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What Happened on the Highway; A Chad Klitou one-shot
Topic Started: Oct 17 2009, 11:04 PM (318 Views)
TheLeakyFaucet
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Why hallo thar
[ *  * ]
A one-shot that I wrote starring Chad.

((Chad Klitou’s past thread))

In the grand scheme of things it was something that should have never happened. The event could have been overlooked for the most part; especially seeing how it existed on the same levels as dreams you forgot the next morning and fairy tales. Dark hazes and afterthoughts. Nightmares and dreams.

He would try to forget it afterwards, but whenever he tried, he just ended up feeling sick on the inside. It wasn’t right to forget it - but on the other hand, it hurt to remember.

There hadn’t been anything notable that had started the event; no fitting apocalypse or turning point in humanity. It had started in a basement on a gray, spring day. It was around five-o-clock in the morning and the dark blue morning light was peeking in through the open-floor level window in the corner. The basement had been newly renovated only a few days ago and smelled musty, almost like the inside of a department store.

The basement was a typical suburban one. A few armchairs, a sofa off by the dated television, a few dusty bookcases and a ping-pong table near the stairwell. The only thing that differed it from the rest was at that moment in time, it was overflowing with marijuana smoke.

A boy named Chad Klitou was sprawled out on the sofa feeling as high as a kite. He was holding a joint loosely in one hand and smoke was drifting out from his lips. The world was a wonderland and he was savoring every minute of it. He brought the roll of paper back to his lips and inhaled, blowing out the smoke like a steam whistle. Every time he smoked, Chad’s emotions were always torn in disgust and a sense of peace akin to meditation. He hated smoking weed, but then again, it was the only thing in the world that calmed him down. The greatest feeling in the world. The worst thing to do but it’s the greatest feeling in the world….

The wide-screen in front of him was blaring out screaming and chainsaw whirring. It was one of the late 50’s horror movies that were very rarely seen in the twenty-first century. A teenage blonde was running through the woods from a masked man holding a saw. She was trying to open the door to the cabin in front of her, screaming to no avail as he approached her.

“She’s dead”, Chad’s cousin Ricky Lombardi, aged twenty, said from the armchair beside him. “No chance man. In a horror movie, tits that big scream, ‘dead by the end credits’. It’s a sad fact of life, I’ll tell ya”.

“Poor girl”, Chad sighed. “She never stood a chance”.

“Only the good die young, amigo”, Ricky said with a grin.

He was sitting in the moldy armchair beside the sofa wearing his signature Vikings cap. Well-built with features that strongly showed the Italian side of Chad’s family, he was aspiring to go to college for film despite the fact that his parents said the concept of making a living off recording pictures was a joke. They wanted him to into some kind of white collar office job, to which Ricky promptly replied that he’d rather be caught dead than have to chat near a water cooler about shit he didn’t’ care about. This was one of the many reasons that Chad idolized his cousin.

“There’s always the same stereotypes in a horror movie”, Ricky said. “Ever notice that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve got the virginal girl who’s the only survivor. Then you got her boyfriend who’s the all-around nice-guy with the monosyllabic first name – y’know, like Ray or Trent. Then there’s the slutty blonde girl and her womanizer boyfriend wearing a varsity jacket….”

“And then there’s the sheriff”, Chad cut in with a grin. “Who doesn’t believe that there’s a killer in the first place…”

“Now you’re getting it”, Ricky said with a grin. “And don’t forget the bartender up the road. The guy who tells the kids not to go to the abandoned house because of some massacre fifty years ago or something…”

“Do you think there’s any point in those movies?” Chad asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Well, they kind of have this weird feel to them”, Chad explained. He really had no clue what he was talking about, but at least he felt like he was onto something. “It’s like they deal with what our most primitive fears are. Think about zombies and stuff – it all boils back down to the fact that we’re scared of disease. Think about all of serial killer movies. They tap into the idea that we’re scared of being taken from our normal lives and stalked by people that we know really exist”.

“I think you’re over-thinking that, buddy”, Ricky said with a grin. “The reason people watch these movies are to see gore and guts”.

“Maybe you’re right”, Chad sighed.

There was suddenly a horrible squelching sound that echoed from the widescreen television. The sound of the girl’s screams were drowned out by the whirring sound of the chainsaw. There were suddenly nightmarish sounds joining in like a blender full of fruit.

“There she goes”, Ricky said. “Told you she was cannon fodder. You done smoking that weed yet, kid?”

“Yeah”, Chad said. His eyes were reddened and stoned. “Yeah, I think I am”.

Ricky reached over gently took the joint away from him. Chad stared down at his hand where he’d been holding it numbly but didn’t say anything. It really did pain him to smoke. Considering how being the silent kid at school had led him down the road of being a complete social outcast, getting stoned was a great way to deal with those bad feelings. On the other hand though, there were the parts that he felt guilty about. The fact that marijuana wasn’t getting him anywhere. The fact that it took the focus away from his art career. The fact that Ricky supplied him with all the pot he wanted yet was completely opposed to doing it himself.

The facts were what hurt Chad the most.

“So how’s school going for you?” Ricky asked.

“Good I guess”, Chad replied. “I got my grades back up”.

“That’s good. Any girls got your eye?”

“I don’t really talk to anyone in school”, Chad admitted. “I’m the kid that just sits in the back and does his work”.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just kind of get scared around people”.

“That’s a shitty attitude to take”, Ricky warned. “Just because you’re scared of being shut down isn’t an excuse to stop trying to meet people. I was like that and I grew out of it as soon as I got into college. So will you probably…”

“I hope so”, Chad said. “I really do. Are you still dating that Monica girl?”

“I dumped her last week”, Ricky said. He was silent for a moment and he flashed a signature grin. “But if you liked Monica, you’re going to Rachel”.

“One week and you’re with another girl?” Chad laughed. “Nice job, man. Still, that kind of sucks though. I liked Monica. I thought she was funny – and she had a really good taste in movies too”.

“She did”, Ricky agreed. “But life goes on. When it’s time to move on, then it’s time to move on.

“Whatever. Do you want to get together for another marathon next weekend?”
“Probably not. I’m booked next weekend, little buddy. I’m going up to Canada for that metal fest up by the border. You’re welcome to come if you want”.

“How many people are coming?” Chad asked.

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon”, Chad said. “You’re definitely not heading up to Canada on a road trip to a metal concert alone. At least the Ricky I know isn’t. Who else is going?”

“Well”, Ricky began. “Most of them are guys I knew from high school. Lucas Drayton, Skylar Tierren and Damon Stalvern are all going. So is Rachel if you really want to meet her”.
“I think I’m good”, Chad said. “I kind of want to stay home next weekend. I’ve got stuff to do”.

“Working on more of your shitbrained films?”

“Hey, I like my shitbrained films”, Chad replied with a smile. “And they’re fun to make, so chill out. I think I’m going to try entering a few in this contest we have – my art teacher said one of them was really good. She thinks that they deal with serious issues”.

“Yeah, that one with the squirrel was a pretty deep reflection on society”, Ricky laughed. “Ten whole minutes of filming that thing in your backyard. How weird you can get?”

But it came out wrong. Chad’s smile faltered for a second and then there was an awkward tension in the room. The killer was on the screen again, stalking someone else and preparing to butcher them with his saw. The room suddenly smelled like pot more than ever.

“I’m sorry”, Ricky said. “I should have known that you were sensitive about that”.

“It’s cool”, Chad said. “I’ve got to work on being able to laugh at myself”.

“We all do”, Ricky answered. “Trust me man, we all do”.

“I’m sorry that I keep using you to smoke”, Chad said apologetically. “Really, I don’t just keep coming here because I want to get high. I really like hanging out with you”.

“Well, consider the weed an early Christmas present, amigo”.

“Then feliz navidad to you too”, Chad spoke. “And a happy new year”.

“Y’know you might want to watch what you put in that film festival at that school of yours. You never know what those other kids might think of those movies”.

“I’m sure there’s the kids that would like them”, Chad said. “It’s just…well….I don’t think they’d be able to accept the idea that I made them. It’s just weird to them – the whole idea that the kid who just sits in the back of class and does his work made some kind of artsy piece. It would kind of just give them a reason to make fun of me…” He paused for a second. “I’m….I’m more ashamed of being quiet than I am of being weird, I guess”.

“You’re one of those artsy types”, Ricky said with that big smile of his. “Girls like that. Especially when you get older. Embrace being weird”.

“Will do, Ricky. Will do”.

“And without further adieu, I think it’s time to kick you of here. My parents are coming over later and I want to air this place out so they don’t think there was some kind of Woodstock going on in their basement”.

“I gotta get home anyway”, Chad said. “My mom wanted me home for dinner”.

“Tell Aunt Eliza I said hi”, Ricky said. “Same thing with your dad”.

“Sure thing”.

Dazed and trying to shake off the newfound high, Chad sat up from the couch and started to walk to the staircase. His senses felt slightly off from the drug intake and his fingers fumbled on the banister. He started up the steps slowly, the sounds coming from the widescreen almost alien to him. His mind full of thoughts and feelings that he couldn’t quite put into words, he ended up stopping halfway up the staircase. He looked down at his cousin sitting on the sofa with his Yankees cap. The same guy that pulled you out of that tree when you were four. The same guy who got you into horror movies. The same guy that’s in the picture in your room of you and him at Disneyworld….

“I love you, Ricky”, Chad called from the staircase.

“Love ya’ too, little guy. Have a safe walk home”.

Chad gave him one last wave and started back up the staircase; that was the last time he ever saw his cousin alive.
..................................................................................................................

The next weekend Chad was sitting in his kitchen hard at work on his latest film. He didn’t have a working title for it yet, but he was pretty sure that he knew what it was going to be about. He was going to film an apple on his counter at all different angles. After that he was going to digitally edit it on the computer and give it an other-worldy feel. Then he was going to repeatedly cut to shots of trees. The whole meaning of the video was going to be that people never really took things into perspective. They didn’t see depth – when they looked at a counter, all they saw was an apple and not the tree that it came from. He had the feeling that most people weren’t going to get it.

Chad sighed and cut up the apple again with the knife. It was raining outside and his kitchen window was soaked with water like a carwash. There was a weird sense of stillness in the air. The radio in the corner was on and blasting out old rock from a band that Chad liked but couldn’t quite remember:

“But you've gotta make your own kind of music
Sing your own special song
Make your own kind of music
Even if nobody else sings along.….”


He was lost in thought, planning his movie and cutting the apples away like there was no tomorrow. It was kind of pathetic that this was what he spent his Saturdays doing, but all in all, he took it in stride. After all, it was like Ricky had said. Embrace being weird. It was sort of hard for Chad to figure out if he really was, ‘weird’, but all in all, it really didn’t matter. After all, when it came down to it, everybody was weird. Why was he any different?

RIIIIIIINNNNG! RIIIIIIINNNNG!

His cell phone screeched and vibrated on the counter. The ringtone was an annoying one, designed specifically to get his ass out of bed in the morning. Cutting a final piece of the apple, Chad picked it up and looked at the name flashing on the small screen. It was his mother. She was probably just checking up on him or she wanted him to ride his bike downtown to pick up a few groceries after the storm ended. Whatever she wanted, he couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated. He just wanted to get his film done with. He flipped the phone over and put it to his ear.

“Hello?”
“Chad?”
“Hi Mom…”.
“Chad, listen to me. Something….something terrible just happened”.

And so he listened to what his mother had to say.

...................................................................................................................

Ricky Lombardi was dead.

The incident had happened on the way to the concert. It was ironic in every sense, because out of all the warnings about the lack of common sense that surrounded getting stoned and driving, Ricky hadn’t been the one doing the dope. No, that was the role all of his friends had been taking on the way up. They’d been going up near the border of Canada when it happened. Ricky, always meticulous when it came to things like driving, had been staring out at the road, occasionally joining in on joking around with his friends in the back. They’d been messing around and one of his friends had put his hand under the headrest and clonked Ricky playfully in the back of the head. Ricky had retaliated by taking his eyes off the road for a second to turn around and swing a punch back at him.

The punch was what cost him his life.

There was a sharp turn at the end of the road. He turned back in panic, struggling to regain control of the wheel, but his senses had failed him in the heat of the moment. The van went flying through the guardrail, off the cliff and down into the pine tree woods of southern Canada.

Four of the kids died - Ricky among them – and the fifth ended up in a coma that was later labeled as a vegetative state that he had little chance of ever recovering from.
Chad hadn’t cried at the funeral. That was the worst part. He’d just stood there in his black suit as the body was lowered down into the ground with that cryptic music playing around him. Family members and friends were crying their eyes out around him, but some reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to shed any tears. More than anything else, he was just shocked by the whole situation. It was a strange sense of reality, completely different the kind that he was used to. In horror movies, the deaths were trivial – you overlooked the people because, like Ricky had said, the movies were all about, ‘gore and guts’. But when a real person died, it was different. He had absolutely no clue how to react.

Days passed. Then weeks. His parents had offered him a few weeks off from school to deal with it, and without any real reason to object, Chad had taken their offering and spent most of his free time in his room. He’d gotten close to crying several times but had never really done it. He’d just stayed in bed, sometimes getting up to watch TV or ride his bike around the cul-de-sac outside, but mostly he’d just stayed in bed and stared up at the ceiling with the fan spinning around above him. It’s all real, it’s all real, it’s all real…..

Around noon one day, he’d gotten out of bed and just stared at himself in the mirror in the corner. He’d surveyed himself up and down – a boy with stringy, long black hair and Greek features – standing there and trying to make sense of what had happened. He’d stood there for a long time, and after a little while, he couldn’t take it anymore. He turned the mirror around to face the wall and walked to his bureau, digging the camera bag out of his drawer and pulling out of his handheld camcorder. He looked at it for a very long time, almost bemused by the idea that he’d once gotten enjoyment out of it.

After a little while longer, he’d finally decided what to do. Closer to tears than he’d been in weeks, he rummaged through the drawers under his desk and searched his way through a mess of knick-knacks, used crayons and dried-out markers. It took quite a bit, but he finally found what he needed. A silver Sharpie marker. It wasn’t the best tool, but it would show up the best on the black casing of the camera. He took the cap off, smelling the acrid scent that he’d been warned since childhood was poisonous. He placed his camera gently on the counter. Then, almost meticulously, he’d written five letters onto the side of it that newly christened his camera and gave it a name.

RICKY

He looked at the name for a long time. Then he picked it up and put it in the bag, his mind brainstorming what he was going to film next.

((Chad Klitou continued three years later in the present in Tommorow Never Knows))

((Chad Klitou continued in one more past thread in The Kids At the Back of the Classroom))
Edited by TheLeakyFaucet, Jan 4 2010, 09:07 PM.
V4

The new batch....

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Chad Klitou: Location Unknown
Hera Alosso: Location Unknown
Laverne Falciander: Location Unknown
Dory Stoeber: Location Unknown

LOLWUT?
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