sixwordstories | (no subject)

[There is a man standing nearby with two water bottles. They lack labels, torn off long ago, and neither are completely full. He stares at both with doe-eyed intensity.

He frowns, grasps a stray idea before it dashes off, and tosses one bottle in the air. He catches it, upside-down, then resumes his study of the two.

There is a great mystery here that he must apparently solve.]

[He watches for some little time, growing increasingly restless in his skin.]

Hey. [The word erupts out of him, louder than intended. What follows, he reigns in.] What is-- what are you doing?

Oh, hello there. [No surprise, no irritation, just simple pleasantness. He makes his way over, watching the bottles more than his feet.] I am, at present, in this very time and place, trying to make sense of this. Here, look.

[They are moved closer so Cornell can see. First one in his left hand, right-side up, is held in the center while the second, upside-down one, is held perched atop his palm.]

The same measurements of water, and yet this cannot be so. If one is half-full, then the other is half-empty. Oppositions to one another. Yet...

[He tosses the one in his right hand up, and holds it identical to its partner.]

Now they are the same. This is confusing. Would you not agree?

[He stares at the bottles in question with the intensity of the overtired as Rosencrantz explains. Then... squints. Glances up.]

No. What are you-- the water? It's the same. Up, down, sideways [he demonstrates each in turn with his hands], the same. Look; up, sideways... up. Same. [He turns his hands:] Same.

[He watches this demonstration studiously. The lesson is obvious, even understood, and yet...]

Then why different names? One cannot be 'full' and 'empty' at the same time. [He turns one bottle side-ways, following Mark's hand movements.] The same amount of water. I put it all there myself, drop by drop.

Yet now I find myself at a paradox of terms of a philosophical nature. If we, perhaps, extend some spirituality to this liquid, then perhaps one could be construed as empty.

[This is a new concept and requires a moment of silent pondering.]

[...what? Cornell drops his hands.]

They're only half-- [No, he needs nicotine to deal with this. Whatever 'this' is. He reaches into his coat pocket, retrieving the carton and pulling out a cigarette. He puts it between his teeth before holding out the rest in offering.] Here. You smoke?

[Rosencrantz looks at the offering, then back to him.] Sir. That is not smoke, that is a square box. And truth be known I do not see how smoke of any sort might help us unravel our current predicament of the half and half-not water.

['Round that corner and down the dark alley, a drug exchange is happening. Typical set up: dealer standing, junkie on his knees, paying in the best way he can. It's over in a matter of minutes, and Stretch is spitting out against the filthy concrete. The back is tossed down, hits him in the chest, bounces off like a dejected piece of garbage.]

Yeah, have a nice fuckin' day. I'll be here all week.

[Grumbled after the guy has walked well out of earshot. He spits again, gets the bag and shoves it down his pants. He stands, starts to walk off, only to round the corner and run into Mark with enough unexpected force that he stumbles back several steps.]

Uh... hi.

[Uncertainly. Cop or not? Can't fuckin tell these days. He wipes at his mouth with a loose hoody sleeve.]

Edited 2013-01-20 00:36 (UTC)

[Mark's on his way to the docks, already feeling edgy and impatient, going through the paces for the benefit of someone he's already convinced himself he can't trust. Why? Why even bother? For the money, he reminds himself, and that's about the time Stretch walks into him.

There's a gun in the pocket of his coat, but even walking a thin line of stress and insomnia Mark isn't quite the type to reach for it, even just to reassure himself it's there. Anyway, whoever this guy is he looks harmless enough.]

Hi. Excuse you. Where are you going in such a hurry? [Each statement follows the last without pause.]

[Seems like he wasn't the only addict out and about. He observed the other more closely. Hm, no, maybe not on something, but certainly several fries short of a happy meal.

Better than a cop giving him a pat down. Crazy was good. He could roll with crazy. Even if he was eager to get home and enjoy his new stash.]

Yeah, sorry 'bout that. My fault, I should've looked where I was going. [Anxious moving from one foot to the other.] Ain't no hurry here, man. I'm just, y'know, enjoyin' the scenery. Can't a guy do that anymore?