Chapter 6:

A Regretful Remembrance

Everything is Not Daijobu


“I think dying is the final stamp on things – book closed, nothing more to say. It’s quite the existential disaster in the mind of a writer.” Adrian proclaims as he takes a hit of the bong and passes it on.

The luminescent glow of the moon hangs overhead in the dark alley, highlighting only the outside of the figure Adrian is talking to. His conversation participant takes the bong from him and begins to light it up.

“And how does that affect you?” The dark figure’s familiar face lights up as he sparks up the flint, only for a second.

“I don’t know, I think I’d like to write something memorable, something meaningful.” Adrian slurs his words as he speaks, resting his head upon the concrete wall behind him and feeling the cold run down to his spine.

“And what does that look like for you?” Adrian’s talking companion asks, probing deeper into Adrian’s wants and desires.

Memories of Adrian’s publicist, Meg, come flooding back. The last conversation they had together was not the way he would like her to imagine him; he hopes she’s forgiven his demeanour and his absence these last few months.

“It’s good. It’s really good – I just have one issue. The way the story is structured, it needs simplification. I don’t think your audience will understand it.” Meg had remarked, concern lacing her voice.

“Well, I’m not writing for half-wits here Meg. I’m writing intelligent, thought-provoking material, I thought you understood that!” Adrian was visibly distressed at this point, although going back and forth with Meg like that had become a staple of their relationship.

“Well the publishers think it would be easier to digest if-“

Adrian remembers interjecting before she could even finish what she was going to say. “Fuck them, fuck them all. The ones that get it will be enlightened. The ones that don’t, well they can read something else.”

“Enlightened?” Meg chuckled; she was never known to be someone with much of a sense of humour but moments like this were consumed by her like food. “I’ll just go tell the publishers that they’ll lose a good majority of their readers – but alas, those who make it to the end will reach enlightenment.” The sarcasm had hissed off her tongue, piercing Adrian like a dagger, yet he could not let up.

“Well, that sounds grand, let me know what they say.” Adrian grinned at this; he doesn’t remember feeling particularly proud, but he felt the need to act that way.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Smoke left Adrian’s mouth as the moon’s gaze pierced through it, leaving a hazy hue over the alley, making it seem like pollution had gotten the better of this area.

“So where do you start?” The black figure interrupts Adrian’s thoughts and brings him back to the conversation, if only just for a moment.

“Pacing, usually pacing. Can I have that?” Adrian replied, motioning his hands to the bong.

“That doesn’t sound like a lot of writing.” Doug interjects, passing over the grotty-looking Gatorade bottle.

“You sound just like Grace.” Regret filled Adrian’s mind. Regret of how he treated his publisher. Regret of how he treated his old girlfriend, Grace. She was kind, and always supported Adrian through whatever was going through his mind.

“Why are you still doing that? That’s not getting anything on the page.” Grace had told him, as he was furiously pacing down the hallway of their house. This used to be somewhat of a common occurrence for Adrian at this time.

“Well, it seems like sitting isn’t getting anything on the fucking page either.” Adrian remembers a deep silence flow over the room, it seemed to have lasted an eternity and Adrian still can never gauge how long it was. “Meg says it’s good, it just needs to be simplified, the structure is too complex.”

“Is this your way of saying sorr-“

“It’s my way of explaining myself; forgiveness is optional.” Another interruption Adrian remembers, he starts to realize that maybe he never let anyone finish what they were going to say. Regret.

The dark figure looks at Adrian. “I think that’s a good starting point you know?”

“What do you mean?” Adrian is caught off guard, he doesn’t remember saying anything to the figure while he’d been reminiscing.

“Well, regret. Write about that. It’s real, it’s something. You feel like you don’t have a lot to offer anyone else. But really, it’s standing right Infront of you. That’s something others can relate to and learn from.”

“I see, let me just write this down.” Adrian turns to pick up his notebook, and as he turns back. The figure is gone.

J.P.B
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WALKER
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