Actor Vs Author
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Notable Person - The Author

Aliases: 'The Maker', 'God'

Affiliations: Unknown

Last Known Location(s): Unknown


Description:

His name, when asked, was The Author. He spoke to us about a great many things— about conception, creation, destruction, and regret. He told us that he had created part of The Backrooms, although his voice carried no pride within it when he relayed such information.

When asked to prove his claims, The Author laughed and did strange things. He produced a tin can from the interior of his coat, and crushed it underneath his sleek dress shoes whilst staring up at the buzzing fluorescent lights that hung over us. We begged him for more evidence— begged him for something to grant credibility— but it was never gifted to us that day.

Visually, The Author looked to be a plain man. His fair skin was cloaked beneath a white suit, which proved to be his only unordinary signature amidst a swarm of indistinct prose. His voice was calm and firm, almost bored in its composition. He took no discernable interest in our subsequent queries, and when we interviewed him he would not elaborate on his story.

I can't tell you exactly what about our encounter was remarkable, really. He gave us no real evidence, told us no real secrets, and spared no enthusiasm for our research… yet I believe his assertions wholeheartedly. For if there ever was a creator for this abstract and apathetic place, it may as well be this man.



ACTOR VS AUTHOR

Screenplay by

August Bierre

Draft #22

[July 3, 2023]



1
FADE FROM BLACK

1 EXT. LEVEL ELEVEN - DAY

The Author and The Actor sit on a wooden bench within Level 11.

ACTOR
You wanted to see me?

The Actor's indifferent voice sails through the air as he aimlessly twiddles the handle of his umbrella between his fingers.

AUTHOR
I did, though I didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

ACTOR
What does that mean?

AUTHOR
Don't think too hard about it. You seem a bit bored yourself, what's the matter?

The Actor crosses his arms, donning a sarcastic look.

ACTOR
When I heard you were writing a script for me, I figured it'd be a bit more exciting than…

He gestures indiscriminately.

ACTOR
…Just sitting on a bench.

The Author chuckles quietly.

AUTHOR
I figured a chat would be interesting! It beats getting stabbed by the UEC, anyhow…

The Actor turns to face The Author, incredulous.

ACTOR
What?

AUTHOR
Forget that. I don't think its happened yet.

His incredulity bleeds into suspicion, and then surprise. The Actor leans closer to The Author, now whispering.

ACTOR
Ah, I see… you're not my actual director, are you? Just another aspiring playwright?

AUTHOR
I suppose so.

ACTOR
Well, let me tell you— so far your script is terrible, and I think you've got me all wrong.

AUTHOR
I don't really care anymore. I'm just doing this to please a friend.

A beat passes. Both men are speechless.

ACTOR
…So, you don't have any passion? The play is just an obligation—

AUTHOR
This "play" just a contest, and I already know I'm not going to win it anyways. You weren't wrong about passion, though; I've got none left.

ACTOR
Why's that?

AUTHOR
I don't know, my Actor. I've spent a lot of time here— in The Backrooms— building things and writing 'scripts' and casting folks to play in them. There are other Makers just like me, of course, but I think I'm by far the worst. I've done it longer than any of them, but I've got no talent to show for it.

The Actor leans back into his side of the bench. This little movement marks the first time that The Author notices the mans flower: it is a black rose, an impossibility.

ACTOR
Okay, you're not doing that badly.

AUTHOR
Thanks, but the fact still stands…

The Author sighs, and takes on an ambitionless tone.

AUTHOR
…I think I'm tired of creating these things. These beautiful things, these horrible things… I'm done with all of them, and I'm done with you.

ACTOR
So that's it? No more scripts?

AUTHOR
I didn't say that.

The Author's voice grows shallow. A cold expression takes over his face.

AUTHOR
Oh, I'll continue to create— but only to destroy. I'm going to build levels that burn levels, places of hatred and anger which create creatures whom only serve to kill and mangle that which they touch. I'm going to tear down my cities, my hallways, my children… and I'm never going to rebuild them.

The Actor takes a moment to process the monologue. He begins to frown.

ACTOR
You know, I really don't want you to do any of that.

AUTHOR
Oh, but you can't stop me, can you?

ACTOR
…Why can't I?

The Author stands up, and dusts off his coat.

AUTHOR
Because the script won't allow it.

FADE TO BLACK


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