Date: Mon, 2 Nov 2015 12:28:40 +0100
From: thylacine visuals <thylacinevisuals@hotmail.com>
Subject: en algun lugar (somewhere) chapter 1/2

DISCLAIMER & AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following story is a complete work of
fiction. any resemblance to actual people, places or bussinesses is purely
coincidental and should be viewed as such. This story is written and
published for entertainment purposes only. copyrights exclusively owned by
me.

This story is the culmination of 15 years of trying, refining and starting
again. Certain parts of this story might seem familiar to avid readers of
the site. I did resurect certain themes and characters from previous
stories published on this site years ago. No stealing or copying going
on...if anything seems familiar to an older story on this site, it's
because i wrote that one too!

Hope you enjoy this story!
Kevin Thylacine

En Algun Lugar. Chapter 1/2:

"Love is a storm, carrying with it all the pain and fears we have tried to
escape... 
Life is a fire that draws us to it like the moth to the flame...
Burning all things except the question why"

Peter stopped writing, shocked at the dark overtone of his own writing. He
tore the page out of the little spiral note book, crushed it into a ball
and threw it into the trash bin next to his desk. He always carried a
little notebook with him to pen down ideas, thoughts, sketches of
plotlines...anything that came to mind when inspiration struck him. This
little verse was worthless, too negative to ever be used and totally
unreflective of his character and outlook on life. Yet he understood the
origins of his sober thoughts. As he was reviewing the auditions of the
day, trying to make some decisions, his mind had drifted away. He was
thinking about Thomas, about how different his auditions might be. The
thought was unpleasant and unhelpful to him so he forced his mind to ban it
back to the dark corner it had escaped from.

"Back to work he thought" as he turned his attention back to his desk and
the papers on it.

The office was only lit by the small desk lamp in front of him and a small
ray of light coming in from the hallway. On his desk was a variety of
pictures, notes and other documents. Several actors had auditioned that
day, and days before. Even though several candidates were represented on
his desk the debate raging in his mind was not over who to choose. He had
made that decision hours ago... No, there was another conflict that needed
to be resolved. The story he had written was powerful. Both guys had
praised it for it. But was it too powerful? He didn't doubt the actors
could do it. He knew they would be great. But could he subject them to his
own personal catharsis? Wouldn't it affect them somehow? Wasn't this just
compulsive self confession instead of art? Should he even be making this
movie? He was about to take something that looked good in his own mind and
share it with the world. Would their reactions be what he imagined them to
be? Would they misinterpret it? This sudden lack of self confidence
bothered him. It always seemed to accompany the final step from idea into
reality.

The bottle of Jack Daniels at the far corner of the desk offered to
help. As he poured another glass he tried to replay the movie of the
day. He had picked up on something earlier in the day, but wasn't sure
where the nagging splinter in his brain came from. Could they come out of
this journey unscaved? If so, how? Then he remembered the reason he started
this project in the first place...and doubt turned into determination. As
he stood up to turn on another light the vanishing shadows took all
uncertainty with them. A decision had been made and it was final.

He took his mind back to Josh's and Paul's audition. Although they had
never met before their interactions were immediately spontaneous and
amicable. The little hints he had received about the nature of their
personalities had encouraged him to make the decision. If they were to
connect on screen there needed to be some connection off screen. Of that
much he was sure. The reading had been but a formality. It had been
instantaneously obvious they understood where he wanted to go with the text
and their interpretation of it was exactly what he envisioned. Watching
both guys interact with the text and each other had made him confident the
last parts of the puzzle had fallen into place. It was the finality of that
realization that had bothered him earlier, but now the creative promise he
so strived for had overtaken his spirit again and the enthusiasm was
pumping through his veins. "We are really going to do this" he spoke out
loud, as if to convince himself it was real.

A feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment came over him as he sat back
down in the now well lit room. He had been contemplating this story for
years, nearly a decade now. His oldest paper notes had already assumed a
somewhat yellowish color. He had started several attempts at writing it
down over time but every time he ended up hitting a wall, a block that
stopped him again and again. Fragments had appeared in other form: short
stories, poems, dialogues and every other medium he used to express his
creativity. The story had never left him though. It had ripened in his mind
during this time. He had seen the characters grow up, take on form and
personality. He had seen the conflicts play out, over and over again until
it seemed he had lived them. This was the one! For good or for bad, he knew
this was the project that would define him. Maybe not the one the world
would judge him by, but the one by which he would judge himself.

What had Paul called it earlier "a personal project?" Peter smiled at the
comment. Nobody knew how personal this really was. His hopes for this
endeavor reached far beyond earning a few dollars, entertaining an audience
or even critical acclaim. This was his attempt to fix things that should
have been fixed long ago. This was his ultimate attempt at
reconciliation. "It must be perfect, it has to be" He thought, clenching
his fist as if to garner more will power.

He remembered sitting in those heavy velvet seats in the city auditorium,
looking up at the stage, being mesmerized by that larger than life man. He
had watched in amazement as this thespian giant conjured up the spirits of
men like Hamlet or Cyrano. The theater had been his introduction to the
creative arts. He had tried his hand at acting but had soon found his
talent lay in the craft of storytelling. His father had hoped one of his
sons would continue his legendary stage career. To discover neither one had
inherited his unnatural talent for the stage was somewhat of a
disappointment. But Over time, watching his son ascend in the movie
industry, he had come to realize the art of captivating an audience took on
many forms. Peter knew his father was proud of him and it meant the world
to him, but it also left him with an uncomfortable feeling of guilt. Was it
really all his own accomplishment? Hadn't life laid out the cards maybe a
little better for him? There were many in his field who had never had the
chance to create according to their own vision. So many had to use their
talents in service, not in freedom. What else could they do but survive, by
any means that presented themselves? Could you blame them? His father's
stern eyes had told him many times. Yes, you could!

He felt he had been inside long enough. He needed some fresh air. The
creative decisions had been made. He would start with the logistics
tomorrow, not tonight. As he stood up from behind his desk he emptied the
glass in front of him and turned off the lights. He walked through the
building, turning of lights and appliances as he proceeded. Like so many
nights he was the last one to leave the office. The small industrial
building on the outskirts of the city was his. He had built it with the
help of some kindred spirits. They had started their business in a garage,
but their determination, persistence and above all talent had allowed them
to grow it to the point where they were the proud owners of a respectable
commercial enterprise, equipped with all the necessary technical tools,
housed in a more than decent building. As he turned the key on the front
door he took a long look at the building. Peter felt proud of what he had
achieved. With the door securely locked he turned around, put up his collar
as he walked through the cold night air towards his car.

***

Anyone who would have been able to look through the window of Josh's hotel
room that morning would have been treated to quite the spectacle. Even
though the sun had only just come up the young actor was already up and
about. Dressed in some basketball shorts and matching sleeveless shirt he
was walking through the room. Bruce Springsteen's greatest hits were
blaring through the speakers of his docking station. The cup of coffee he
was holding in one hand didn't stop him from wildly moving along to the
rhythm as he walked across the room. From time to time he would make his
way to the table to take a bite of the toast room service had brought
up. As soon as he had swallowed it he'd resume singing along, a huge smile
on his face. His unkempt hair waved along as he shook his head.

He had woken up in a particular good mood this morning. Normally he would
be somewhat of a long sleeper but today he hadn't felt like wasting any
time. As soon as the first rays of sunlight had awoken him he was running
around. The audition yesterday had filled him with enthusiasm. Although
there was no way of knowing what the outcome would be he was feeling pretty
confident about it. This part was written for him. This was the role he was
meant to play. He badly wanted to be a part of this project. His creativity
was screaming for the opportunity to interact with the story he had read so
carefully in the script. If anyone would get the cliff notes of the plot it
would seem like your run of the mill love story, but he had picked up on
the subtext brewing silently underneath those seemingly simple lines. It
would be up to him to unearth it, at least that was what he hoped for. Josh
understood people would call it a `gay' movie. Others would probably label
it a `coming of age' story. Both interpretations were way too simplistic he
thought. The conflict between the characters didn't originate from them
being gay, it came from their inability to take control of their
lives. That's what appealed to him in the story. He would be terribly
disappointed if he would miss out on this movie. "But, hey..." he snapped
himself out of it, "today is a day for positive thinking. We're going to
get that part!" For the following couple of days he decided to at least
pretend the role was his.

He stepped over a pair of shoes randomly lying on the floor as he continued
to walk around the room lost in thought. The hotel room he was in was a
somewhat organized chaos. He had been there for three weeks now and had
definitely made himself at home. Several chairs were covered with
clothes. Dozens of papers were laying on all sorts of surfaces throughout
the space, on table tops, shelves even on the bed. One could only wonder
how the cleaning service had managed to do anything in the time He had
spent there. He had arrived in the city a few weeks ago to do some
redubbing on a short film he had filmed earlier in the year. When he was
asked by Peter to audition for his movie he had extended his stay in the
hotel. If he were to actually get the part he would probably stay there a
lot longer. If so, he really needed to do some cleaning up before he
overstayed his welcome.

The chaos in the room was rather reflective of the chaos that characterized
his professional life. He had left home some years ago but had never
actually owned a house in that time. Since his booking had seriously gone
up his life had been a long string of one hotel room after the other for as
long as he could remember. When a project would allow him to stay in the
same place for a longer amount of time he would rent an apartment for a
couple of months. He really didn't like this arrangement but constant
mobility was an absolute requirement in the business he was in. He might
have acquired some name recognition but certainly not the clout to pressure
anyone to change their planning for his convenience. Even if he had, he was
not the kind of guy to actually do something like that.

Like so many hopefuls before him he had made the move south, to the land of
fun and sun, after he had finished his schooling. Despite scoring a few
roles in small theaters, aimed predominantly at catering to tourists, he
had quickly realized chances were he would probably end up waiting tables
in that town. He found more realistic opportunities were available up
North. His early career had taken him from the Mason-Dixon Line to deep
into Canada and back again. He had learned the ropes through dozens of
stage productions, student films and independent movies in cities nobody
would associate with the performing arts. It wasn't the stardom many of his
generation had fruitlessly sought after but as his reputation grew it had
provided a continuous source of income and employment. Now he had come to a
point where he was able to provide a pretty decent living for himself. He
had earned the respect of the inner circle, who recognized him as a very
gifted professional. The words `up and comer' where thrown around a lot. He
felt satisfied with what he had accomplished. As a young boy he had dreamed
of a Hollywood career and stardom but like so many youthful fantasies he
had outgrown it over time. "People don't ask me for autographs..." he often
joked, "unless they're holding a contract." It was his rather juvenile way
of reminding himself that success had many faces. As is always the case
success had come at a price. He had paid for it with his blood, sweat and a
few times even tears. He had gotten there the hard way. He had fought his
fair share of battles and had learned some wars couldn't be won. You
couldn't please all the people all the time. Nothing had come easy. Nothing
had come free. What he had was his because he earned it and that's the way
he was raised.

As a kid he often played pretending games. He used to be quite good at
imitating the people around him, to the point where it drove them up the
wall. His vivid imagination had been his best friend in those early
years. The enjoyment he found in assuming different personas was in
hindsight an early indicator of the direction his life would take. Where
other kids outgrew their fantasy games he had found he was actually good at
them. His aunt would often joke she was living with a hundred different
people and none of them was him. As he grew older this typical mechanism
children use to take control of the world around them by pretending, took
on another dimension when he discovered drama and other performing arts. He
found out early on playing people didn't have to be just a game, but could
be a means to self expression. It also made him realize the confines of his
surroundings and the expectations of his social circle were completely
artificial. He could be anyone or anything he chose to be. The difficult
question was who or what that was.

He submersed himself in the world of the theater. What twelve year old
would be happy unwrapping the collected works of Shakespeare at Christmas
morning? He was. He also got a leather football that year, and it too would
play a major role in his formative years. Throughout high school he was in
the theater club and on the football team. When he wasn't rehearsing lines
he was at football practice. When he wasn't on the field he was on the
stage. He didn't run with the popular kids but he got along with most other
teens. It was a strange realization that both interests would garner the
attention of other people. The audience was a factor he only started to
consider much later. At that stage in his life he saw both activities as
his personal road of self discovery and really couldn't understand why
other people would be interested in that. The dynamics of an audience were
something he would come to understand much later in life.

Throughout high school he was a decent enough student. He didn't hate
school like most kids his age, but wasn't overly passionate about it
either. He loved subjects like history and foreign languages, especially
Spanish. He disliked courses like math and the sciences. The annual ritual
of dissecting frogs in biology class was an absolute nightmare for
him. Taking a miraculous beautiful thing like a living breathing organism
and cutting it to pieces collided with his outlook on life in the most
violent way. It convinced him early on of the destructive force of
analysis. "What could possibly be learned about the whole by ripping the
individual parts out of their natural context and function?" he
wondered. The tiny dead heart lying on the metal plate told him nothing
about the frog. How it operated. How it used to swim. It told him one
thing: it was dead.

Another destructive force he had come to know during that time was that of
rejection. He had a lot of acquaintances but very few friends. Real
connections were rare. He was always aware of a certain distance between
himself and other kids, nothing mean spirited or ill willed but an
inability to connect beyond the superficial. There were very few people he
felt were actually involved in his life, who actually knew about
him. Sometimes he would feel wronged by that. The erratic family
arrangements of his early childhood only enforced the feeling of being an
outsider. There were good reasons off course. The distance between them was
in no way imposed on him by choice. But he felt early on the geographical
separation was emblematic of a deeper rift. One that couldn't easily by
bridged by taking a plane or bus.

"...we gotta get out while we're young..."

The music had continued to play as he had finished his breakfast. He
quickly collected the cups, plates and empty packaging on the service plate
and put everything away next to the door in the hallway. True to his
promise to pretend the movie role was already his he spent a good part of
the morning going through the script again. It was an intensive and time
consuming labor every time. Memorizing lines was the easy part, the
difficulty lay in figuring out how to be a conduit for the ideas, thoughts
and emotions captured by those lines. By the time he would finish going
through a script the papers itself would look like a coloring book. He
would use different color pens, markers, highlights and a personal system
of emoticons to insert his thoughts and interpretations into the typed out
text. There was a carefully planned out method to his madness. He was by no
means a method actor. He saw the merit of identifying with the character
and bringing in personal experience to emote certain things but he thought
that school of acting had lost direction after Stanislavski's revolutionary
work. He saw acting as something fluid and organic, resenting the overly
mechanic approach some of his peers took to it. "As if you can learn to act
like you can learn to fix a car or cook a meal." He thought. To him art was
not an imitation of life. It was his life.

Visualization was a key aspect of his preparations. In his mind's eye he
would try to see the picture the words were painting. Strangely enough he
already included Paul in the scenes he was conjuring up. As much as he
couldn't imagine not getting the part, he definitely couldn't imagine Paul
not getting his part. The respect he had for his fellow actor was
genuine. "The guy's a force." He thought. Unlike the casual movie fan he
had an understanding of the methodology involved in acting. Paul's acting,
in the movies he had seen, had amazed him. The intelligence and poetic
beauty that shone through, it had captivated him and he was curious about
the person who could create these performances. "by what power does he do
these things?" he questioned as he continued reading the script. He
wondered if he would get the chance to find out.

-------------------------

A few readers indicated they thought the last part was too short, Hope I
satisfied you all with this part. As always: love to hear what you
think...good, bad or otherwise I really do appreciate hearing from you so
don't hesitate to give me your feedback.

@thylacinevisual
facebook.com/thylacine.visuals
thylacinevisuals@hotmail.com