Drama

Drama

  By Chris Hantzen

  Artwork copyright Brom – www.bromart.com

  Broms illustration was used with the artists explicit permission.

  Copyright 2012, Chris Hantzen

  Index

  - Colofon

  - Drama

  - About the author

  - About Stofkonijn

  - About Woordenwoud

  Drama

  Chris Hantzen

  ‘Am I doing it right?’ Alfred asked, his voice wavering.

  ‘Ehrmm, well… No, not quite.’ The answer came from a mouth hidden from Alfred’s view.

  Alfred stood shaking uncomfortably on his spindly legs. What little clothing he wore, offered him nowhere near enough warmth. Nervously he scratched his arms and legs. That make-up is itchier than a drill beetle in your underpants, he thought as a shiver made his body shake uncontrollably.

  ‘Will you stand still!’ the invisible voice snapped. ‘Honestly! How can anyone expect me to perform with this sort of material?’ The voice grumbled on. ‘And assume your pose!’

  The demanding voice belonged to a human being, named Brom, Alfred knew. He didn’t much like humans to begin with – all that hair made him feel queasy – but this one appeared to be a particularly annoying example of the species.

  ‘Why did you put all this itchy make-up on me anyway?’ Alfred asked.

  ‘Because this simply will not work with that peachy, pink skin of yours!’ A sigh escaped Brom’s lips.

  Alfred scratched his legs some more and tried to adjust the little metal skullcap that kept sliding off his head. He thought he looked ridiculous. Perhaps his species, the ske’lor, once looked like this, in a distant past, but Alfred found even that hard to believe. His neatly manicured fingers closed around the hilt of a fake sword that felt much too light in his hand. He held it in a way that Brom didn’t seem to appreciate much at all.

  ‘I want to see aggression!’ Brom roared. ‘Drama! You’re a murderous skeleton, striding across the battlefield with madness in its eye sockets, driven by the smell of blood and the sound of humans screaming in pain!’ He gestured wildly from under the black cloth which kept him hidden from Alfred’s view. ‘We’ve rehearsed this so often!’ Brom shook the pole he held in his right hand.

  The pole reached higher than Brom’s shoulders and ended in a small, black platform. On this platform sat a green, scaly critter with bat like wings and a forked tongue, which tried its utmost not to fall off the shaking platform.

  Every time that Alfred assumed a pose, the critter blew itself up like a balloon, only to release all of its air in a whistling sigh whenever Brom started complaining again.

  ‘You’re a bloodthirsty monster! Show me!’ Brom shouted.

  Alfred assumed a pose that more close resembled a porridge thirsty pensioner.

  ‘No! No! No!’ yelled Brom.

  ‘Pfffftt,’ the critter on the pole responded.

  ‘Will you try, at least try, to remember what I told you?’ Brom said. ‘We’re trying to create art of epic proportions, yeah?’ Again Brom’s hand appeared from under the cloth and swooshed through the air. ‘We’re trying to hand people a window into a dark and distant past. A time of blood, of pain, of death, and of endless battlefields… But mostly, a time full of drama!’ A growling sigh escaped his throat. ‘So just for a second, pretend you’re not some cowardly billiard ball and scare me!’ Brom spat on the floor.

  Had Alfred had eyebrows, they would have sought each other’s comfort. Had he had eyes, they would have squinted. He was really starting to lose his patience with this particular human, a slight growling started down in his throat. He clenched his fist around the sword and took a step forward…

  ‘Yes! Hold this pose!’ Brom screamed hoarsely.

  ‘Huuuuuhhhhh.’ The critter sucked its lungs full of air.

  ‘Huh?’ Alfred said. He had no clue what was going on and dropped his arms to his side..

  ‘Godfriggindamnit!’ Brom cursed, as his bright red face appeared from under the black cloth. ‘You were so close!’

  ‘Pffffttt,’ the critter agreed.

  ‘I should have just hired a human being and painted a skull on his face. The way this is going, we’ll still be here tomorrow. I have to finish this piece!’ Brom’s face was red with anger or perhaps with the heat from being under the cloth for so long.

  ‘Yes, but,’ Alfred stammered as his fingertips pulled at his torn costume.

  ‘No buts!’ Brom yelled. ‘I am sick and tired of your excuses.’ He aimed an angry finger at Alfred, who immediately took a step back. ‘And now I want to see some aggression, you poor excuse for the undead!’ Brom yelled as he dove back underneath the cloth.

  ‘Come on cue ball! Corpse! Shower cap!’ Words tumbled over each other as they left Brom’s mouth with haste. ‘Give it to me, you stupid zombie!’

  Alfred’s hands shook with anger. There’s a lot he can call me, he thought, but not thàt word! His muscles were taut like cables. ‘I am not a zombie!’ With an angry scream he stepped forward, right at Brom and his foul language.

  ‘Oooooh,’ whispered Brom.

  ‘Huuuuuh,’ the critter reacted.

  Brom suddenly pulled the tail of the critter. ‘Woof!’ A flash of pure, white light left its throat. For a moment, everything in the room was completely still. Even the particles of dust, caught in beams of light, stopped their endless dance for a few moments.

  ‘There. That’s that,’ Brom spoke calmly to a dumbfounded Alfred, who shook his head and dropped the fake sword.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I guess it is,’ he stammered.

  ‘This may take a few minutes,’ Brom said, ‘go ahead and wash your make-up off and put on your regular clothes.’

  Alfred slowly walked away, towards the dressing room, wondering where all his rage had gone. Flashed away by the critter perhaps?

  As a torrent of warm water washed the make-up from his skin, Alfred resolved that this would not be the end of it. When he was done he would step up to that insolent Brom and knock him around for what he just said. Alfred watched as the green and brown make-up waltzed around the drain and his permanent grin seemed to widen slightly.

  Alfred applied his towel, every single movement filled with purpose. With the make-up removed he considered himself lucky to have such unblemished pink skin, almost exactly the same as that of a human, only hairless. He shuddered at the thought of having to walk around with all that nasty, unhygienic hair like humans did. Using his towel, he polished the top of his skull – the perfectly bald and smooth skull that had so complicated first contact with the humans. They were such strange, superstitious creatures.

  Satisfied with the shine on his ghostly, white skull, Alfred started to dress, a crisp, tailored suit with thin white chalk lines and a daring orange tie. He pulled the tie tight around his neck and strode out of the dressing room, determined to teach that human the meaning of the word respect!

  ‘It’s ready! Come have a look,’ Brom said in a cheerful tone.

  As Alfred strode towards Brom he saw the flashcritter still puffing on its platform. Apparently it had been an exhausting day for it as well.

  Alfred clenched his fists as he quickened his pace and closed in on his target. Then his target turned around and showed him a rectangular picture.

  ‘So,’ asked Brom, ‘what do you think?’

  ‘Ehhmm… Ehhmmm…’ Alfred blabbered.

  ‘You don’t like it?’ Brom reacted, his eyes widening visibly.

  Alfred’s hands lost their grip and so did his jaw. Right there, he saw himself in a way he hardly recognized. He was impressive! Dangerous even! Or fearsome! Oh, if only his poor mum had had a chance to see him like this.

  ‘It… It’s magnificent,’ Alfred stammered.

  A
smile spread itself lazily across Brom’s face. ‘Thank you,’ he said contentedly. ‘Well, I do what I can, with what I’ve got.’ He took another look at the picture with pride in his eyes. ‘Now that’s what I meant with drama.’

  With a twinkle deep in his hollow eye sockets Alfred looked down on the picture and the human being that had made him look so heroic. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all, those humans.

  End

  This story (in the original Dutch version) won the very first Unleash award, which was then called the Santorian assignment. It was inspired by Broms piece of art, which now adorns this story’s cover.

  For more information about the Unleash award, see: www.unleashaward.nl

  For more of Brom’s inspiring artwork, see: www.bromart.com

  About the author

  Chris Hantzen (pseudonym) is a Dutch writer who mostly concentrates his efforts on the fantastic genres of Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror. Het lives in the north of the Netherlands with his wife, where he takes care of a small swarm of children and pets.

  He also maintains a writer’s community called Woordenwoud.

  Also, please have a look at other titles by Chris Hantzen at:

  Feel free to contact me online:

  Official website: https://www.chrishantzen.nl/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/ChrisHantzen/

  Facebook: https://facebook.com/leanderthaler/

  About Stofkonijn (Dustbunny)

  Dustbunny is a label that wants to offer a recognizable face to quality stories within the fantastic genres. When Chris Hantzen was a little boy, he was a dreamer who often spoke to the dustbunnies beneath his bed. To him, these wondrous little creatures, existing halfway between reality and imagination are synonymous to ideas.

  About Woordenwoud

  Woordenwoud is an initiative by Chris Hantzen and others and is a webforum where writers of all levels are welcome to talk to eachother about the craft, critisise eachother’s work and to help eachother grow. Woordenwoud has a special place reserved for writer’s within the fantastic genres, but writer’s of all genres are more than welcome to join.Discussions are mostly in Dutch but international visitors are also welcome.

  Website: https://www.woordenwoud.nl

  Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/Woordenwoud/