Those Who Live in Grass Houses

Dawn

Dawn

There’s nothing quite like being trapped in a soap. It’s not that there aren’t other occupations when every day seems identical and you meet the same people all the time in your tiny little neighbourhood. Swapping round the faces, forming new patterns of relationship, only to come round to the scenario that looks oh so familiar. But the soap is king of the interminable. The only escape seems to be to die.

I thought so anyway, until a few days ago. That was when I had a really weird experience I think of as the glitch. It was as though I’d frozen for a moment, everything gone black, and then, when time returned, the script had missed out on a few lines and I had to improvise until I caught up.

That was only the first time. I put it down to something I’d eaten and soon forgot all about it. But then it happened again. A bit longer this time, even though it wasn’t quite so dark. More like falling into this sorta grey mist. It must have lasted longer as well because I was further behind when I regained consciousness.

Geoff Ginglick persuaded me to see the doctor about it. The on-set one, of course. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. He poked and prodded me for a bit, listened to my heart through that stethoscope he’s always wearing, and shone a light in my eyes. Says he can’t find anything wrong. I wasn’t surprised, seeing that he hadn’t done much of an examination at all. But, fair enough, I figured it couldn’t be too bad in that case and was just about to leave, and he leans over to say into my ear, “I’m not really a doctor, you know.”

Actually I didn’t know that. I was going to ask him what he meant but he was out of that room like a scared rabbit. Haven’t seen him around since. What was he doing in that case? Pretending to be a doctor? Didn’t make sense.

Well, you know me - I’m not one to worry myself to death, so I put it on the back burner until I had time to see a real doctor. Like we have loads of time to ourselves in a soap.

Of course, it wasn’t long before it happened again. Everything going along nicely and then, whoosh, I’m in grey country again. Bit lighter that time, and I begin to see shapes moving about in the fog. But I can’t move, it’s like I’m glued to the spot, and then whoosh again, I’m back in the soap. And way behind in the conversation.

People were beginning to notice and Kathy came up to me afterward and asked if I was okay. She reckoned I’d had some sort of a stroke and couldn’t say a word for a couple of minutes. I fobbed her off.

But that wasn’t going to last forever. It seemed to be getting worse and now even I was beginning to worry. Started thinking about where to go to find a decent doctor and then dropped into a really big glitch.

This time everything was much lighter and I could see that the shapes were people. And I could move! I walked toward them and their faces coalesced out of the murk. I could recognise them, I tell you. I knew them. Kathy was there and Mark with old Harriman in the background. It occurred to me that it was just like what was happening when I flipped out. They were all carrying on as if nothing had happened to me, chatting away and laughing the way they always do.

I grabbed Kathy’s arm and she shook my hand loose. “What the hell you doing, Bob? You’ll ruin the scene.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What’s going on? And why can’t I think of how to get back to you guys?”

“Are you having one of your turns?” she asks, and then Mark leans in and says, “You bloody idiot - you know we can’t do another take. You’re wrecking the scene.”

‘The scene?’ I think. ‘What scene?’

I look around and realise there’s people I’ve never noticed out there. People with earphones on and carrying big cameras and stuff, booms with microphones on the end and loads of weird gear. There’s some guy just getting out of a chair, face all red, and he’s shouting something as loud as he can. Only I can’t hear as I’m fading, fading, and everything’s getting misty again until…

I’m back with real life and everyone’s stopped and is looking at me. Mark grabs me and yells, “You damn fool, do you realise you’re behaving like a drunkard? Waving your arms about and asking weird questions? What’s wrong with you , man?”

And I’m confused and don’t know what’s happening and then it hits me like a freight train in full blast. This isn’t reality. Shit, we even call it the soap. We’re all just characters in a play, man. I’m shouting the words at Mark, tearing my arm from his grasp and trying to get through to him, anyone, that there’s a real world out there and we don’t have to be trapped in this farce any longer, we can be free and our own persons and find something worthwhile to do with our lives, if only we let go of this pretence and make believe.

But it’s too late and they’re fading away and the light is becoming stronger. And my heart leaps for joy. I’m going back to life at last. I’m free of the soap, free of lines written for someone who doesn’t exist, I’m truly, truly free!


House Martel

Word count: 948
For "Game of Thrones"  The North Remembers, Mirror Mirror
Prompt: 18 Write a story about a character who is experiencing glitches in their reality.
Prompt: 36 Write a story where the characters start to realize that they are, in fact, just characters.