Of My Own Creation

Of My Own Creation

A Story by Ace St. Jean
"

Welcome to Plantation Number One Zero Seven--a world of your own creation.

"

“Of My Own Creation”

Ace St. Jean

 

I had always enjoyed telling stories. In fact, stories of my own creation were some of my earliest memories. Therefore, I can't remember my early years being anything other than stories taking place in my head. It was almost like I not only created, but lived in a world of my own creation. A world that I could manipulate. I could change things here, or there. I could remove entire sections at will. I could add entire sections at will. I could build up a world one day, just to bring it down the next. I was in control. It was a control that I wanted, and it was a control that I got.

 

The sun was beginning to set. It had been perfectly overhead when we started, so perfect that it even bothered me a little at how perfect it was, for it felt off starting at a time that was so precise. But I removed those thoughts from my head and carried on with the work that had to be done. And now, we were almost out of time.

There was the rush of cars from behind me, for we were just below a bridge that went over a small river. This was our location for filming the of a scene in a short film that I had written and was in the process of directing.

My crew was tired and my lead actress was growing frustrated with how it was going. She was whining and complaining that I needed a another take, followed by another right after. But it was all necessary, for she was not doing what I wanted, and neither was the actor who had to wrap his arm around her, before kissing her on the lips (something that was at a level of discomfort for most teenagers). Of course, I had no problem kissing someone for the purpose of a film, but that was something that I couldn't force onto others. They were uncomfortable. Period. And I was frustrated. Period.

"If we could actually get a good shot this time," I said to my two cast members, “that would work out perfectly, especially since the last shot was no that good. In fact, the last shot was s**t.”

I commonly used mild profanity to get people's attention, or simply to add a small dose of humor to the situation. Normally I could tell whether or not it would work at boosting people's moods. But this time I noticed it wouldn't work...after I said the word.

My actor gave me a look. He was upset. And he was going to blame me for being upset, while in reality his poor performance was to blame.

My actress gave me a different look. This look was far angrier and more upset than my actor's. And again, like my actor, her s****y performance was really to blame.

"Look, if we could just get one good take that would be tolerable for the film. I will be happy and we could go home." I said, in a calm manner, that probably came across as belligerent.

"Ace, we don't know what a 'good shot' looks like." Snapped my actress, who was so upset that she used air quotes around a 'good shot'. 

"Well, a 'good shot' looks like one where you two aren't awkward around each other, especially when you begin kissing. Remember, these two characters are comfortable around each other in the story. They wouldn’t be uncomfortable now. It would hardly make sense." I put a 'good shot' in air quotes myself as a subtle way to mock her--something I do often, sometimes even by accident.

At this point, my crew was watching to see what would happen. They were nerds and often didn't see arguments erupt between two people. They also teased me quite a bit about having a 'crush' on my actress, which only made our interactions more exciting for them.

After a moment of thinking, my actress snapped back:

"You know, Ace, you're a piece of s**t yourself."

"Well at least I amount to something. You aren’t even ‘s**t’." I said, just realizing it probably wasn't the smartest way to go about this problem, but then again, I'm in the heat of argument so I don't care, nor am I doing much critical thinking.

"I'm leaving." She said.

"What? Why?" I cried out after her.

But she already picked up her stupid purse and walked away from our location on the river. She walked up to the road, and I could care less about where she went after that, for I already knew what happened--she left, and we had another half of a movie to shoot.

"Michael!" I shouted. Michael was my ‘director of photography’. And he was doing a respectable job at it, nothing to exciting, but nothing underwhelming--he was also my personal adviser, and if I ever became President he would be given a top tier position in my administration--probably chief of staff or perhaps a cabinet position, like State or Defense.

 As I shouted at Michael, my cameraman, my lighting guy, and my sound guy all watched as dialogue between me and him began to unfold:

"Ace, there isn't much you can do. The summer is almost over."

"It's over in two weeks, Mike."

"I’m well aware, Ace. I have summer homework to do and other stuff. You have to be away that we’re be Seniors pretty soon."

I heard Mike speaking, so I walked over to the river and watched the water flow down for a moment, before turning back and seeing Mike staring at me. "Ace, I think we should pack up and talk later about this film. I mean, the sun is gonna set and we're gonna be left in the dark." Michael had annoyance in his voice. He was not enthusiastic at all.

"Fine. You all can just go home, and I'll text you as to whether or not we'll be filming tomorrow." I directed this at my sound guy, my lighting guy, my cameraman, and my other actor. They weren't shocked. They just listened. 

Mike turned back to me, while the crew began packing their equipment up, while they still listened in to what their director was saying.

"That was a great way to handle that, Ace. Just send them home, so we can talk about it tomorrow. It’s really effective."

"But we don't have a Jessica for the film anymore, Mike. We can't go on."

"Remember, Ace, we can recast her and film it over again. It might not be this summer, but next summer, or even during the upcoming fall season we could figure something out."

"Figure something out, Mike, we had the film done! And now you're asking me to shoot the whole damn thing over again.” I tensed up and shouted even more: “it’s very psychotic, Mike. We must get her back, or else this damn film won’t get finished.”

"Remember, it's not that big of a deal. We’re still living after all, Ace. We haven’t been wiped out by North Korea.”

“I don’t want to hear about North goddamn Korea, Mike. I want to hear about my own damn film!”

“Well, Ace, the film was pretty much done. The big parts of casting, finding crew, and writing are out of the way. Remember, Ace, we still have a great script--that you wrote--and a talented crew," said Mike.

"Stop, Mike, stop. I don't need your little pieces of how good we have it. I want to know how I can get my actress back."

"Ace, you're not gonna get her back. She's gone from this project. It’s pretty gosh darn obvious, by the way. You don’t need to think much to figure that out. Besides, Ace, she was a b***h anyway. She never shut up. She complained. But you liked her for some strange reason." Mike said his words and turned away from me. The area where we shooting was now empty. I walked around in a circle a few times. I finished and looked up. A face was staring at me. The face belonged to a figure that stood a good deal from my position. Michael was gone, but the figure distracted me from that.

I walked towards the figure. She was smiling. Her hair was a dark red and it was done quite well; there were no imperfections--none at all. Her skin was a perfect white with no sign of acne or anything that would take away its creamy color. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that showed her quite well.

"Hello, were you just watching that whole thing?" I asked, "because I can explain. I’m working on a short film with him and things are going…in an okay direction-"

"You're not getting what you want, Ace," she said, “that girl you were working with--she didn't give you what you wanted."

"Oh really, you think I don't know that," I said with a smile.

"I mean, Ace, I know what you want. You want someone new to play the part."

"I have a plan to get her back,” I exclaimed to her with a smile, while, in reality, no such plan existed.

"Oh, does it involve benefits?" She asked.

"What do you mean 'benefits'?" I used air quotes again. In fact, I love using air quotes.

"You know what I'm talking about,” said the girl.

In the few bits of dialogue we had, she was already standing right before me. She put her hand on my wrist and pulled my hand from my pocket where I had had it for quite some time. She looked down at it.

"You have a nice hand, Ace,” she said.

"How do you know my name?" I asked. She gripped my hand tighter.

"I have methods,” she said. "I think we should meet up tonight. We could go to that pizza place in the town."

Something about her voice was comforting and familiar. She walked away, and I noticed she left a note in my hand. It had her name, Jessica, and a phone number.

"I'll meet you there at eight." She called from a distance. I saw her walk up to the side of the street, where her car was a parked. It was white, and it was a Cadillac--something you wouldn't expect a seventeen-year-old girl to be driving. I watched her as she drove away in her white Cadillac. I pulled out my phone and added her name to my contacts, for I wanted something to do. After I was done, I sent a text to Michael--I wanted him to call me in fifteen minutes, for I would be home and in a better frame of mind, especially since I had a date in less than an hour.


I arrived at my house. My dad was in the living room watching TV, like he always is. My mom was doing something with my sister, like she is almost always doing. I slipped past both of them and closed the door to my room. I pulled out my phone and placed it beside my bed--any second it would ring and I would be explaining to Michael how I managed to get a date on a day that seemed horrible otherwise.

Realizing my bed was a mess I fixed it, anticipating, but not hoping, that the girl would perhaps come home with me, of course it was unlikely, but then again so was the whole situation--it felt surreal, like something out of a dream--or perhaps a story of my own creation. 

The phone rang. I picked it up and I heard Mike's voice:

"Ace, you told me to call you."

"Michael, I have a date." I said with a smile and with the image of what his face looked like.

"Okay." He said.

"Michael! She can replace our actress that just left today."

"Key word 'can', she 'can' replace your actress." He said.

"Why do you make everything negative? I'll never understand it.” I replied with a bit of annoyance.

"I'm simply being a realist. I'm not being pessimistic or anything. I'm simply telling you what reality is, because you have difficulties with reality sometimes."

I thought for a moment about what he said. He said I had difficulty with reality. And then, in a simple tap, the call was ended, and text messages from Michael flooded in, like water held behind a dam that just broke. He began attacking me for why I hung up. It was clear that he was jealous of me. This would create problems if I kept working with him, so I blocked him, silencing his messages forever. I could ignore him in school, delete him on social media, and seemingly erase him from my memory, for he was not supporting me--he was degrading myself and the project. He never contributed anything other than advice to me, and most of his advice was s**t that conflicted with my own methods of thinking.

I placed my phone down. I went into the bathroom and turned the shower on. I undressed and got in, waiting a few moments so the water wasn't cold. After my shower I threw on my suit, that I had worn to school as a dare from Michael. I combed way too much product into my hair, and slicked it back--something Michael would never approve of, he would simply say something bad about it and throw me out of the moment, like he always did. But Michael was gone--perhaps forever.  

While putting my watch on, I noticed that the time was now seven forty. I picked up my phone and slid it into my inner pocket, and then I walked out of my room, leaving all the lights on, for it had become a tradition.

My family was all watching TV when I reached the living room. They naturally all stared at me, for I was wearing a suit and had slicked back hair--a hairstyle I hadn't done in over a year.

"I'm going someplace." I said.

"Okay, be back by eleven." My mom said.

I simply nodded to her and carried on.

I walked out of the house to the driveway where my car was parked. I stepped in and turned the key. It was becoming dark, because it was the end of August, which meant that school would begin in a week or so. And that made me wonder: would the girl with the nice hair and figure be there? It was a question I hoped to have answered on the date. It would be one of the first things I would ask, second only to her full name--I only knew that her first name was Jessica, just like the character I created for my short film. It was a strange coincidence, but it would make a possible role for her role in the film that more likely.   


I pulled up before the restaurant Jessica had told me to meet her at. It was ten of eight, so I wasn't too early, but I certainly wasn't late, something I normally do when meeting with other people. Of course, that was something that happened not to0 often for me, except during the summer when my films were in production, when I would meet with at least one person a day. 

She was nowhere to be seen. I got out and looked around for her white Cadillac, only to find nothing. I saw plenty of white cars, Toyotas, BMWs, Fords, but not the car I was looking for. Until it got closer to eight--around seven fifty-nine or so--she pulled up in her white Cadillac and parked in the empty spot beside my car. It was weird and awkward, for she could have taken another spot, but instead she took that spot.

Stepping out of her car, I noticed that she was almost the same--nothing had changed. She was wearing her jeans and her white t-shirt. And like before, she was shown very well in those clothes, while I was awkwardly standing in a suit that should have been dry cleaned and pressed, but there wasn’t time to do that.

"Jessica!" I said in a loud manner, trying to change attention away from my appearance. "I've been waiting for you!"

She smiled as she walked towards me.

"Well your waiting is now over." She ended her sentence with a large smile that made me feel more comfortable around her. After all, we had only met about an hour prior.

We walked up to the door, which I opened for her, while thoughts battled in my head regarding how overdressed I was.

"Table for two?" Asked the woman standing right before me. She was examining my attire and comparing me to Jessica’s. I had blanked out at this point only thinking of the most basic things, and I didn't know what to say, until the smell of pizza brought me back into reality, as I took a deep breath of the air.

"Uh...yes, table for two. That's right." I said, but the words had to be forced out; they didn’t come easy--they didn’t come easy whatsoever.

Jessica looked over and smiled at me. The both of us then followed the woman to a table by the back window. It was dark at this point, so not much could be seen, except for the amber glow of the streetlights.

"Someone will be right with you two." Said the woman, who then vanished into the restaurant atmosphere of movement and sound. 

I looked down and saw the menu resting on the table. I opened it, not knowing of anything else to do. I looked up at Jessica, who was watching me as I fidgeted with the napkin that held the utensils. She was not just watching--she was staring; she was staring at my hands as they moved around without any strings, just their own free movements.

"So... you into movies?" I asked. I assumed because she came after me that she was interested in film, of course, I had no time to think about my question because I already asked it.

"Yeah." She said.

"Oh really, what's your favorite movie? Mine is Jurassic Park. I love that movie." I think I spit out a little more than I should have, but it was alright.

"My favorite movie would have to be the one you're directing, Ace. The one with antagonist Doctor William Harold Gene and the protagonist Jessica Smith. It’s titled ‘The Cornfield’ I believe."

At this point I was getting nervous and was almost scared, for Jessica knew exactly what my film was about, while also knowing the title--but how could she know? I mean, we never saw each other before? It was impossible, unless Mike had told her, or maybe she knew my actress.

"Jessica, how do you know that?" I asked, in the same moment our waitress arrived at our table.

"Hello, my name is Sydney. I'll be taking care of you for the evening." Said the waitress who loomed over us with a smile just like Jessica’s. She had brunette hair and was quite attractive. Her voice was calming. It took me out of the moment, before Jessica spoke:

"Sydney," she said, "we need another minute."

"No problem...may I start you with some drinks."

"I'll have a Coke." Said Jessica. "And Ace?"

"What?" I said, looking up from the menu, which I had been looking at to detract from the situation. 

"What do you want to drink?"

"Just water is fine." I said, while I looked up at Sydney who smiled down at me, which caused me to smile back, for she was begging to be smiled at, just like how Jessica was begging to be slept with. 

"Ace, why do you seem so nervous?" Asked Jessica.

"Well, let's see. I'm pretty much on a blind date with an attractive girl who knows the main characters of my short film and probably knows the plot--she just hasn’t made that known." I said with a laugh that masked my anxiety. "It just feels like something out of a dream."

"Or nightmare." Said Jessica.

"A nightmare? Really? I don't think you would be in something like that--you're more of something from a good dream not just a nightmare."

"It was a joke, Ace."

I stopped. I said to many words. This happened often--quite often actually. It's a problem that I deal with every day, but it doesn't bother me, unless it embarrasses me--which in this moment it did.

"Oh, so it's a joke. I understand now." I hoped my response would lessen the awkwardness that was starting to build. Of course, the awkwardness could just be a creation of my own mind, but I still felt it regardless. But I knew that whatever awkwardness I perceived would disappear and become a memory just like my early stories.

"So, back to my original question. How do you know the plot and characters of my movie?" I asked with a smile, and with a bit of fear.

"Well, Ace, I didn't say I knew the plot--but you brought it up. In fact, I do know the plot, as well as the characters."

This was creepy, but something was bringing me into it--I wanted her to keep talking. She was pulling me in, or rather, pushing me from where I was, like a strong gust of wind pushing over a tree that stood in ground softened by rain. 

"Then how do you know it?" I asked, while pressing against my leg to calm my anxious thoughts.

"I talked to your friend Michael. He told me everything."

Something was off about her answering of the question, but the waitress came back to take our orders and with our drinks. We decided that we would order a pizza for the two of us, with pepperoni and extra cheese. The waitress smiled as she wrote down the order, and smiled as she took the menus, and continued smiling as she walked away.

"She's doing an awful lot of smiling." I said, while turning to see Jessica's reaction.

"It's strange to see people in her position smile like that," said Jessica, “her job is none stop action."

"Well, you do make a fair bit of cash from tips." I replied, before taking a sip of my water. It was nice and cold, and perfect to ease myself out of the state of anxiety and the feelings that I was in. The water lacked that funny restaurant water taste that you often deal with. It was a great glass of water. I placed it back down to see Jessica looking at me with large wide eyes.

"Where are you from, Jessica. I must ask, given how you seem to not be from around here."

"I was born in Chicago. I lived in a small town out in Western Illinois for a little bit, until I moved here and found you."

"And how did you find me?" I asked.

"I saw that you were a local filmmaker. I saw your beautiful face and your amazing hair; therefore, I had to meet you and see you in person--you were simply irresistible."

"I don't try to impress people actually, so I can safely assume that it just comes naturally." I said while becoming nervous again.

"You don't?" She said. "Wow. It's like you do it by existing."

"I do it 'by existing'." I said. "Wow. I never thought of it that way. I never knew that I could have so much influence over people."

"Well, you do." She said with a large smile. "You are a very handsome young man and I want to give you something as a reward."

"I should get rewarded for being good looking?" I asked, for it seemed strange that she was offering me something. Whatever could it be? It was likely sex, and I was wanting that in this moment, for she was probably more 'irresistible' than I ever was, whether or not she would admit that. I looked down upon myself--at least physically--I knew I was smart, creative, and driven for success. After all, I had written a complete novel at this point and was in the process of publication, while producing a short film based on an earlier short story.

"I can tell that you're thinking of something," she said, "you are refusing to believe that you are wonderful."

"I know I'm wonderful, Jessica. It... just...well...feels unreal in this moment. I'm sitting with a pretty girl I like, and she likes me back. It feels like a dream, or something close to it."

"Then after this we'll go somewhere and make it more than a dream."

I looked into her eyes. They were blue. They were large. Her pupils were dilated. She was staring at me.

"So, what do you think of Trump?" I asked. I knew she would struggle to answer that, so I put it out there.

"I think Trump is doing a fine job as President. But I know you can do better." She said.

"Really, Jessica? You want me to be President of the United States? I wouldn't stand a chance running. I could never handle that."

"You can handle that, Ace. Remember you talked about running for President in an old group chat you were a part of."

I was done. She knew too much. I stood up from my seat and spoke: “Jessica, I have to go to the bathroom. My phone just vibrated and I think it's important."

"Take as much time as you require, Ace. I'll be waiting."

I walked from the table and headed for the door. I wasn't going to the bathroom. I was going to escape, but then Jessica called from the table. “Ace, the bathroom is over there."

I turned and saw that she was pointing in the right direction. The bathroom was over to the side from where I was standing. The smell of pizza was beginning to annoy me and Jessica was beginning to scare me--I wanted out. But instead, I walked over to the bathroom and headed in. I was hit with that strong smell of cleaning agents and that white almost blinding light. I pulled out my phone and saw that there was a text message. It was from the Jessica contact I made earlier. It had a simple smiley face emoticon and it was from about twenty minutes ago. I took a deep breath and put my phone back in my pocket, and then began splashing cold water on my face from the sink. I took another breath and left the bathroom. I entered back into the world of pizza and dim lighting. I looked over and saw Jessica sitting at the table waiting. The pizza had arrived. It was resting on one of those pizza things at the side of the table. I turned my head and looked over at the door. I knew Jessica was watching, so I didn't try anything.

I sat down in my seat and took a slice of pizza. It was hot, very hot, so I took a bite. It was good pizza. The cheese melted and the pepperoni accompanied it at the right time.

“Ace, you should probably drink some water with that." Jessica said with another one of her smiles.

"Yes, you're right, Jessica, I should."

I took my glass. My hand almost became numb from the coldness. I raised it to my lips and took a large gulp of water. Something didn't taste right. I looked at the glass and saw little flakes floating around.

"Something is wrong with this water, Jessica. There's stuff in it."

"Oh, that's just from the pizza you ate. It happens somethings when you drink right after eating."

"Yes, I should know that."

"It's okay that you didn't, Ace. I still want you anyway."

With that thought on my mind, I took another bite of pizza. Jessica had already had an entire slice, and she was moving onto another. I could feel the fatigue of the day setting in. I took another gulp of water. The glass was now empty.

"You sure do drink a lot of water,” said Jessica.

"It's funny that you should mention that, Jessica. I do drink a lot of water, even at home. Now, I have a question for you."

"Oh really, I love questions."

"How do you know about the old group chat? That was over two years ago and it was with people that you can't possibly know."

"I have methods, Ace." She said with a large smile. It was only a moment later that I found myself in the parking lot walking with Jessica walking towards her white Cadillac. I saw my car and thought only for a moment about how I would get it home, but Jessica was taking my hand, and the moment was so warm and peaceful that I just slipped away into nothing...


I awoke a little while later--at least that’s what it felt like. I'm not sure how long it really was, but I knew it was probably several hours at the least. And it was dark--painfully dark. I thought for a second that I was somehow under the covers of my bed--but that wouldn't work because I could hear stuff happening. I could hear what I thought to be an engine and tires on a road. It was also hot--dangerously hot. I felt sweat on my face. In fact, I felt sweat over my entire body. I reached my hand up and realized it was stopped by the darkness. I tried to roll over, but I couldn't. I realized where I was.

I was in the trunk of a car. The ‘stuff’ I heard was the car moving, and I could feel the small shaking every few seconds from what I assumed were bumps in a road. It was not a smooth road--I can tell you that, but it wasn't entirely bumpy either. It was probably gravel or something--and it was new, not brand new, but definitely new.

The car stopped. I heard someone pop the trunk. I heard a door open, followed by the same door closing. I heard someone walking on gravel. They walked around the car and then down the road; their footsteps on gravel faded with them.

I pushed the trunk up and saw the sun; I felt pain shoot through my body; I felt a rush of thoughts. The air made me cough for a few moments. I assumed it was because of the dust the car kicked up from the road. I turned and managed to get into a sitting position.

Putting my feet down on the ground, I saw a figure walking in the distance. It was Jessica. I took a step and fell to the gravel, for my legs gave way, but I saved myself by putting my hand on the car--it was hot. The car was burning hot. I took my hand off it. I turned and saw corn. It was all around me. The car was idling on a gravel road than ran through the corn. I didn't know where I was--I knew however that it wasn't Hartford County, Connecticut. I also knew that I had been in the car for more than a few hours. This meant I was very far away.

I saw Jessica vanish at the far end of the road. I had no choice but to follow her. She drew me close; she intrigued me; she brought me here, so maybe should could give me answers. I put one foot before another and began walking down the gravel road. There was a rush of air. It was cool, but something was wrong. I could smell chemicals. The fumes entered my mouth and I began to cough. I began to lower myself down to the ground, as I gave out. The wind was pushing it from farther up. The wind was pushing what I assumed to pesticides into my lungs, which began burning them.

I vomited on the road. The vomit splattered and hit my face causing my skin to burn, for it was only acid. I could feel myself fall to the ground, and I could hear another car, or truck, or something, coming down the road. I turned my aching head and saw it--my vision was blurred--I only saw the shape of a white truck. Men in masks and black clothing stepped out. I could only make out their figures. I saw another figure walking with them. I assumed she was Jessica, for who else would she be? 

It likely took fifteen minutes for them to reach me, but the men in masks lifted me up from the ground. I was coughing. My vision was almost gone. My skin was burning and I felt death--it was pure pain everywhere in my body. The figure I believed to be Jessica came towards me. She spoke: "Welcome to Plantation Number One Zero Seven--a world of your own creation." 

© 2017 Ace St. Jean


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Promising knack of perceiving worlds outside your experience, stepping into a character and making their world believable. Prose can be tightened with rewrites.

Posted 4 Years Ago


A very fine piece though there are many typos in it but a good one nonetheless!


Posted 5 Years Ago


Very rich in character, description and great story line... your writing is excellent

Posted 5 Years Ago



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Added on September 18, 2017
Last Updated on December 22, 2017
Tags: Kidnapping, One's own creation

Author

Ace St. Jean
Ace St. Jean

CT



About
Science fiction with bits of drama and horror. That's what I enjoy writing. It may not be all that I post, but it's what i enjoyed writing. more..

Writing
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A Story by Ace St. Jean