

‘Your job? And what would that be? She's just…’ insisted the old man, trying in vain to impose a certain authority.

‘Hello to you, Charlie, how are you doing?’ intervened Victoria.

‘I'm ok, kid. Listen, I have to check on you, it's nothing personal but, you know the rules. We need to keep an eye on everything weird around here, at all times.’

‘I understand. So, what do I look like today? Am I an unattended item to be removed?’

‘Look…’

‘Can’t you let me be?’

‘Yeah, about that: people are getting quite uncomfortable with it. They’re worried.’

‘With what? Me, existing?’

‘Thing is, they don't understand how you can stare at a bunch of blank pages for hours, pretending to read. They're pressing me with all sorts of enquires. They're convinced you're up to something bad like, I don’t know, black magic, obscure witchcrafts, you name it.’

‘I'm just reading, that's all, Charlie.’

‘Yes, I figure but... they…’

‘Jesus Christ, spit it out!’

‘You look like a weirdo.’

‘Nice touch.’

‘They're scared. You know, these days…’

‘I'm not a freaking terrorist. I'm having a good read, what harm can I do to anyone? Take a look at it yourself, it's just a book, Charlie!’

She placed that singular copy in the hands of the officer who looked sincerely sorry about the whole situation.

‘Listen, Victoria…’ he mumbled, flicking through the volume ‘these are blank pages, there's not a single word printed on it. No pictures, no nothing.’

‘So what? Besides, you knew it already.’

‘You understand that the people are…’

’Hey, hold on. Close your eyes and read page seven.’

‘Seven?’

‘Seven.’

The elegant senior appeared delighted with the whole situation. It was as if he truly understood it all. As if it wasn't the first time he witnessed something like that. Victoria was serious, staring at the copper.

‘Please, give it a try.’ she begged him with her sweet doe eyes. ‘Trust me, this book is overflowing with stories.’ she insisted.

‘...’

‘Brilliant, Charlie! Now take a deep breath, relax, free your mind.’

‘Well, I…’

‘Just for a moment. Have a seat.’

‘Alright, like this?’

The mob was scanning the scene from a distance, waiting for something to happen. ‘What's going on there? Why is the policeman acting like a nitwit? Did she cast a spell on him?’ They asked each other, spontaneously. The officer, now comfortably sitting on the bench, was just about to get somewhere with the odd book in his hands and his eyes shut. He was on the threshold of his thoughts when a man shouted:

‘Fancy a cuppa?’

And the crowd burst out laughing, nervously, freeing their tension. Charlie instantly woke up finding himself in the middle of a nightmare, feeling horrible, humiliated and defeated for lowering his guard down. He jumped to his feet, furious at himself.

‘Fine, you tricked me once again, Victoria, but that's enough. Stand up! NOW. Go home!’ he sharply ordered.

‘I don't think I will, Charlie. I have the right to stay. Period.’

‘I think I'll join her.’ added the old man knocking his majestic brass cane against the floor.

‘Oh, come on you people, why don't you go out like all the others? It's such a great day.’

Victoria adjusted her black ribbon choker as if she wasn't even listening. Then she got back to her reading.

‘You know what? Stay. I can't waste all of my time with you.’

‘...’

‘Just try to keep a low profile, would you?’

‘I can't believe you sold out like that, Charlie. You know me, and I think you owe me an apology. This isn't fair. Why don't you catch proper crooks instead of pestering me every day?’

‘Holy Jesus…’ thought the officer, who, as usual, didn't have a clue of how to escape that situation.

‘Actually, you know what?’

‘Uh?’

‘It’s your lucky day, Charlie. I’m sick of being treated like a loony, a misfit, a nutcase. I am leaving. Happy?’

‘...’

‘Rose, let’s go.’ Victoria told no one. ‘We’re out of here.’

She tied her white Reebok's shoelaces and fiercely stood up, grabbed her bag and finally headed to the exit followed by her imaginary friend Rose and the odd senior who genuinely seemed to enjoy all that weirdness, as if he had been searching for it all of his life.

Victoria set her walking pace to the Richard Ashcroft-mode in Bittersweet Symphony, and the three of them cut through the mob like superheroes, the old man brandishing his golden cane and Rose impossibly smiling with pride. Heads turned as Victoria passed by like a Queen on the royal carriage back in the day. She was about to exit the station when she stopped. She adjusted her striped socks and faced the staring crowd.

‘You... Wankers.’ she declared out loud with a slight squint of her deep blue eyes, without moving her lips, no sound whatsoever. Then, she disappeared.

The old man escorted Victoria towards a blossomed lonely tree sitting in the nearby garden. It looked like an inviting and harmless place for giving an end to the marvellous story she started reading on the Morvar bench.

‘Do you like it here?’

‘I love it.’ she said, making room for him to sit next to her, on the grass.

‘Thanks, darling.’

‘Aren't you tired?’

‘Are you implying I’m old?’

‘Duh?’

‘Hey, I might not be a teenager anymore but I still have some life to live.’

‘Yes, you look good, even happy in fact. How do you do it?’

‘It’s a secret.’

‘Mmm... Is it somehow related to that bench?’

‘Ah.’ he replied, pleased, swinging comfortably on an imaginary swing chair.

‘Why are you smiling?’

‘Because. I knew it, the Morvar bench is still magic. He's not gone.’

‘That Anthony guy?’

‘Precisely. Morvar is still around and he’ll never leave us alone. I just needed confirmation.’

‘I'm not sure I understand.’

‘Don’t worry, kid, you will. Now, would you be so kind as to finish reading your story to me?’

‘Are you for real?’

‘100%.’

‘…’ Victoria didn’t say, a bit confused, but then thought: whatever. She opened the book to the exact dog-eared blank page, she closed her eyes and slowly let that enchanting tale sail her away.