This is the third installment, continued from last week and the week before.
“”Time.’ Yeah, yeah, I know, Gary. It’s an illusion.” Mona sighs heavily.
Gary’s still struggling to focus, but his eyes go wide. “Everything‘s an illusion! And time most of all!”
Ritchie: “Jive dude!”
Mona sounds very tired. “Gary, forget time.”
“Right! Forget it!” Gary suddenly grins like a kid on Christmas morning.
Waves crash sharply on the beach. A gaggle of bikinied sunbathers rush by. Ritchie gets up and stretches mightily, setting the porch’s floorboards to creaking. He gives Gary a look of disgust, then puts a hand on Mona’s shoulder. “Hey, baby, Gary’s back to jivin’ us. And his pupils are smaller, so he must be coming down soon.” Ritchie studies the bikinied sunbathers. “Keep an eye on mah house, will ya? I’m going for a swim.”
Gary’s face is full of awe. “No wonder there’ve always been people who could see into the future. I’ve just never put it all together…”
Ritchie starts down the stairs leading from the porch to the beach.
Gary jerks, as if electrocuted.
There’s another crackle like lightning. Suddenly everything warbles for a moment, as if underwater.
Ritchie stumbles. “Mah stairs! That fucking monster Gary conjured up before wrecked them!”
Gary: “The past, the present and…the future.”
The stairs are fixed but the mid-sixties beach people are instantly replaced by mid-eighties beach people.
Ritchie: “Say what? Will you look at all the hair on those white girls?”
Gary: “The far future.”
A massive earthquake rumbles. The house shakes, starting to fall apart. Water rushes in from everywhere. They’re all struggling to swim.
Ritchie, a strong swimmer, joins the others. “The San Andreas fault!”
The wino swims out from under the debris of the house. “Earthquake!”
Unseen by the others, Mona is mostly underwater, occasionally flailing her way to the surface for a quick breath.
Gary’s wide-eyed with shock, frantically treading water.
Ritchie: “The past, Gary. What about the past?”
Gary repeats Ritchie blankly. “The past.”
All four of them fall heavily onto dry ground in the middle of a forest. There are no other people around, no buildings, and no roads. Even the Pacific Ocean is gone.
Ritchie gets to his feet first. “Where’s mah house?”
Mona: “Where’s L.A.?”
The wino stands, stone cold sober. “This is L.A.”
To be continued…
