Kill Your Darlings

A screaming came across the sky…

Was that Pynchon, he thought? Warren was in the middle of finishing up his third cup of coffee as he heard the noise growing outside his front door. His copy of “Gravity’s Rainbow” was in a box somewhere in the basement, unread except for a few chapters. But he always remembered that line. “A screaming comes across…”

And it was growing.

Warren was looking forward to a Saturday where he would face nothing more challenging that the crossword puzzle of a local paper, the crabgrass on his front lawn, a possible call from his girlfriend asking for more money for their son (“their” son – he had doubts) and maybe a few essays before Monday’s group of indifferent students (half of the papers were already done and he wondered if he was being fair; too generous?).

He got up, letting his feet catch his leather slippers, and stepped slowly to the front door and his peephole.

He had a pretty good view of it. The drone had about five propellers above it and a large brown cardboard box underneath. A neighbourhood boy he did not recognize stared at it from across the street as it hovered for a moment and alit on the front step. Warren opened the front door and saw the package released by metal grips and the drone float up. When he got the screen door open, the drone backed up, came up to eye level and focused on him. And...was that a camera?

He looked hard at the device.

It soon floated up and flew up behind his home, with the boy staring off at it from his bike.

“Wow…”

The boy was wearing a baseball cap of a local team Warren knew from reputation and news reports he ignored. At least he had an interesting in technology.

“Yeah, it was pretty cool.”

The boy grinned across the street and looked over the package and Warren.

“You gonna open it?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know who sent it.”

The boy smiled at that.

“Could be a present.”

“Could be Schrodinger’s Cat…”

The boy was confused as Warren picked up the package.

“A cat?”

“Nothing…”

The boy was still looking at him as Warren went inside. He could hear him say, “Why would someone put a cat…?” and then shut the door behind him.

A package that he did not order or expect…

Well, there was no ticking or powder leaking from it. But there was also no address on it, only his own, typed out and set on a sticker that was made specifically for him. The grips from the drone left slight impressions on the cardboard, but Warren felt that it was all intact inside.

But what was inside?

A memory slapped him back to sense. It was back in college, his first year, and he had been expecting a package from home during his second month on campus. At the time, the dorm he was in had a rule that all deliveries were made to the front desk and residents had to pick everything up from the supervisor. Ms. Regan was a pain in the ass, but she never forgot that he would be the first one at the desk on certain days to pick up his mail. Wednesdays and Fridays were there dates, and she had his package ready for him on the counter.

“I knew you’d be down first.”

A package was a big deal, and he could not wait to open the small box that was addressed to him with what he thought was his parents’ address.

Yeah, that’s what he thought…

A spray of shaving cream and confetti hit him hard between the eyes, knocking off his glasses as he tried to stay upright as the wave of collective laughter crushed him.

“Happy Birthday!”

A whole crowd gathered around him. With a free hand, he wiped his face and saw his roommate, certain classmates and his TA laughing and smiling around him. Gregory was supposed to meet him later to discuss his topic. No need for a chat now.

“Not my choice, War…”

No, no one’s choice – no one ever told him who it was – and he took it as a prank that he would have gone through as a freshman. So, what to do with another package that was not labeled this time…?

The doorbell buzzed.

The boy was back.

“Mister, did you really get a cat in there?”

Why was this happening today? The boy’s bike was in his driveway, leaning against his van. He must have been about eleven or twelve…

“What? No, I did not… I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Oh.” The boy was looking past him. “But you said a cat…”

“Oh, that’s Schrodinger’s Cat. You ever heard of it?”

“No.” He took off his cap and rubbed his forehead. “Who was that?”

“It’s from science. He had this idea that if you had a cat in a box, you could treat it as both dead and alive. Just something about not being certain about things. You should ask a scientist about it.”

“’Kay.” The boy seemed happy with the answer. “But you still haven’t opened it, right?”

“Well, yeah. Hey, wait a minute.” Warren ran back into the house, found the package, and walked back to the front door. “You ready?”

“Yup.”

Warren began tugging at the sides, noting that the tape was thick on all the flaps. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Steven.”

“Warren.”

And he got the box open.

Well, that didn’t help.

There was another envelope inside, white with no name or address on it. It was completely sealed.

“Weird…”The boy was staring at it.

“You are so right.” Warren picked up the envelope.

“Did you order something?”

“Not that I know of.” He sat on his steps. “Think it’s a joke.”

“So…you gotta open that one, right?”

“Yeah, why not?”

It was a beautiful day and he wondered about why this was not a simple one, too.

There was a cream-coloured card inside. Embossed on it was one phrase:

Kill Your Darlings

Steven and Warren looked at it for a long time. Then the boy walked down to his bike and swung it around to face the open road.

“Better be careful, mister.”

Warren knew what the phrase was about, but had no interest in correcting another perception after explaining Schrodinger and his cat. Steven road off down toward the right, heading into a set of townhouses connected with his cul-de-sac, and Warren wondered what the boy would take from this day.

*

“Kill Your Darlings…”

Warren was a writer trying to become professional, and he knew about the difficulties faced by him and any others out there still typing away. It meant that you should get rid the parts of your work that you love, but simply do not work for your story. Right, of course... Still no real reason why he was looking at this on a Saturday.

Was this a test? Had his girlfriend sent this one?

He needed more coffee.

And it was while he was loading another filter into the machine that it hit him…another memory.

The story.

That…story.

He had submitted to a magazine over a year ago and wondered if he would ever hear back from them. That was in a different spot and he had a lot of promise with that material. Warren had won a few contests and seen his work read by colleagues at different seminars and conferences. That was when he had met his last girlfriend and her publisher ex- who promised to “take his work under consideration” (in plain English, that clearly meant that he could try to submit to some other page). And what was the name of that magazine?

The machine percolated.

Kill Your Darlings?

He checked online and noted that the only journal with that name started in the last month, and there were no names on the main page he recognized. So, this was a real mystery.

His cup was full, as was his imagination.

He thought about his job.

Warren took his card and placed it in his papers. There would time for a little digging later.

Plenty of time…the boy thought.

Steven saw the drone first, but that was because they paid him to be there. The publisher wanted to have something special for their anniversary and needed to take a chance on one of their oldest contributors. And he was a special case. Who else read Pynchon now and could sound so like him on the page? Maybe a little more killing of those darlings and his work would be perfect. William Faulkner would be proud of this…

*

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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