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Monday
September 22, 2014
10:14am EDT


Rated: ASR | Short Story | Entertainment | #1626771
Something I wrote trying to emphasize how being descriptive can envelope a reader.
I wake up suddenly to the brain squeezing sound of my alarm clock at six in the morning. The alarm doesn't bother me because of the sound, but rather because of the horribly busy day it ushers in. Today I have to go to the third studio lot at Crazy Star Pictures to film the final scene of the movie I'm currently starring in called "The 10th Planet." As I stagger out of my bed my eyes feel like they are being crushed by the light that pierces so sharply through my window. I wince and turn away from the window and slowly trod into the bathroom. My neck is crackly and sore from sleeping on it the way I did. I turn my head to the left and right and feel the muscles loosen as the bones crack in a low, wet popping sound.

I hear a knock on the front door as I step out of the shower. The cool air of the tiled room is a refreshing contrast to the thick, hot moisture from the shower stall. I wrap a towel around my waist and answer the door. It's my lovely manager Alicia with her car, ready to whisk me off to the busy studio lot. I like Alicia a lot. She's about 5'3" tall, with short black hair and icy blue eyes. She always has this graceful, calm attitude that I love. I would have made a move by now if she wasn't married. The good ones are always either taken, or not interested in me. I get dressed, putting on a pair of loose fitting Dickies and a white muscle shirt. As I walk out of my nice, two story home to Alicia's waiting Mercury Sable, I inhale deeply. The air smells of salt water. It moves over the swaying palm trees and pets through my short cut blonde hair. It seems like everyday at this time I note the differences between Alicia and myself. I'm 6'2", while she's a mere 5'3"; I have dirty blonde hair, and she has black; I'm easy going and fun loving, while she's serious and calm.

It's about a forty minute drive from my home to the movie set, one of which I spend leaning a little bit out the window of this emerald green car, feeling the wind in my face. We drive up to the security booth at one of the few entrances into the lot and Alicia shows the guard her pass and mine. The man motions us in and me move cautiously towards the studio 3 parking lot, so not to hit any moving props or workers. We get out of the car and walk towards the makeup trailer. I make a bit of a scowl at the dry heat coming up from the asphalt. It's much more uncomfortable than the cool rock driveway at my home.

The makeup trailer is small, with only a couple of chairs and multiple pieces of foam latex masks and things lining the walls and floors, making it difficult to navigate. I walk up into the trailer and Alicia pats me on the back, knowing the hell I'm about to go through. She makes her way to the set as I step towards my place. The floor of the small trailer creeks a bit as I ease myself into my barber-shop style chair. Roughly four hours later I'm in full makeup. I am now standing at a towering 7' tall, with dented battle armor adorning my shoulders and torso, while the rest of my body is covered in green lizard-like skin. I am playing Glax Maxis, high commander of the tenth planet's royal planet raiders. My character and his army have been the main focus of the film up until this point. The army has just raided Earth but my character is going to be killed soon. Today we film the final death scene, where my character is beheaded.

As I move towards the set, I meet half-way with the director and he walks me through the scene. I've pretty much memorized the script so I don't really pay him much attention. I cough a bit at the smell of the prosthetics on my face, and the adhesive that makes it stick to my skin. It itches a little bit, like a bead of sweat you get on the tip of your nose that you can't wipe off at the moment. I shake my head a bit and the itching subsides. The large fake feet that I have on keep me from moving quickly, so I have to endure the hot sun baking me within this alien suit. I finally make my way into the heavily air-conditioned studio and meet up with the person who will be killing me. My vision is slightly blurred from my contact lenses but I can see that he has fake wounds and trick blood all over his torso and face, and his space-suit is torn in multiple places. The costume designer for this film is one of the best I've ever worked with. We do a little role playing to set the scene before we have to report to the large metal room where the death scene takes place. The room is quite cool, and the polished, stainless steel room is a nice esthetic. Six large pillars traverse the left and right sides of the room, and end at a wall with a door on it. We set ourselves up appropriately, with myself lying on the floor, supporting my weight on one hand, on my back, while my fellow actor stands over me with a large sword. I breath heavily for a moment and people scatter to make sure everything is right. Then suddenly, a hush falls over the studio.

I hear only the muffled sound of the director's voice yelling, "ACTION!" I listen to my fellow actor speaking his lines, while I myself mainly try to concentrate on my facial movements, making my eyes bug out and making my eyebrow and lips shake a bit. My counter-part finishes speaking his lines and slowly raises his sword, skillfully making his arms twitch, as if under strain from the weight of the sword. That's my cue, as he stands with his sword overhead, I say slowly, and weakly: "You will die...all of you.......soon." With that last word the camera pans up to the human character, his face ripped with anger. He yells out, "AAAAAAAH!" as he brings his sword down. Of course the sword stops mere inches from my face and the director yells, "Cut!" As I stand up people applaud and I am helped to my feet. The director calls out, "Ladies and gentlemen, Glax Maxis is a wrap!" Everybody cheers and claps and I smile widely. From one green pointed ear to the other.
© Copyright 2009 Andrew Logan (UN: omegaapex at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Andrew Logan has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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