Troy Slushy and Baltazar Garcia remained awake all throughout the night, envisioning the pieces that would formulate into a script meriting award-winning stature. They had both remained in the log cabin, where the air was cold and humid, preserving the paintings, and their image of Mad Ted. To counteract the preservation, Troy therapeutically encouraged Baltazar to turn the paintings around, so the presence of Mad Ted would no longer behold Baltazar.
Baltazar paced back and forth, nude, in the hallway coated in paintings, as Troy Slushy remained sitting on the floor, legs crossed, meditating. They had made great progress, determining what genre to focus on for their script, selecting action/adventure, as they had determined it to be the most entertaining genre for an audience to sit through. Along with the entertainment for the audience, it had been decided by Troy and Baltazar that an action script would not only be the most entertaining for their viewers, but it would also be the easiest for Troy and Baltazar to construct.
These profound conclusions proved to be the foundation of the script. Troy and Baltazar were still expecting to get their authenticity from authentic people from Awful, Ohio. All they had to do now was inject the necessary filling of details and characters and plots into the script, which Troy had anticipated Baltazar to do.
“OK,” recited Baltazar, accepting his script-writing purpose with pride, “if this script is an action script, then we need to have actioneous events taking place within this script,” recited Baltazar, pacing back and forth in the log cabin, with his body standing upright, still naked, still speaking in rolling R’s. Troy sat on the cold floor, anxiously listening to Baltazar’s profound statements, waiting for the progress to pour from his mouth.
“OK,” continued Baltazar, making progress, still pacing back and forth with his barrel chest, covered in excess skin dripping from his corrected posture, “so in order to create actioneous moments to fill our action script, we need to void it entirely of anti-action batter. If we are able to void the script of anti-action batter, then the only batter that we will be left with is everything that we want our script to be composed of, which is action-batter! All we now have to do is figure out what it is that is anti-action batter.” Baltazar went silent, hoping to discover what he was attempting to think of. He increased his pace, then slowed it down, hoping that the variance in rhythm would create the necessary thought process needed to eject the solution he was seeking from his mouth.
Troy listened from his position on the cold floor of the log cabin, trying to figure out if Baltazar meant to say “matter,” instead of “batter.” The floor was compacted clay, which Troy’s palms pressed into, making imprints of his existence into the floor. Troy was hoping that this would work, relying on Baltazar Garcia to help him construct the script that would be sold for enough money to purchase the Behicle that would carry him and Lacy into their westward exodus. He was trying to ignore the fact that Baltazar was a being that he had never known, until he took the time to get to know him yesterday, who was now standing before him, completely nude, confusing “matter,” the building blocks of life, with “batter,” the building blocks of pastries, attempting to contemplate a reasonable solution to prevent anti-action from entering into the script. There was too much light in the log cabin, revealing Baltazar’s naked flesh, flopping back and forth, gyrating from under his armpits like wet bologna, dangling over his hips covered in emaciated muscle.
Troy grimaced at the visual, regressing back into his dreams, protected from the exposed, where he wished to be sailing the Behicle westward through the Pacific Ocean, concealed in the pitch of darkness, with nothing to see but the sounds of echoing porpoises crashing through the inebriated waves falling in every direction. There would be nothing exposed, nothing attempting to entice him and Lacy, leaving them to rest with only their dreams and ambitions to stimulate their senses, leaving their westward exodus as their only concern.
Troy began to remember Lacy, and her beautiful hair fanning over the pillow case like a hand waving goodbye before he left to locate Baltazar. She was laying on the bed, sedated and calm, peaceful and content, void of all action and excitement, propelled in the bliss of her dark dreams. That vision of Lacy laying peacefully in their bed replayed through Troy’s mind. It was void of action and excitement. Troy opened his eyes, to see Baltazar now standing on his head with his arms crossed over his chest, still naked, with the jelly filled handles lining his hips dripping close to his armpits. Baltazar was humming, hoping to erect the solution that he was searching for. But instead it caused ripples to trickle throughout his flesh like a stone hitting a pond. The question that Baltazar Garcia proposed replayed through Troy’s mind, as the answer of voided action then personified itself as the image of Lacy peacefully sleeping on their bed, as Troy Slushy eagerly ejected the sought out solution from his mouth as “peace.”
The solution collided with Baltazar, as he lost his balance, tumbling to the ground, landing softly in his stomach. The backward paintings, lining the log cabin walls, winced at the collision. Baltazar stood up, brushing the debris from the floor off his gelatin body, looking down at Troy who remained in the cold dirt. Troy’s face was looking back, rearranged with a smile.
“Yes, that is it,” muttered Baltazar, enlightened like an awakened monk. Baltazar started pacing again. “Peace. Peace is anti-action batter. So if we want a script that is entirely made from action, then we must void it of peace. As long as every moment in the script is void of peace, which is the anti-action batter, then we will be able to successfully complete an action script!” Baltazar continued pacing, succumbed to silence once again, allowing the new discovery to saturate into his being so that all of his thoughts would then filter through this newly discovered doctrine. The new idea settled within, becoming a part of Baltazar, as he progressed his thinking, continuing his pacing, attempting to think of the next element required in making this script award-winning.
“This is what we’ll do,” started Baltazar, finally discovering the elemental thoughts that he was searching for. He stopped pacing to face Troy, presenting him with the following idea: “we will introduce peace in the beginning of the script. Awful, Ohio will be at peace, providing work and labor to all of the residents. Everyone residing in Awful, Ohio will be living in peace, enjoying the rewards and compensation that comes from working. They will have nice homes, fancy cars, beautiful families, and respectable clothes. Both Awful, Ohio and its residents will remain peacefully united, sharing love and comfort between all of them. But all of this peace, or anti-action batter, will be eradicated with actioneous events, birthed from an alien invasion from outer space, attacking Awful, Ohio. These extraterrestrial visitors will emerge with malicious intent, bringing forceful action against Awful, Ohio, attacking Awful, Ohio and its residents, voiding Awful, Ohio of the peace that the audience had believed was going to remain with the town.”
Troy was confused as to why Baltazar would want to have any peace at all involved in the script, thinking that the script would then be contaminated with inconsistent tones, reducing its credibility of being an award winning script. But before Troy Slushy could vocalize his concerns, Baltazar explained, “If we allow a sudden change in tone, then this will create an element of surprise within the film. The audience will be deceived into believing that the film is meant to portray the quaint life of a peaceful city. But these malevolent extraterrestrials will throw them all off guard, allowing the script to make a larger impact than just a stale, stagnant script with only one element, surprising them with something that they weren’t expecting!”
It didn’t make sense to Troy, but Troy believed that it was because of Baltazar’s greater understanding of script-writing. Troy was pleased that searching for Baltazar was starting to pay off.
“OK,” said Troy, deciding to go along with the idea. “So what happens after the aliens invade Awful, Ohio?”
“Well,” started Baltazar, allowing his creative impulses to answer the question. “The Awful, Ohio Authority will defend its city fr
om the aliens. There will be a massive intergalactic war, which will cease all anti-action batter in our script, making it full of action! But, these plans are all contingent on the authentic reactions of the Awful, Ohio citizens. So we’ll have to attempt to manipulate their dialogue, so that it remains authentic, without being entirely simulated.”
Baltazar was excited with his conclusion, allowing his creative impulses to deliver the monologue precisely and carefully, selecting his words like a final meal. It was pleasing to be granted the opportunity to create, fully believing that he was an artist, offering aesthetic salvation to the ugly world of Awful, Ohio. He had never felt as confident with his production of the script as he had with the paintings that he had done while living in the log cabin. He was eager to leave the realms of the log cabin that concealed him from the outside world. The aesthetic caliber of the script empowered Baltazar with confidence and courage. “Troy,” concluded Baltazar, “It is time for us to leave this log cabin, and to meld this script with the real people of Awful, Ohio.”
Troy Slushy remained on the cold floor, soaking in all of the thoughts and ideas that were pouring from Baltazar’s mouth. Troy had envisioned himself sailing hard into the ocean, heading west into perpetual darkness, with Lacy comfortably resting in the bunk of the Behicle. He had envisioned himself cruising the Behicle through the African Savannah in the pitch of night, traveling with the nocturnal carnivores hunting down prey. The image of nothing formulated into a completed copy of the script, which existed beautifully in Troy’s mind. Troy had listened to Baltazar Garcia with great delight, pleased with the outcome of his idea. He felt that his plan to save him and Lacy was coming closer.
“We’re almost home, Lacy,” whispered Troy, under his breath that went unnoticed by Baltazar Garcia, who was distracted by the flooding hubris that had filled his being.
“Baltazar,” interrupted Troy, “it is too dark right now to head into the center of Awful, Ohio. Unfortunately, we’ll have to wait until it is light, because that is when the streets will be filled with authentic beings that we can use to help complete our script.”
Baltazar readily agreed, still maintaining the hubris that he had acquired. Troy continued, “so until then, we shall remain here, we shall get you some clothes, and finalize everything that we can without our donors. And then tomorrow, we’ll just fill in the rest of the script with the reactions from the donors.”
Baltazar Garcia and Troy Slushy both agreed, acknowledging that they should do what was best for the script. They continued all through the night and into the early morning. They had finished as much of the script as they could, now only lacking the authentic lines from the authentic citizens of Awful, Ohio, as they now started to refer to them as “donors.” It was now time to remove the script from inside of the log cabin, and retrieve field-data that would be injected into their script as authentic detail from the donors.
The morning arrived, and Troy Slushy helped guide Baltazar Garcia from the log cabin. It was the first time his skin had been exposed to sunlight, no longer protected from the hot sauce uniform. Baltazar had spent so much time in the log cabin, in the shadow extermination room, that fresh air was intoxicating. His body was quickly aroused, convulsing, snorting in as much fresh air as possible, as he adapted to the new environment, yearning for more fresh air. Troy was listening to Baltazar wafting in as many breaths of air as he could. But the fresh-air arousal quaked Baltazar’s flaccid flesh, horrifying Troy, which he promptly provided an extra pair of clothes to Baltazar from the back of the blue hatchback. They both then entered into the blue hatchback, heading through the empty back roads of the coniferous that would lead them into the outskirts that would then reenter them into center city of Awful, Ohio.
Baltazar was a little hesitant, but allowed the confidence of his aesthetic caliber to justify his decision, as he left his paintings and his log cabin with no intentions of ever returning.
Chapter 12
This is Art