The Weekly LitWit Challenge 8.7: Fan fiction
Yes we have two contests running at the same time but it’s a long weekend and people need something to do.
Fan fiction, once regarded as the province of freaks and obsessives, has been getting more respect. After all if you know a character very well—and many fans believe they know their favorite characters better than their own authors do—and you envision them in a situation that hasn’t occurred to their original author, why shouldn’t you write your own story? Well, lawsuits for one, but that’s if you intend to publish without permission.
Here for instance is an archive of non-canonical Buffy stories written by fans of BtVS.
In this week’s LitWit Challenge we invite you to pluck any character (or as many characters as you like) out of a beloved book and put them in a story of your own imagining. Yes you can tear off Joffrey Baratheon’s head or let Pip dump Estella. We’re lifting the word count rule so you can let your fantasies run loose. The deadline is Tuesday, 10 April 2012 at noon, and the prize is this charming book about books.
We’re waiting.
The Weekly LitWit Challenge is brought to you by our friends at National Bookstore.
April 4th, 2012 at 11:12
Much Ado about Loving! I’ve been raving about this book for a long time – not so much for the self-help aspect, though I would recommend it for anyone who has ever written to Auntie Janey – but for the blatant book geekery contained in every chapter. At the very least, this may even give you a good reason to read Tolstoy… or Henry Miller. *ahem*
Anyway, I got nothin’ after this, so feel free to write away.
April 4th, 2012 at 14:55
This is similar to 8.6, re-writing the end of an original classic. I was trying to come up with my own entry but nothing really comes as good as what out popular litwit challengers are capable of.
To quote someone, “Drawing on my fine command of the English language, I said nothing.” ;-)
April 5th, 2012 at 13:30
do i need to get the characters just from one book? or could i mash it up with others? say jean valjean meets dr. watson?
April 5th, 2012 at 16:13
is this challenge brought about by this?
The Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy
http://www.amazon.com/Fifty-Shades-Grey-Book-Trilogy/dp/0345803485/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1333612776&sr=8-1
This was a twilight fanfic first titled Master of Universe before it was published and yes, I read it while it was being written. Ngayon, nasa top bestseller lists siya ng NY lists at amazon.
So, pwede twilight fanfic? Nakakatakot lang baka lait-laitin. People are so contemptous of it.
April 5th, 2012 at 16:42
Master of the Universe (MoTU) pala. I still have the originals. Hehe.
PS. Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare was first a Harry Potter fanfic titled Draco Dormiens. Me kopya pa rin din ako. Hehehe.
April 10th, 2012 at 09:05
*Mula sa “Catcher in the Rye” ni J.D. Salinger, ginamit ko sina Holden, Phoebe, Allie, Mrs. Spencer, Jane, Stradlater, Ely at Ackley sa aking maikling kwento na pinamagatang “Sa Kabilang Buhay”.
SA KABILANG BUHAY
by A.M. Santos
I. SA WASHINGTON ST., MAKATI, KUNG SAAN MAS PETIKS ANG BUHAY NI HOLDEN NGAYON KAYSA NOON
Simple’t tahimik lang ang buhay ko. Mag-isa lang kasi ako dito sa apartment. Kakaresign ko lang sa call center dahil tinamad na ko. Medyo may naipon na din naman ako kaya petiks lang ako ngayon. Siguro mga two weeks na pahinga pa, saka na ulit ako maghahanap ng pagkakaabalahan. Pero ayoko na sa call center. Madami ngang ipon, wasak naman body clock ko. Wala na kong matinong tulog. Alam mo ‘yung puyat ka pa rin kahit natulog ka na? Sanay na nga ako sa lahat ng pumapansin sa eyebags ko. Lagi kong sagot, pinaghirapan ko ‘yan! Pero sa totoo lang, malapit ko nang maging kamukha si Po ng Kung Fu Panda. Katawan na lang lamang ko. Tang ina, huwag naman sana akong lumobo ng ganon. Wala naman sa genes namin ‘yun kaya hindi naman siguro.
Hindi naman siguro. Minsan sumasagi sa isip ko kung nasa genes ba namin ang maiksi ang buhay. Namatay ang nanay ko pagkapanganak sa’kin. Kinulang sa dugo, kaya ayun. Hindi naman ako tinuring na malas ng tatay ko kasi okay naman kami. Hindi ako spoiled, nasanay ako sa simpleng pamumuhay na tipong sakto lang ang lahat – walang labis, walang kulang.
Nung highschool ako, niregaluhan ako ng tita ko na galing Tate ng jack russell terrier, si Trumpo. Mahilig kasi siyang umikot ikot sa binti ko ‘pag sinasalubong niya ko. After 7 months, namatay siya. Hindi ko alam kung dahil ba hindi siya kumpleto sa kung anumang bakuna na kailangan niya o dahil ganon lang talaga kaiksi ang life span niya.
Two years ago, namatay naman sa aksidente ang kuya kong si Allie. Na-hit and run siya ng bus sa Magallanes. Tang ina, alam na. Bus ‘yun e. Pamilyar na ang lahat sa kontrata ng mga ‘yan. 24-anyos lang siya nun. Bagay sa kanya ang suot niyang long sleeves; kakalabas lang sa opisina at diretso uwi na sana. Kaso hanggang dun na lang ang buhay niya. Tragic, pare.
Ngayong 24-anyos na ko, mangyayari kaya sakin ‘yun? Bus din kaya ang makakabangga sa’kin? O ‘yung armored van na madalas kong makasalubong sa tapat ng BDO sa Salcedo St.? Tapos hindi lang ako masasagasaan, masusunog pa ako ng buhay kasi sasabog ang van at malulugi ang Makati sales office ng Coca-Cola dahil nandon ang milyon-milyong kinita nila sa loob ng isang araw.
II. KUNG BAKIT MAS GWAPO ANG MGA PULITIKO SA PERSONAL KAYSA SA TV
Kaka-log out ko lang sa Facebook matapos makipagchat ng 2 hours straight kay Phoebe. Type na type ko siya kaso alam ko naman na hanggang friends lang kami. Buti nga kinakausap niya pa din ako kahit nonsense naman mga pinagsasabi ko sa kanya. Mabait kasi. Iba talaga ‘pag mabait ang babae. Kakausapin ka kasi naaawa sila sa’yo.
Simple’t tahimik lang ang buhay ko hanggang sa may lumipat na lalake’t babae sa kabilang kwarto. Live-in partner lang daw ‘yung dalawa sabi ng landowner. Wala kasing wedding ring o tattoo ring man lang. Pero sa palagay ko kabit lang nung lalake ‘yung babae. ‘Di hamak naman kasi na magkalayo ang agwat ng edad nila. Age doesn’t matter pero hindi talaga e. Parang nakikipaglaro pa sila ng hide and seek kung kanino man. In short, pamilyado na ‘yung lalake at mistress niya ‘yung babae. Walang duda.
Ikaw ba naman kaganda-gandang babae, makinis, payat pero hindi sobrang payat na tipong flat-chested, mahaba ang buhok at kung manamit ay parang may pictorial para sa cover ng ‘sang fashion magazine, papatol ka ba sa mukhang tatay mo na? Malaki ang tiyan pero naka tuck-in ang polo, kulay gold na Rolex ang relo, kimpee at itim na itim ang buhok courtesy of mamahaling hair dye. Kapag tinitigan mo siyang maigi masasabi mong magandang lalake siya nung kabataan niya. Mas maganda pa sa’kin kasi ‘di naman ako mukhang conyo. Hindi lang ako makapag-ahit ng isang linggo, paniguradong matagal na kong kakapkapan ng mga guwardiya sa mall. Tang inang ‘yan. Porke’t balbas sarado, terorista na? Pero itong si Stradlater mukhang pinanganak na may silver spoon sa bibig. Sayang naman ‘yung babae. Pero mukhang masaya naman siya. Huwag lang siyang mauntog sa pader ng wala sa oras.
Pagkalipat nila parang may meeting de avance sa baba. Paboritong libangan nila Misis Spencer at ng iba pang rumerenta dito ang tsismisan. Sa kanila ko nalaman na pulitiko pala si Stradlater. Kaya naman pala, sabi ko sa sarili ko.
III. KUNG BAKIT REDUNDANT NA KUNG MANONOOD KA PA RIN NG PORN TUWING GABI
Sabi ko sa sarili ko, namimiss ko na ang simple’t tahimik na buhay. Actually simple pa din naman ang buhay ko. Literal na simple. Puro instant noodles at pancit canton na lang kasi kinakain ko dahil malapit na kong mawalan ng pera. Tang ina. Ang bilis maubos ng pera. Kahit 65pesos na chicken with rice sa Ministop hindi ko na ma-afford.
Simula ng magkaroon ng laman ang kabilang kwarto, hindi na ko natahimik. ‘Pag umaga, si Jane lang ang nandyan. Tisay tawag sa kanya sa baba pero Jane ang tawag sa kanya ni Stradlater. Minsan sweetheart. Ang cheesy. Pero hindi naman sila ganon ka-sweet. Sabi ko nga tuwing umaga si Jane lang ang nasa kwarto. Tuwing gabi sumasaglit si Stradlater sa kabila, alam kong nandon na siya kapag puro ungol nila at tunog ng pagbaba’t akyat ng spring mattress ang naririnig ko buong gabi. Alam ko din na tapos na sila kapag binuksan ni Stradlater ang pintuan. Time to go home, sweetheart. Kawawang Tisay.
IV. KUNG BAKIT OKAY LANG NA HINDI KA MAKIPAG-EYEBALL SA SINUSULATAN MO
Kawawang Tisay. Ilang gabi ng mas matindi pa sa ungol ang naririnig ko mula sa kabilang kwarto. Hindi na ungol ng sarap kundi ungol ng sakit. Mainit ata ang ulo ni Stradlater nitong mga nakaraang araw dahil bibisitahin niya lang si Jane para bugbugin ito. Iba na ang trip niya ngayon. From being a pervert rich daddy to a boxing champion na nakatagpo ng walking punching bag. Balak niya atang lagpasan ang titulo ni Pacman.
Pano’ng hindi ako tatamarin maghanap ng bagong trabaho, kung hindi man lang ako makatulog ng matino tuwing gabi. Tang inang buhay ‘to.
Hindi na ko nakatiis. Kinatok ko si Jane sa kabilang kwarto. Alam kong nandon siya sa loob pero hindi niya ako nilalabas. Bigla akong pinagpawisan. Gumuhit sa’king isipan ang nakabulagta niyang katawan. Duguan. Nakagapos ang mga kamay sa ilalim ng kama. May busal sa bibig. Pulang panyo. Kakulay ng lipstick niya nung una ko siyang nakita. Kaakit-akit. Pero ngayon, hindi na. Kaawa-awa na siya. Wala na siyang saysay kay Stradlater at sa kung sino pang lalaking napahanga ng maganda niyang ngiti.
Saktong pagod na ko sa pagkatok sa kulay lumot green nilang pintuan ng biglang may lumusot na kapirasong papel sa ilalim ng pintuan. Galing kay Jane.
Sino ka at ano’ng kailangan mo?
Tumakbo ako sa kwarto ko para kumuha ng ballpen.
Holden ‘to, sa kabilang kwarto. May gusto lang akong itanong, if you don’t mind…
Nilusot ko agad ang papel sa ilalim ng pinto at naghintay. Pero wala ng bumalik na kapirasong papel. Siguro creepy ang dating ko, o kaya na-realize niya na may CCTV camera pala sa kwarto niya kaya dapat maingat siya sa mga ginagawa niya.
Bumalik na lang ako sa kwarto ko. Para akong nanood ng Love and Other Drugs tapos maghuhubad na si Anne Hathaway nang biglang nag brownout. Bitin. Pakshet.
Nasara ko na ang pinto ng biglang may tumawag sa’kin. Dinikit ko ang tenga ko sa pader na namamagitan sa kwarto ko at sa kwarto ni Jane. Para kaming taong kweba. Biglang may naggitara. Tapos may kumanta. Ang smooth ng boses ni Jane. Heaven, pare.
JANE: I don’t deserve love… I slapped him in the face / As he stood by the bed and said, I love you / And he told me I’d taste the pain, but I taste it every day…
Tatlong liniya ng senti na kanta lang tapos bigla na siyang tumahimik. Dinikit ko ng maigi ang tenga ko sa pader para makinig pa dahil baka sakaling lumipat lang siya ng pwesto. Katahimikan. Napasandal na lang ako. Bakit siya kumanta? Para marinig ko? E, ano naman?
Buti na lang nandyan ang Google. Ginoogle ko ‘yung tatlong linya na kinanta ni Jane. Sadder than You ang title by Angus & Julia Stone. Magkapatid na duo, indie. Alam ko na. May gusto siyang sabihin. Lyrics palang, alam kong wasak siya pare. Tang ina. May maitutulong ba ko?
V. KUNG PAANO MAKIPAG-USAP SA PADER NG HINDI KA NAGMUMUKHANG TANGA
May maitutulong ba ko? Sinulat ko sa kapirasong papel at nilusot sa ilalim ng pinto pero hindi na ako naghintay sa tapat ng pintuan nila. Bumalik agad ako sa kwarto at dinikit ko ang tenga ko sa pader. Alam kong doon siya sasagot.
After 5 minutes, oo nagbilang ako sa isip, tinawag niya ko. Hindi ako nagulat kasi nakaready na ang tenga ko na makarinig ng kahit anong tunog. Nagsalita ako.
HOLDEN: Si Holden ‘to. Natanggap mo ba—
Hindi niya tinapos ang tanong ko.
JANE: Tulungan mo ko. Gusto ko ng umalis dito.
Alam ko ng may mali, pero nagtanong pa din ako. Gusto ko lang makasiguro.
HOLDEN: Ano bang meron? Sinasaktan ka ba niya? Pa’no kita matutulungan?
Nangangalay na ang leeg ko sa pagkakadikit ng tenga ko sa pader. Ganito pala ang feeling ng pakikipag-usap sa pader. Ang tagal niyang sumagot. Hindi ko naman mahulaan kung ano ang nasa isip niya kasi kahit eye-to-eye contact man lang, wala kami. Ganito siguro feeling ng mga bulag. Hindi ko siya nakikita pero nararamdaman ko siya at ang hinanakit niya.
JANE: Hindi ko alam kung ano pa ang kaya niyang gawin.
‘Yun lang? Sabi ko sa sarili ko. Ewan ko pero hindi ko maintindihan kung bakit ang damot niya magkwento kaya nabwisit ako.
HOLDEN: Teka, teka, labas na ‘ko dyan. Gusto ko lang naman e tumahimik kayo ‘pag gabi kasi nakakaistorbo na kayo. Okay lang umungol ka (shet ano ‘tong sinasabi ko) pero ‘pag hindi… ‘pag hindi pa rin ako makatulog sa gabi dahil sa ingay niyo, magrereklamo na ko sa landowner natin.
Tang ina! Anong katangahan ‘yung sinabi ko? Akala ko katahimikan lang ang isasagot niya.
JANE: Sorry Holden. Hindi siya uuwi mamayang gabi. Okay na tulog mo mamaya.
Buong gabi kaming magkausap ni Jane. Walang ibang namamagitan sa amin kundi itong pader na walang tiles ‘di gaya ng nasa C.R. ng aming apartment na niyari ng mga karpinterong si Misis Spencer lang ang nakasalamuha. Ito na ata ang sariling version ko ng wonderwall.
Naisip ko nga, kaya ba ko kinakausap ni Jane dahil lang mabait siya kagaya ni Phoebe? Siguro nga naaawa lang din siya sa’kin kaya kinakausap niya ko. O baka wala lang din siyang magawa. Pero tama siya, magiging okay na ang tulog ko ngayong gabi. Kaw ba naman matulog ng nakangiti e.
Tuwing hindi umuuwi si Stradlater, naging routine na namin ang mag-usap sa pagitan nitong pader na pinaghihiwalay kami physically pero siya rin dahilan ng aming pagkakalapit.
Para siyang kape, pare. Hindi niya ako pinapatulog. Pero hindi na ko nagrereklamo ngayon kung puyat man ako lagi. Hanggang sa nangako ako sa kanya kahit na wala pa akong ideya kung ano man ang pwedeng mangyari.
HOLDEN: Tutulungan kita. Promise. Bwelo lang tayo. Promise ‘yan.
JANE: Thanks, Holden.
Thanks. Shortcut sa thank you. Bakit ba pati simpleng thank you e pinapaiksi pa ng tao? Para madaling sabihin? Gaya ng promise, madali lang sabihin pero… hindi ko alam kung bakit ako nangako. Basta sabi ko sa sarili ko, kailangan ko siyang iligtas.
VI. KUNG BAKIT SIYAM ANG BUHAY NG PUSA SAMANTALANG HIRAM LANG ANG SA TAO
Kailangan ko siyang iligtas.
Simula nung lumipat sila Jane at Stradlater sa kabilang kwarto, ngayon lang ulit nagpunta ng maaga dyan si Stradlater. Ano kayang trip niya? Okay na kaya sila? Wala na kasi akong naririnig na kahit anong kalampag o ungol sa kabila. Siguro ayaw niyang mag-ingay kapag umaga. May hiya din pala siya sa katawan niya kahit pa’no.
Hindi ako mapakali. Wala na kong makain. 3k na lang laman ng ATM ko at ayoko ng gastusin ‘yon dahil maghahanap na ko ng trabaho this week. Pamasahe pa lang paniguradong simot na bulsa ko. Pero pwede naman maglakad. Sa Makati, ayos lang maglakad at pumasok sa lahat ng nagtataasang building basta mukha kang mabango, naka-long sleeves at naka tuck-in sa itim mong slacks, bagong shine ang sapatos at may dalang envelope na may lamang sandamakmak na resume, xerox copy ng SSS, NBI, at iba pang dokumento na magpapatunay na legal na mamamayan ka dito.
Buti na lang mabait si Misis Spencer at okay lang sa kanya kung male-late ako ng isang buwan sa pagbayad ng renta.
Torrent, YouTube, Facebook at Ensogo lang ako buong maghapon kaya ‘di ko napansin na 8:30 na pala. Tang ina. Kayang kaya kong patayin ang oras basta laptop ang kaharap ko.
Sa sobrang babad sa monitor, sumakit ang mga mata ko kaya gusto kong matulog ng maaga. Papikit na sana ako ng biglang makarinig na naman ako ng ingay mula sa kabilang kwarto. Mas matindi na ngayon. Mukhang may mga bisita pa sila.
Dinikit ko ang tenga ko sa pader. Narinig kong nagmamakaawa si Jane pero hindi ko masyadong marinig ang sinasabi ni Stradlater at ng iba pang lalake na kasama niya. Para siyang may pasak na tatlong tabako sa bibig sa sobrang labo ng dating ng mga salita niya.
Dinikit ko ng maigi ang tenga ko sa pader. Puro galaw ng upuan at yapak lang ang naririnig ko. Hanggang sa…
STRADLATER: H’wag! Tara na Ely at Ackley, umalis na tayo!
ELY & ACKLEY: Okay sir.
STRADLATER: Tabi nga!
(SFX: MEN’S FOOTSTEPS)
STRADLATER: Itong tatandaan mo Jane, tapos na tayo! Kapag naabutan pa kita dito bukas, ‘yun na ang huling araw mo.
(SFX: WOMAN WEEPING AND BREATHING HEAVILY)
STRADLATER: Tumahimik ka!
(SFX: GUNSHOT)
Sa wakas, nakita ko ulit ang magandang mukha ni Jane. Wala ng pader na namamagitan sa aming dalawa. Nilapitan niya ako pero umiiyak siya. Niyakap niya ako ng mahigpit. Nakapagtataka lang na pag-angat niya sa kanyang kamay, nakita kong punong puno na ‘to ng dugo. Iyak siya ng iyak, pare.
Alam ko na kung bakit hindi kayang tuparin ng ibang tao ang binitawan nilang pangako. Maiksi ang buhay. At kapag katapusan mo na, mawawalan na ng saysay ang lahat ng sinabi mo.
April 10th, 2012 at 11:54
It was 2050. The National Museum of the Republic of Fili receives its newest acquisition–a time machine!
This time machine is devoted to acquiring artifacts and other forms of evidence that could verify information on the country’s history which, to most of its people, is probably just a fictional narrative like those of books.
The director of the museum, a Nationalist who is believed to be insane and trapped in an “uncertain” past, is the happiest when the said acquisition arrived at the museum. Finally, what have been assumptions would turn into facts: verified and therefore credible. To this, he is certain. He even thinks that it is the perfect time for the youth of his country to finally realize their role in changing the society–just like what his ancestor, known as Padre Florentino, said in the past:
Where are the youth who will consecrate their golden hours, their illusions and their enthusiasm to the welfare of their native land? Where are the youth who will generously pour out their blood to wash away so much shame, so much crime, so much abomination? Pure and spotless must the victim be that the sacrifice may be acceptable. Where are you, Oh youth, who will embody in yourselves the vigor of life that has left our veins, the purity of ideas that has been contaminated in our brains, the fire of enthusiasm that has been quenched in our hearts? We await, Oh youth, come, for we await you!
Expecting too much from young people in his country, the director soon gets disappointed. No one seems to care. Worse, these young citizens who, for him, should be the future of the country, keep themselves busy obsessing about social media, the latest gadgets, and how to get the looks and the feel of being Korean.
So hopeless and wasted, the director goes to where the time machine lies one night. He makes it a point that no one would know about it since it is something prohibited. The time machine, in the first place, has to be used with utmost care for any wrongdoing concerning this may alter the present—even the future.
He sets it to go back to the when Padre Florentino was dealing with the already dying Simoun. It was a time so near to the point where he delivers his speech that was, according to history books, noted by a passerby who was delighted by the words that was soon passed as historical.
Inside the time machine’s booth, a bright light shines. Four, three, two, one. He knows he’s there.
Outside his ancestor’s house, he stands feeling the gloominess. This is it, he thinks to himself. He goes closer to the door and knocks. The door soon opens and he sees Padre Florentino. Shock is apparent on his face, full of wonder what such a young man, clad in peculiar clothes, is doing there at that time.
“Hi, I am a descendant of yours. I am from the future,” the director says.
“I apologize young man, but I have no time for jests like this.”
“I know it’s absurd. I am here just to inform you about a speech you are going to make just minutes from now. That speech about the youth that would be taken seriously by many. But everything would just turn to be so disappointing.”
“Please, stop it. I don’t understand!”
More frustrated than ever, the director runs away.
A bright light shines; a count down is soon over. He is inside the time machine’s booth again.
He goes home like nothing has happened.
At home, he turns his television on and sees the news about young people today embracing the latest trend: trying to have the feel and the looks of an African.
April 10th, 2012 at 12:05
I realized that my tense in the first sentence is problematic. Sorry, I planned it to be in the past tense then changed my mind and failed to change it. Here’s the corrected version:
It it 2050. The National Museum of the Republic of Fili receives its newest acquisition–a time machine!
This time machine is devoted to acquiring artifacts and other forms of evidence that could verify information on the country’s history which, to most of its people, is probably just a fictional narrative like those of books.
The director of the museum, a Nationalist who is believed to be insane and trapped in an “uncertain” past, is the happiest when the said acquisition arrived at the museum. Finally, what have been assumptions would turn into facts: verified and therefore credible. To this, he is certain. He even thinks that it is the perfect time for the youth of his country to finally realize their role in changing the society–just like what his ancestor, known as Padre Florentino, said in the past:
“Where are the youth who will consecrate their golden hours, their illusions and their enthusiasm to the welfare of their native land? Where are the youth who will generously pour out their blood to wash away so much shame, so much crime, so much abomination? Pure and spotless must the victim be that the sacrifice may be acceptable. Where are you, Oh youth, who will embody in yourselves the vigor of life that has left our veins, the purity of ideas that has been contaminated in our brains, the fire of enthusiasm that has been quenched in our hearts? We await, Oh youth, come, for we await you!”
Expecting too much from young people in his country, the director soon gets disappointed. No one seems to care. Worse, these young citizens who, for him, should be the future of the country, keep themselves busy obsessing about social media, the latest gadgets, and how to get the looks and the feel of being Korean.
So hopeless and wasted, the director goes to where the time machine lies one night. He makes it a point that no one would know about it since it is something prohibited. The time machine, in the first place, has to be used with utmost care for any wrongdoing concerning this may alter the present—even the future.
He sets it to go back to the when Padre Florentino was dealing with the already dying Simoun. It was a time so near to the point where he delivers his speech that was, according to history books, noted by a passerby who was delighted by the words that was soon passed as historical.
Inside the time machine’s booth, a bright light shines. Four, three, two, one. He knows he’s there.
Outside his ancestor’s house, he stands feeling the gloominess. This is it, he thinks to himself. He goes closer to the door and knocks. The door soon opens and he sees Padre Florentino. Shock is apparent on his face, full of wonder what such a young man, clad in peculiar clothes, is doing there at that time.
“Hi, I am a descendant of yours. I am from the future,” the director says.
“I apologize young man, but I have no time for jests like this.”
“I know it’s absurd. I am here just to inform you about a speech you are going to make just minutes from now. That speech about the youth that would be taken seriously by many. But everything would just turn to be so disappointing.”
“Please, stop it. I don’t understand!”
More frustrated than ever, the director runs away.
A bright light shines; a count down is soon over. He is inside the time machine’s booth again.
He goes home like nothing has happened.
At home, he turns his television on and sees the news about young people today embracing the latest trend: trying to have the feel and the looks of an African.