Story 622: Valentine’s Day “Gift”

            (In a living room, Spouse 1 is sitting in an armchair reading a book when Spouse 2 enters)

Spouse 2: Hey – do we have plans for Valentine’s Day yet?

Spouse 1: (Lowers the book to stare at Spouse 2) Well, yes: since it’s on a Saturday this year but you still wanted to go out to dinner with every other couple in the world that night, I made a restaurant reservation six months ago.  (Raises the book to start reading again)

Spouse 2: That’s great, thanks, BUT I have another idea for our gift to each other this year.

Spouse 1: (Lowers the book again) Oh?

Spouse 2: Yeah: I’ve been thinking –

Spouse 1: Mm-hm?

Spouse 2: – and you know how my music career’s kind of stalled lately, and the songs just aren’t coming to me and the muse has been failing to show up and all that, so I think the best thing for both of us this year is that we break up.

Spouse 1: (Inflectionless) …What.

Spouse 2: Preferably on Valentine’s Day, for maximum impact.

Spouse 1: (Still inflectionless) …What.

Spouse 2: Yeah, I really think this is the only path for my music right now: everyone knows that the best songs are about how you’re so in love with someone but they have no idea, or they’re already with someone else, or they did you wrong, or it was all perfect and they still broke your heart because they were bored or something, or they went off with your best friend which is basically a double betrayal, or you can’t stand each other anymore but you’re both stuck where you are out of habit, or you’re eternally devoted but the other person just can’t stick around because they’re free like the wind or off like a bird or whatever, and bottom line is, those are the songs that everyone sings along with and cries their hearts out to and plays at weddings and pays lots and lots of money for and are remembered centuries after the songwriters are gone, so the only way I’m going to be able write any of that stuff is if I myself am suffering from the pangs of unjust heartbreak or heartbreak that really is my own fault and can only find solace by pouring out my soul and emotional pain through strings, percussion, woodwinds, brass, and vocal cords.

Spouse 1: ....

Spouse 2: So, in case I wasn’t completely clear back there, it’s best if you break up with me in this scenario.

Spouse 1: ….

Spouse 2: Doing that on Valentine’s Day would be ideal, but you can wait until my birthday if you need more time to prepare the script – I’ll use some of it for the lyrics.

Spouse 1: ….

Spouse 2: Ooh, completely forgot to mention that you’ll get half the royalties in perpetuity – you being the new muse for this award-winning anguish album and all.  And that’ll be my gift to you this year.

Spouse 1: ….

Spouse 2: Want to practice some inspiration on me now, something like “I finally remembered that I never loved you!” or “I like awake every night wondering ‘Why?’” or “The grass is certainly looking a lot greener with every passing day,” or “You never help set the table!”?  I’m really trying to work on that last one, though, so maybe ignore it for now.  We can workshop all this later, if you want.

Spouse 1: ….

Spouse 2: ….

Spouse 1: I made the reservation for 6:30 so we can be home by 9.  (Raises the book to start reading again)

Spouse 2: Aw, hon, you’re the best!

Story 254: Why Is There a Soundtrack?

            The radiant sunset surrounded the couple with shades of red, purple, and pink as the two strolled through the cozy park, hand-in-hand.  The moment when he was going to pop the question was fast approaching: he knew it, she knew it, the dog walkers knew it.  The violins swelled in anticipation as he suddenly stopped, grabbing both her hands in his.

            “Beloved?” he opened.

            “Yes, my angel?” she replied; several stirring flutes got in on the action.

          “We have known each other for so long – ” the violins became more agitated – “I simply cannot face the rest of my life without you by my side – ” an expectant drumroll began, with cymbals winding up for the climax – “and what on Earth is that orchestra doing here?!”

          “Oh them,” she lightly laughed.  “They follow me on special occasions: they’re the soundtrack to my life.”  The cymbals finally crashed.  “Not yet, guys – maybe start again when we kiss to seal the deal?” she asked; the music abruptly cut off.  To her angel, she smiled: “You were saying?”

            “Ummmm….”

            *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *         

            The two spies snuck through the darkened warehouse and spoke to each other in whispers.

            “I’ll take the left, you take the right,” Spy 1 said.

            “Why do I always have to take the right?” Spy 2 almost whined.

            “Because right now I’m on the left, right?”

            “What?”

            A menacing bass line began.

            “So, you go that way,” Spy 1 gestured with a gun, “and I’ll go this way.  Ri – OK?”

            “Wait a minute, what’s that noise?”

            A synthesizer ratcheted up the thrill factor.

            “It’s underscoring the danger of our actions, now c’mon!”  Spy 1 gestured with the gun again.

          “Not so fast,” Spy 2 said, head tilting to listen.  “I know those chords.  This is the Villain Theme playing right now.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “That’s the music played every time the villain shows up.”

            “Which makes perfect sense because that’s the reason why we’re here!  To catch the villain!”

           “Yes… or….”  Spy 2 pointed a gun at Spy 1.  “Perhaps the True Villain has been beside me ALL ALONG.”

            <DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUUN!>

            Spy 1 pointed the gun at Spy 2.  “Now you’re just being stupid and tiresome.  <Gasp> Maybe this music’s playing because you’ve been the True Villain ALL ALONG!”

            “Nonsense – I’m not the villain.”

            “Ha!  Prove it!”

            “I’d know it if I was, wouldn’t I.”

            “You make a good point.”

            The True Villain jumped out from behind a pillar, accompanied by a crescendo.

         “Aha, you fools!”  The Villain laughed evilly.  “The music was signaling my approach, and now I have the drop on both of you!”

            “Blast,” Spy 1 said as the two raised their hands in surrender.  “We sure misread those cues.”

            “Yes, I must say they were deliberately confusing to the casual listener,” Spy 2 agreed.

            *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *         

            In the haunted house, the reckless teenagers paused on the third floor to regroup; they spoke with flashlights shining up on their faces due to the requisite power outage during the obligatory thunderstorm.

            “I say we head to the basement and wait it out there,” Teen 1 said.

           “I say we head to the attic, solve the mystery, and set the angry ghost’s soul to rest,” Teen 2 said.

            “I say we head to the front door and walk out of it,” Teen 3 said.

            “Hold up a sec!” Teen 4 hysterically shouted.

            “What?  We were having a nice rational discussion up until now,” Teen 1 said.

         Teen 4 looked around in terror before screechily whispering: “Where’s our supporting music?!”

            The others pondered this.

            “You’re right, it’s been suspiciously not playing for ages,” Teen 2 said.

            “That means when it does play, it’ll be a doozy,” Teen 1 agreed.

           “I’m going to climb down this drainpipe here,” Teen 3 said, opening a window.  “You’re all welcome to join me whenever you’d like.”

            The other three froze in place.

            “Should we run for it?” Teen 4 asked.

            “Maybe if we never move ever again from this spot, the ghost’ll forget about us and leave us alone,” Teen 2 said.

            “Or we could – ” Teen 1 started but was cut off by jump-scare music, which was followed by the jump scare of the tangible ghost getting in their faces.

            With everyone screaming, the music was no longer necessary.

            From outside the house, Teen 3 jumped onto the ground from the drainpipe, ran to the car, got inside, and started it.  The horror music quietly began to swell.

            Teen 3 turned to face the music: “Don’t even think about it.”

            The music stopped as Teen 3 drove off into the night.

            *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *         

            In an office, Manager approached Employee.

            “So,” Manager said, “we’ve got a huge project coming up, with lots of ways it can go wrong.”

            “All right,” Employee said, then pressed a button on a CD player; light-hearted music played through the speakers.

            “What are you doing?” Manager asked.

        “Scoring our new adventure,” Employee said.  “Judging by your statement, I trust that shenanigans will ensue?”

            “Not really – this is a very serious project for one of our top clients.  If it doesn’t go right, we could be – ” Manager leaned in slightly to whisper – “F-I-R-E-D.”

            “All right.”  Employee pressed a few different buttons; serious-sounding music then played.  “So this situation is dramatic, then.”

            “Well, yeah!  And I even feel a little uncomfortable taking it on, to tell you the truth; this is the client who is a bit – ” whispered again – “S-H-A-D-Y.”

            “Got ya.”  Employee hit several more buttons; hints of mystery and danger were signified by the presence of a bassoon.  “How’s this one?”

            “Perfect.”