The Tiaische Secret.

[Interrupted.]

This is an excerpt from my work-in-progress. It's a script that I'm thinking about turning into a comic book. I'm at 50 pages and I'm almost done.

The plot is as follows: Jack Herrera, the lead, and Widow, the goth and love interest for Jack, are taken to Tiaische City for the first time to visit the downtown compassion clubs bytheir friend Indica, the transvestite. Jack believes inner city weed is schwag but Indica insists it's not.

It's not really the comedy I promised since it isn't funny. It's just a story. Please note that I did very little research and all I'm going by is theories, not fact.

Trivia: I only wrote this when faded. I wouldn't touch it clean.

EXT. KUSH VINEYARD - DUSK

In the dying light of the winter chill, young JACK HERRERA walks along the stretches of the deathly vineyard ruins. Desolate and frozen, cries of ravens echo from the nearby white hills. JACK stops by a small maintenance shed in the center of the vast rows of barren stems. He inspects his heavy boots, soiled and covered with moist dirt from the light seasonal rain. Frowning, JACK kicks the side of the shed in an attempt to knock off the dirt. A thump responds from within. JACK steps backward, away from the shed. Then, as if having summoned courage, he opens the shed doors. A thick cloud of smoke emerges from within the shed, illuminated by a black light, along with the audio effects of Pink Floyd. JACK enters the shed and closes the door behind him.

INT. JACK’S ROOM - DAWN

JACK’S room is a tidy place drenched in darkness. With the curtains pulled and black walls, pitch is the only black to describe it. In a small cot, JACK lies awake, staring at the ceiling and tracing familiar shapes in the cracks with his left hand. With his right hand he twirls what appears to be a miniature glass pipe. He draws an imaginary marihuana leaf on the ceiling. JACK chuckles, sits up in bed, and stares directly ahead. He brings the pipe to his lips and with a flick of his left hand, magically makes a lighter appear. He proceeds to spark a bowl.

JACK (V.O)
I can’t sleep.
My entire existence is controversial.
My parents are illegal and the cops hassle.
Society tries to accept us but, motherfucker,
they just wont.
I don’t give a fuck though.
Fuck the fuckers that try to fuck me over.

JACK takes one more puff from his pipe before standing up, putting on his shoes, and walking out the door.

EXT. JACK’S LAWN - DAWN

JACK exits his home and walks across the front lawn. With pipe still in hand JACK casually smokes on his way down the dead end street. At the end of the short walk, two young persons are leaning against the railing chatting and laughing. On the left, a porcelain gothic doll, WIDOW, wrapped in black velvet and green fishnets. On the right, a young man in khakis and a t-shirt, leaves WIDOW as JACK approaches. JACK and the young man meet eyes as they cross. He scowls at JACK. Ignoring the offense, JACK leans up the railing where the other man was leaning.

JACK
What’s sancho’s problem?

WIDOW looks at JACK as if the answer were obvious.

JACK
Oh, is it that time of the month for him?

WIDOW
I know you don’t like him.

JACK
And I know you don’t like him.

WIDOW
I do.

JACK folds his arms across his chest, pipe still in hand.

JACK
All right.
How about we settle this over a purp?

JACK offers the pipe to WIDOW whom eagerly accepts it. She reaches in her leather purse an d brings out a torch lighter. JACK searches his pockets and takes out a black plastic film container. He hands it over to WIDOW. She opens the container and the aroma hits her hard. Closing her eyes to better focus her senses, she brings in the scent.

WIDOW
The Collective?

WIDOW packs a bowl of the purple marihuana.

JACK
The one and only.

WIDOW
Yeah.


She presses the green button on her torch lighter and a blue flame rises. WIDOW brings the flame to the bowl and deeply inhales. She shuts off the flame and continues to inhale. Then, she withdraws the pipe, takes in a breath of fresh air, and exhales with a slight cough.

WIDOW
Good shit, JACK.

WIDOW passes the pipe and black film container back to JACK.

JACK
Purple Rain, Purple Rain.

There’s a moment of silence.

JACK
So, what’s sancho’s deal?

WIDOW
Holy shit.
Let it go.

JACK
I’m just curious.
I mean, as far as I can recall, I have yet to fuck his mother.
So why is he flipping?

WIDOW
Because I smoke with only you.
He’s jealous like that.

JACK
Do you like that?

WIDOW
No.

JACK
Then why put up with it?

WIDOW
I don’t know.

JACK
See, you don’t like him.

WIDOW pauses for a moment to think. Then, with a smile and a middle finger, she laughs.


WIDOW
Oh, fuck you.

JACK
Do it.

EXT. KUSH VINEYARD - DAY

JACK and WIDOW stroll down the vineyard rows, admiring the scenery and conversing. The air still frosty and the hills still white with snow, it’s as if death inhabited the land. They walk towards the shed. Upon reaching the shed, they both pause and look into each other’s eyes. JACK sighs before opening the door and walking into the darkness.

INT. SHED - DAY

Inside the windowless shed, the setup is not much more than expected. With three beanbag chairs scattered about, one occupied by a skinny flat-chest female in heels and jeans, and a bong named Blue Belle in the center underneath a black light, Other than that, the common setting, a few posters of marihuana, and a glorious bong, there was nothing of interest inside. Yet, despite the pedestrian appearance of the shed, there was a thick aura of communion. JACK sits next to the skinny girl.

JACK (V.O)
There was me, that is JACK, and my two home girls, that is WIDOW and INDICA.
And we sat around the Blue Belle trying to make up our minds which to toke this evening.
The options were Trainwreck - Trainwreck hashish or AK-47 or Purple Rain, which is what I was blazing. This will expand your horizons and fade the blade for a bit of the old Ultraviolet.

JACK reaches into his pocket and extracts his black film container. He pops the lid and pours the contents into the palm of his hand. Five violet buds, sugared with crystals, float out of the container. He picks the smallest bud out of the bunch and places it in the bowl. WIDOW takes her seat in the remaining beanbag chair and makes herself comfortable, as JACK brings the bong’s shaft opening to his mouth and swings the lighter around the base. With a spark, the bowl is lit and just as fast the lighter is extinguished. A steady bubbling sound soon emerges from Blue Belle’s base. As the bubbling continues, the shaft fills with white smoke, twirling and spinning inside. Then, when the shaft becomes completely milk white, JACK pulls out the bowl and snaps the smoke deep into his chest. Holding in the smoke, JACK passes the bong, lighter, and bud left to INDICA. INDICA proceeds to pack a bowl as JACK looks at WIDOW. She smiles at JACK whom exhales and looks at the source of a bubbling sound to his left. As soon as JACK’S eyes rests on Blue Belle, INDICA snaps the bong and immediately after she exhales with a slight cough.
INDICA
Can’t fuck with the purp.

INDICA passes the bong, lighter, and bud to WIDOW.

JACK
Let me ask you something INDI.
Do you believe all purp is dank?

INDICA
Of course.

JACK
But purple is just the pigmentation of the leaf, it doesn’t determine potency.

INDICA
I know.
But to achieve the desired coloration,
the caretaker must control the temperature for accurate season simulation.

JACK
So, let’s say, by fluke you grew purple. Would it automatically be dank?

INDICA
Yes.

JACK
But it’s just a color, not potency indicator, INDICA.

INDICA
Isn’t it?

JACK
You can grow chronic from shwag.
I’ve seen it done.
And you can grow shwag from chronic.
Just as simply stated, you can grow purple shwag.

WIDOW
What’re you talking about?

WIDOW hands the bong to JACK. He places it in the center of the group.

JACK
I wanted to know if INDI, here, believes all purple is dank.

WIDOW
Oh.
Is it?

JACK
Nope.

INDICA
Or so his theory claims.

JACK
Theory? Ha.
It’s fact.
My cousin Chiva told me so.

WIDOW
Chiva’s a fucking tweak.

JACK
Just because he tweaks doesn’t mean he’s an idiot.

WIDOW
He claims the DEA is behind medical marihuana!

JACK
Hey, who’s saying they’re not?

INDICA
The DEA?

WIDOW
Oh, you have to hear this conspiracy theory.

JACK
No, you don’t.

INDICA
Yes, I do.



WIDOW
Chiva believes that it is mandatory to register
with the state after getting a medical recommendation.
INDICA
You don’t have to.

WIDOW
I know, but that‘s what he thinks.
Well, he feels that the DEA is tracking you.
Because, you know, how the clubs log you when you go in?

INDICA
Yeah, but there’s a reason for it.

JACK
Which is?

INDICA
I don’t know.

WIDOW
JACK, don’t interrupt.
Anyway, supposedly they track what you buy and how much.
If the DEA gets an unusually large purchase from John Doe, well, John gets busted.

INDICA
I can’t believe you, a medical patient,
believes something as ridiculous as that.

JACK
Who said that I believed that?
I’m fucking agnostic when it comes to such matters.
I rather smoke my bud and watch fools be fools, than get someone’s Chucks up my ass.

WIDOW
So, why are you defending that fucking theory?

JACK
I wanted to show you both sides of a coin.
You always claim purp is dank.
I just wanted to set shit straight.

INDICA glances at the bong.

INDICA
Whatever.
This is fucking boring.

INDICA reaches for the bong and lazily drags the foot long water pipe towards herself. She then searches her pockets for a mint tin containing a couple grams of brown hashish. INDICA removes a large chunk of hash from the tin and places it in the bowl of the bong. She then takes out a lighter from her other pocket.

WIDOW
You’re going to rip hash?

INDICA
Yeah.

INDICA the lights the bud in the bowl, rips the hash, and exhales.

WIDOW
Share the love, sister.

INDICA passes the bong along with hash to WIDOW. WIDOW takes a rip and passes it all to JACK. He takes a rip and leans back.

JACK
Sweet.

INDICA
You should really try Club Sinse.
They have good shit at the right price.

JACK
What an idiotic name.
You mean The Collective’s business rivals?

WIDOW
They’re fucking compassion clubs, not drug thugs.

INDICA
Plus, it’s in the shopping district of downtown.
My mini Amsterdam.

JACK opens hit shirt pocket and takes out an eye drop bottle. He drips some of the clear liquid onto his eyes and then gives it to WIDOW.

JACK
Inner city shit?
It‘s not worth the trouble, INDI.




INDICA
Oh, you’re so wrong, my friend.
I see, you, an outskirts outcast,
have never experienced the real city.
And I don’t mean Lost Angels, where dank is above average.
I mean from the real Tiaishe City.

JACK leans forward and grins.

JACK
And you, an Indo prep, are willing to show me?

WIDOW
JACK, don’t be an ass.
I’ve never been to the city.
INDI, are you inviting us?

INDICA remains silent for a moment, pondering her response.

INDICA
It’s better than this shed bullshit.

JACK
Come on, don’t disrespect tradition.

INDICA
Don’t you remember why we came to this shed in the first place?

JACK
Oh, shit.
Don’t remind me.

WIDOW eagerly leans forward and smiles.

WIDOW
I want to know.

JACK
Jesus, no you don’t.

INDICA
Ok, well, back in high school JACK and I were, like,
best friends.
This was before he went grunge.


JACK
I was a rap addict.


INDICA
You were a fucking geek, Mr. Rap Addict.

JACK
I wrote lyrics.

INDICA
You wrote immature rhymes in the school library during lunch.
Not once did you rap.

JACK
The story of my embarrassment.

INDICA
Well, anyways, this dweeb fell for yours truly.

JACK
I just wanted to fuck.

INDICA
Yeah, right.
After the poem you wrote me.

WIDOW
Poem?

INDICA
Indonesia’s INDICA, imaginative influences.
Blood rushing vixen of the supernatural.
You enchant me, you sedate me.
You blow my fucking mind.

WIDOW
Wow.

JACK
I just wanted pussy.

INDICA
Bullshit.
You asked me out on graduation day.

JACK
If I knew then what I know now I wouldn’t have.

WIDOW
You mean…

INDICA nods her head.

INDICA
JACK used to bring me here so he could be alone with me.
All we did was toke and talk, but JACK didn’t give a shit.
He was with me.

JACK
A bit modest, are we?

INDICA raises a hand to JACK’S face.

INDICA
Hush you.

She then continues her conversation with WIDOW.

INDICA
Well, on graduation night we came here.
He was bummed because I declined his request, but, I was willing to satisfy his sweet tooth.
I mean, I assumed he knew.
So, I gave him a lap dance after a few rips
just to cheer him up.
But, having a soft spot for the guy, I just couldn’t help but to get turned on.
I started stripping.
That’s when things went sour.

WIDOW
What happened?

JACK
May I?

INDICA nods once more.

JACK
Well, let’s see. She stripped, her dick slapped her thighs, and I was fucking scarred for life.

WIDOW
Really?

INDICA smiles.


JACK
Not really.
I didn’t cry.
I was just shit horrified at the site of her fuzzy sac dangling a foot from my face.

WIDOW and INDICA burst with laughter.

WIDOW
You didn’t know she was a transvestite?
Everybody in town knows.

INDICA
But you have to understand, I was very discreet in
my high school days.
After I was jumped by some guys from out of town, well,
it became old news quick.
Gossip gets around in this town.

WIDOW
I remember.
The years were horrible to you.

INDICA
Don’t remind me.

JACK stands from his seat and bends over to give INDICA a kiss on the cheek.

JACK
You understand why I left, right?

With a tear in her eye, INDICA nods.

WIDOW
How sweet.

INDICA sniffs, rubs the tear from her eyes, and then smiles at WIDOW. WIDOW, being the mistress of darkness cliché, forces a smile on her straight face. JACK walks over to WIDOW and lays a hand on WIDOW’S shoulder.

JACK
Want to stay here for a while?

WIDOW looks up at JACK with warm eyes.

WIDOW
Yeah.

JACK exit’s the shack.

[Interrupted.]

No feedback? I could of wrote complete and utter bullshit and no one is going to correct me?

Anyways, I finished the motherfucker. Reply if you want more.