Still Awkward

/WHEN A CHAPTER IS SO AWKWARD THAT IT HAS TO BE PUBLISHED AFTER THE EPILOGUE/

/AT THE BOTTOM OF A CLIFF/

"Cahm Urah!!"

His screeching calls echo off the cliff.

"Cahm Urah!!!"

His screeching calls echo off the face of the cliff.

The film producer slumps onto his knees. It's hopeless. He doesn't care that his jeans are dirty: his career is facing its end, his wife left him and his grandfather beat him in Monopoly.

His life is over.

"Cahm Urah, where are you!!!" he cries, but to no avail. Just as in the hours before, his shouts return to him. Cowardly tears have to be squeezed out of his eyes as he thinks back to the fateful Monopoly game that showed him that no matter what he does, he's GOing in circles that look like other shapes.

After the critical response to his last film, he began to feel like he was insignificant to the industry and now he has come to seek Cahm Urah, the only one who can help him: the god of film production. It is ironic how after a lifetime of disbelief in the circulating stories about her, he has been brought to his knees to beg for help.

In a weak whisper, he calls, "Cahm Urah... a-" He wrestles with the words. "Is everything a part of one big screenplay you wrote? Why have you never shone the spotlight on me? Cahm Urah, am I a part of your cast, or am I... an outcast?"

No response can be heard but the shrill chirps of creeping night insects.

The face of the cliff is dark but the headlights of his car have shone a bright, orange spotlight from behind him onto where she is said to appear to all those who ask for help. The film producer has travelled to the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night to the face of a cliff and Cahm Urah is nowhere to be found.

"Tell me!!! Is this the end of me?" he asks to the air. "Are you really the director??!! Why then, WHY, why, why does my life have no... direction?"

Once again, he is unable to hear a response. He yanks out strands of his hair, boiling with infuriation.
"If you're really there, GIVE ME A SIGN!!!"

.

.

There is no sign.

"Roll the credits," he says. "I knew you weren't there."

As he turns away from the rocky bottom of the cliff and makes his way back to his car, he hears the flapping of wings, like an angel. The flapping becomes faster and louder and faster and louder until it sounds like rifle fire. At the moment that he turns around, a black book claps onto the dusty floor behind him.

He walks back to it and picks it up, dusting its cover in the light. Its cover says:

MEMOIRS.

Above him, the cliff rises into the heavens but tonight the peak is shrouded in darkness. Inside the book is clean writing. It's a story about a troubled, very troubled woman - with no ending.

"Danielle." The angels in his head sing the name of the main character. Cahm Urah has come through.

"This book is not a full story. It's a short one," he whispers to himself, flipping to the end and back. "But it's enough to inspire me." As he rifts through the pages, he thinks to himself about how much of a hit this film will be. Imagine 'Danielle: Coming to Theatres this October'.
Reckoning that he can produce it even quicker than that and concluding that the story idea he came up with all by himself is gold, he starts to walk off, feeling good about it.