Writing class (story)

ERNEST (name tag pinned to pink shirt) is attending a creative writing seminar. EMINENT WRITER is in residence as mentor. Everyone is very excited to be there.

EMINENT WRITER:
Now, everyone, I want you to close your eyes. He looks around to make sure everyone had closed their eyes. Everyone had.

EMINENT WRITER:
Now. I want you to visualise the moment when you decided who you wanted to be when you grew up. Not what kind of job you wanted to do, but what kind of person you wanted to be. OK?

ERNEST sneaks a quick glance through a half closed left eye. SHEILA is wearing a flowery dress that makes a funny sound as she sways this way and that, her eyes closed. Everyone is trying hard to remember something really poignant.

Eventually, EMINENT WRITER:
All done?

Heads gently bob in confirmation and the group opens their eyes slowly, as if worried something nasty may happen if they opened them too quickly.

BEN, tall, lanky, TV executive type, vocalises what everyone is thinking:
You can never be sure if there hadn't been someone laughing at you while you had your eyes closed, right?

There is a collective shuffle and few appreciative snorts. EMINENT WRITER raises one eyebrow and curls his mouth in disapproval.

EMINENT WRITER:
Tabitha, he turns to the woman next to him, would you like to tell us about your experience?

TABITHA, name tag askew on the ample chest, takes a deep breath, bats eyelashes a few times:
I was about 9 years old and my family were visiting an old aunt who lived near an abattoir. The smell was just awful and when my parents explained what happens there I was so upset I made a decision to never eat meat again. I've been a vegetarian ever since.

There is an awkward silence in the group after TABITHA’s tale. Some people nod sagely. Some roll their eyes. Everyone is feeling uneasy, bums shift on seats, feet shuffle under chairs, fringes are adjusted and glasses taken off and examined for imaginary specs of dust.

ERNEST is examining his cuticles. EMINENT WRITER nods to Tabitha, then turns to ERNEST:
And what about you Ernest?

ERNEST (somewhat startled):
Oh. Well. Erm. Well, I was 10, or maybe 9, it's hard to remember exactly, and my friends and I were passing time, talking about this and that, and eventually we started talking about what we wanted our tomb stones to read, you know, once we were dead. And I remember saying, I want mine to say: Ernest Kidwell - he made people laugh.

There is an audible, possibly slightly relieved, chuckle from the group. Even the EMINENT WRITER laughs. ERNEST allows himself a little smile.

BEN, looks around the room and laughing a tad too loudly winks at ERNEST:
Looks like you've achieved your life's ambition, mate! [snort]. So, what will you do now? [inane grin]

ERNEST is visibly shocked. The group stares at him, unsure half smiles frozen on their faces. Aghast, he stares at BEN hard, then blinks once. The truth hits him like a Tornado. He slides of the chair wordlessly and entirely without humour.

ERNEST is Dead.



True story, although names have been changed to prevent lawsuits