Broken Pattern

LEONARD RUMPSHORE is a loser; a character with no redeeming features or any heroic values, and no reason to be sympathized with. He lives an honest, mundane life, working six days a week selling refrigerators through a telemarketing agency. At forty-eight-years-old his life has turned into a cycle more than anything else. Every Tuesday Leonard works a half day so that he can do his grocery shopping and comes home early to take his weekly bath, as opposed to his daily shower during the other days.
Today is Leonard’s day; the day that will define him as a man, the day where he will find true meaning in his life, the day he will die. As he enters his apartment, he passes by SHERYL; a somewhat obese woman who always wears a smile as well as a flowery dress. Being the landlady, she always wishes Lenny a happy return, to which he replies politely but never enthusiastically.
Grocery bags in hand, Leonard walks past apartment B13, home to the most attractive girl in Leonard’s life; she’s not necessarily beautiful, but she looks wonders when compared to Sheryl, the only other female Lenny’s sees on a regular basis. Passing by her place he overhears her talking on the phone and continues to walk towards his room at the end of the corridor, second to last door on the right hand side.
Once inside, Leonard places the bags on the kitchen counter and heads towards the bathroom. He runs the bath, making sure the water is the right temperature; an act he continues to repeat futilely since he is never truly satisfied with the end temperature once the tub is full. Once the water reaches a satisfying height, Leonard disrobes and enters the bath; left foot first, like usual.
He begins his bathing process like usual, lathering the soap in his right hand then spreading the suds over his left arm. As he motions to exchange the soap from one hand to the other, something goes wary and the soap falls into the water, dispersing its suds in a diffusion frenzy. Leonard attempts to pick up the soap but soon finds that his arms are not responding. Slowly becoming frightened, he soon realizes that not only his arms, but his torso, abdomen and legs have all become paralyzed. Dumbfounded by the situation, Leonard had nothing to do but shift his eyes back and forth assessing the situation: he’s fucked.
Leonard, never being the kind of man to get particularly excited about anything finds himself at the end of his line, waiting an imminent death in a pool of his own filth. Realizing he has no choice but to die, and having nothing better to do with his time, Lenny commences his final monologue. First he goes through denial, trying to convince himself that he can’t possibly be facing his death. How can he? He’s never smoked a cigarette. (He had been offered countless times when he was younger, but fearing a premature death he always chose the safe route of keeping his lungs clean.)
Following that Leonard becomes angry at the world. All his life he’s kept to himself, why should he deserve such a miserable fate? Sure, thousands of people die every day due to illness and poverty, but he? Leonard never asked for anything from anyone. He’s lived his life in solitude; when he needed something, he got it. When something had to be done, he’d do it himself.
Once his anger passes, Leonard looks to god. Watching his Christian life slowly drain away, he tries to convert to Judaism, Islam, and even Buddhism, hoping that some deity will look down upon him. He promises each religion that if saved he’ll spread the word of their faith. Realizing no supernatural force is going to lend him a helping hand, Leonard begins to go through a state of depression.
Looking around his bathroom, he becomes bored of the surrounding. He wonders to himself why he never changed the flower wallpaper..He goes on to imagine the rest of his apartment: no art, no expensive chairs, just the furniture that came with the place years ago, some cutlery and a coffee machine he received as a gift from work. Leonard realizes how empty his life is. Maybe he should’ve answered Sheryl’s welcomes with more emotion, maybe he should’ve knocked on B13’s door to see what is was like inside. Maybe he should’ve bought a dog. Who cares now, it’s too late.
With that, Leonard accepts his fate, as he tilts his neck slightly backwards to rest his head on the porcelain rim of the tub. He let’s loose a sigh and decides to enjoy the rest of the bath, despite the fact that he has no feeling in his body. He looks down at his hands, fingers slowly pruning, and decides that he’s ready for what comes next. There’s no more surprises. Slowly, a bubble creeps up from between his legs and makes its way up to the surface of the water where is dissipates into the air. A pungent smell makes it’s way up to Leonard’s nose. “Great.”

—

Character Sketch

LEONARD RUMPSHORE: Leonard’s not like you or me. He knows that he’s boring, he knows that he lives his life the same way that billions of other people live theirs. There no grand secret to Lenny, no defining power or prowess. The man sells refrigerators over the phone, a job that allows little to no room for making new acquaintances. He lives a solitary life in his generic apartment, furbished with the necessities and nothing more, save a coffee machine given to him from his business for having sold the company’s three-hundredth fridge of the year.
Leonard decided several years ago to stop setting goals for himself. Once he reached the age of forty, he realized he had been living the same cycle for the past twenty years. Why should he change now? He’s lead a good life, no? Although unsure, he’s comfortable with his situation.
The only real people in Leonard’s life is his landlady, Sheryl, and a woman who lives in a room up the hall. Although he never engages in actual conversation with either of them, they’ve made a deep enough impact in his life to merit mention in his final minutes.

SHERYL: Sheryl leads an amazing life. Despite being obese and having no sense of fashion whatsoever, she has not only found herself a mate to share her life with but someone who was willing to copulate with her as well. She wakes up every day with a smile on her face, and happily walks over to the rooms of her two young children, a daughter and a son, to wake them up with a soft kiss on the forehead. Following that, she heads to the kitchen to prepare a full breakfast, the smell of which wakes up her husband.
The two of them met in high school where Sheryl was often made fun of by the pretty girls. But Sheryl was and still is a strong character and she never let those girls crush her spirit. When they’d make fun of her and call her names she’d happily punch them in the face and repeatedly destroy the pretty nose that daddy had bought them. Harold, her soon to be boyfriend and later to-be husband, saw the confidence and strength of her character and instantly fell in love.

GIRL FROM B13: Methilde is a serial killer, which is why she often keeps to herself and rarely ventures too far from her apartment. When she was young she used to drown stray cats in bathtubs. Her parents were of aristocratic background and so feared being titled “the parents of that crazy child”. Instead of sending their child to a psychiatrist to gain help, they decided to send her off to her estrange aunt. Her parents dropped her off at the bus stop then took off, never to hear or speak to their daughter again. Methilde, being as crazy as she was coupled with not wanting to take an eight hour bus ride, simply walked away from the station and took her life into her own hands. Eventually she started killing people and the rest is history.

BATH/LEONARD RUMPSHORE (ANTAGONIST): Though the bath is Leonard’s most apparent adversary, he is his own downfall. Leonard led a simple life that never amounted anything. He never required the company for anyone else; had he, someone would have been in his apartment room to help him out of his predicament. Leonard never cared for anything, and so his life slowly turned into a mindless cycle, one that he never cared to break from, nor could he if he tried.

She always talked to the dog, though personally I cannot blame her. After all, he was the only one who listened to her. Not that he actually understood what she said, but at least he would keep her company, if not sitting next to her then laying on the rug in the adjacent room. And so the women passed her time chatting away with the canine.

    She told him everything about her. Their relationship had started several years prior, back when she was married to Lord Dunavon. The two of them bought the dog together during the latter half of their time together; before things got sour between the two and he walked out on her, leaving her nothing but the dog. She used to spend hours talking to the dog about where and how things went wrong but grew tired of it after a few weeks. “Why bother sharing the grievances of my life with such an innocent animal,” she often thought.

    Ms. Mayward didn’t like to dwell on the negative, nor be informed of it unless she had to. She would attend the funerals of her family and friends without argument, but she’d rarely stay past her dues, often being amongst the first to leave. She also gave up on reading the dailies. Here too she was often overwhelmed with stories of kidnapped children, premature deaths, and young soldiers dying in trivial wars. No, talking to the dog was a much better way to pass the time.

    While she crocheted the dog often sat by her side. It was the one thing she did that he seemed to take a partial interest in. Whatever it was, the dog would often follow Ms. Mayward’s hands loop after loop. In fact, he barked every time she made a mistake, which was rare having crocheted for many years now. It was during these times where Ms. Mayward felt intimate with the dog. She would talk about herself, her past aspirations, where in life she went wrong, and what she wished she could have done.

    One of the main things she talked about was children. Ms. Maynard never had children, and it dawned on her now more than ever, when she saw the grand-children of her friends at their funerals. She understood that she was the end of her line. All she had to live for was herself, and her dog. She smiled at the simplicity.

    She walked into the kitchen to check on the chicken. Ms. Maynard still took pleasure in cooking, even if it was only for herself. Of course she’d give the dog scraps every now and then, but made sure not to give him too much lest she spoil him. She checked the timer. It would still be another twenty minutes before the poultry would be finished cooking. Still, she reached inside with the effort of her entire body, old, wrinkled, and used, never to come out again.

“I’ve never kissed a man with facial hair before..”
“How’d you like it?”
“It’s a little scratchy, almost ticklish.”

    She laughs, rolls over and gets out of bed, heading towards the bathroom. Her hourglass figure sways back and forth with every step; her butt making that little jump right before it swings back to the opposite side..just like a metronome. I watch her as she leans over the sink, peering at herself in the mirror. She touches her lips ever gently then smoothes over her eyebrows with her left index figure. I had always wanted a lefty.

    “You look fine,” I said, hopelessly of course. Pretty women are always amusing; they have this air about them about how they look and use it as an advantage when guys try to make moves on them. But once you’re with them, it goes away. They require constant reassurance that they’re beauty hasn’t faded. No matter how often you tell them they look great, they can always find a fault in their appearance.

    “I hate the way my left cheek hangs lower than my right. It destroys the whole balance of my face.”
“I’ve never even noticed.”

    She turns around and looks at me, almost blank eyed. Slowly, her stare becomes relaxed as a smirk appears across her face. She scampers back to bed, hopping solely on her toes. Her breasts jump softly in her black lingerie, the lingerie I bought her for occasions like this. She moves close and lays on top of me, stretching her arm across my chest. She nuzzles her nose against my neck and so I turn to face her, head on.

    “I love the tropics,” she says with a laugh, “all those palm trees and the beaches..and the sand between my toes. I love that feeling so much. Thank you for taking me.”
“Thank you for coming,” I reply.

I may seem short for words but it’s not without reason. I’ve told Ashley so much already. She knows how I feel, she knows not to worry. If anything, I’m the one who should be careful. She has a lingering boyfriend, a guy from a while back. Things used to be good between them but now the romance is gone. She tells me she’s trying to say good bye but every now and then they have a midnight rumble. Breakups can last for months.
    Not to worry though, I know for a fact that when we get back everything is going to be peachy. This vacation isn’t without reason. Sure it’s nice to get away and spend some time together, alone and away from it all. But every time you go on a trip for pleasure you’re leaving business behind. Right now my business with the boyfriend, and my workforce is dealing with him; making sure he’s going to leave Ashley alone and take a trip somewhere, get away for a while. Time wasn’t taking care of the situation so I felt it necessary to take matters into my own hands.

“I really like you Daniel.”
“I like you too Ashley.”

She lets out a deep breath and falls into my chest. I cup my hand along the left side of her face, still not noticing her hanging cheek. Raising her head softly, I slowly move mine towards hers. Our lips meet and match like usual, but there’s something to it now that wasn’t there before. I press her face against mine, our tongues meet. She places her arm around my neck. We fall back into bed.