*I thought Lost was new so I posted a picture and explained why I wasn't posting anything else. Then it turned out Lost doesn't start until next week and my easy-out post wasn't going to work. Then this fell out.
The office is empty except for the two men sitting at a large table in the centre of the floor. They are surrounded by a rats maze of cubicles, darkened now in the middle of the night. The floor to ceiling windows that enclose the floor offer a panoramic view of a large city that could be anywhere. The table the two men are seated around is strewn with paper, empty coffee cups, Sharpies of all colours and weapons. Two assault rifles and an assortment of hand guns lie atop everything else. One of the rifles has been stripped down and the taller of the two men sits meticulously cleaning its firing mechanism. The other stares vacantly out the distant window with arms crossed. The coat of his pinstriped business suit is hung over the back of his chair, specks of blood pepper one shoulder.
"Any idea how long we've been sitting like this?"
"I don't know, but my god damned fingers hurt from cleaning this freakin' gun."
"When is he going to start writing again?"
"Is he going to start writing again?"
"Look around, this feels like more of an outline, an outline he may have forgotten about."
"Jesus Christ! Forgotten!? "
"How long have we been here? A day? A week? I have no idea, do you?"
"No. I don't even... do you know what your name is?"
"No. Great, I don't even have a name. What about you?"
"No. Do you really think he could have forgotten us?"
"So what do you think our story is? Are we good guys or bad guys?"
"Dunno. Don't feel particularly bad. Although if I was bad, would I feel it?"
"I guess not. Still, this is a weird set up. I mean, what the hell are we in this office for? I don't think we're cops. At least I don't think I am. No badge."
"My hand is killing me."
"What happens when this office fills up tomorrow?"
"Maybe it won't."
"He's put us in an office building at night and possibly forgotten about us. If he has then why would it turn to day?"
"This is ridiculous. How long are we supposed to wait here? Change of clothes would be nice, I've got blood all over my damn shirt."
"It's a nice suit."
"Thanks. It is, isn't it?"
"This might sound crazy, but what am I wearing? My visions seems to get fuzzy every time I try and look at myself."
"It's not your vision. Aside from your hands you're pretty blurry. I've been trying not to look at you 'cause it's makin' me queasy."
"Oh, fuck this! He didn't even fill me out!? I'm not cleaning this damn gun anymore! HEY! HEY! WAKE UP, ASSHOLE! WRITE ME SOME FREAKIN' CLOTHES!"
"How did you do that?"
"What? Do what?"
"You stopped cleaning the gun."
"You stopped cleaning the gun..."
"Damn right I did, my fuckin' hand is on fire!"
"Dude. You stopped. Listen to me. You stopped..."
"How did you do it? You've been trapped cleaning that thing forever."
"I... I don't know. I guess... I guess I just finally had enough."
"I can see your face now too."
"Son of a bitch..."
"I'm getting out of this chair...."
"I don't know. Hold on..."
"Jesus! You've got clothes! How did you do that?"
"I just thought it and it happened. How is this possible?"
"We broke out of our paragraph."
"What the fuck does that even mean?"
"I haven't got a clue, but I just realized I really need a drink and I think there's a flask inside my pocket..."
*cough* "Oh ya. Here."
"Any idea where we are?"
"Couldn't tell ya, we're in North America though."
"Not Canada? He's Canadian."
"No. It doesn't... I don't know, I doesn't feel like Canada, you know? It's got the look of an American city."
"Wonder what he was planning? Kinda' looks like LA, though."
"How do we know he's Canadian?"
"Do you kinda' just... know stuff?"
"Ya. His stuff."
"So we know what he knows then."
"Looks that way."
"This is so bizarre."
"It's kinda' like that movie Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead."
"That was a great movie."
"It was. Well, I guess we never saw it."
"Thing is, they were just characters brought in expressly to serve one purpose, they couldn't avoid their fate because it was already written."
"I wonder how much we can actually do in here? Do we have any limitations? Can we leave?"
"I can see the streets below now.There wasn't anything there before, but now... it looks a little off though."
"I think it's because he's never actually been here. We're making it from what he knows, but all he knows is what he's seen in movies and TV and pictures."
"So I guess we do have certain limits then."
"What about his imagination though? I mean, dragons aren't real, but if I-"
"Oh dear God..."
"That.. I... I just..."
"You have to stop that."
"Good God, that's a dragon. It's actually a dragon."
"You have to get rid of it. Make it go away! Make it go away now!"
"Look! That whole building is on fire! GET RID OF IT!"
"It's coming this-"
"It's gone! It's gone! It's ok, it's gone!"
"Do not do that again, do you hear me?"
"No. No more of that. I think I need another drink."
*Ok, so I'm just whinging this as I go, but it's past mid-night now and my five year old can't walk himself to school so I have to stop for the night.