S3, E7 | You, the Stapler, the Staples, and the Pieces of Paper

> Tuesday, 30th November 2038 <

“Talk about what?” Liv questions aloud, still presented an unthreatening demeanour, and yet opting to remain hesitant toward getting comfortable in the gentleman’s presence. “An opportunity that I wanted to offer you” Ian answers, his socially uncomfortable presence proving to be somewhat reassuring in the eyes of the woman across from him, though not enough to let his guard down, “I know most people have sorta moved on from everything with your sister, but I’ve got no other ideas.”

Pressing the tips of his fingers together whilst keeping his palms separated, Ian takes toward the ground as his posture straightens itself out, almost as if his intent were to appear more approachable than he normally would be. “I’ve spent the last couple of years putting together one project after another that all fell through. The one time everything went according to plan... the film was a flop” he confesses, eyes taking toward the girl’s direction, “I’m throwing things at the wall here.”

“I don’t understand what you think I’m gonna be able to help you with, but I’m pretty sure you’re barking up the wrong tree” Liv remarks, offering her admission of inability to change the fortunes of the near-stranger across from her, “my sister’s life is more compelling than anything I can offer you.”

“I know. You’re right” Ian responds, confessing to the young woman that her claims- although self-depriving- are true nonetheless, “but that’s why I’ve been staying in semi-frequent contact with her.” Narrowing her eyelids, Liv’s first thoughts prove to be inquiring about the claim that’s been made, but the opportunity to speak never presents itself, instead filled with added emphasis from the director.

“She’s got nothing else to lose. She’s stuck in that prison for almost twenty more years at least. In fact, she’s lucky she was too young for the judge to hand her the death sentence” Ian explains, speaking to the inmate’s sister as if he were offering a sales pitch, his cadence having shifted to a presentation, “people are fascinated by morbidity. Sophie may not be in their collective minds now, but perhaps a chance to look at where the people in the story are now would prove intriguing?”

“Why are you telling this to me then? You’re the one in contact with her, if you needed someone to convince her- you’re the best person for it apparently” Liv replies, shrugging as she stares off into the distance, “who would even want to watch a film about a woman stuck in a cage like that?”

“No one would... That’s why the story isn’t about Sophie” Ian retorts honestly, shaking his head as he changes the direction of the young girl’s mind, “Sophie will have a part in it- yes. However, this film would be about Sophie’s family.” Intensifying, Liv’s squint toward the man carries forward as silence proceeds beyond his pause, allowing the remark to settle within the mind of the teenager.

“Think about it... When people hear about these terrible stories about terrible things done by terrible people, how often do they think about what they leave their families with the burden of?” Ian proposes, raising the question for interpretation now that the initial offer has been provided, “unless their upbringing had something to do with why they did what they did, no one bats an eye. And when it comes to what happens after the travesty, it’s almost like the family never even mattered.”

“So what?” Liv questions aloud, dipping her hands into the pockets at either side of her coat as she shrugs her shoulders, “it’s been seven years and we’ve all moved on from that. My dad got married, he had a new kid, we went on with life. Why bring all of that back up for no good reason?”

“Because you’ll have to one way or another” Ian replies, shaking his head as if scoffing at the inquiry, considering it somewhat humorous. “Whether you like it or not, the history of your family will always be right there in your mind” he points out, pulling his hands away from each other momentarily to point at the girl’s head, “maybe people recognise you for it in the future, maybe Sophie gets released on good behaviour in twenty years, it’ll come back around eventually.”

“Why does that time have to be now?” Liv rebukes, hesitant to offer the man that stands before her any inclination that his proposition is a compelling one, “and if we’re gonna have to dig up those skeletons, why would we want to do it in front of a camera?”

“You don’t necessarily have to” Ian responds, reassuring the young woman that it’s not as cut and dry as a done deal otherwise would be, “but it’d be better to do it in front of the camera than it would be to have constant news articles popping up and bringing Sophie’s name back into the headlines.”

“Oh, so this isn’t so much an offer as much as it is a threat?” Liv questions back, only to watch a vehement dismissal of such a conclusion find its way from the needy film maker. “A threat? No! No, of course not!” Ian quickly refuses, shaking his head whilst taking notice of the displeased visage that the girl across from him wears, “that would be like if I told you to take part in this film at the trouble of exposing the fact that you’ve been lying about your autistic-progress.”

As the corners of her lips arch upwards, the muscles in Liv’s cheeks tighten as she rolls her eyes, nodding to herself whilst staring toward the heavens. “Yep, there it is” the teenager replies, the obviously unpleasant reaction she takes to the quip being one that prompts Ian into pre-damage control.

“All I’m saying is that I think it’d be best if you convinced your mom and dad to say a few things and let me follow them around with a camera for a little while” the man explains, waving his hands toward the girl in a dismissive manner, trying to dissuade her from thinking of his claims as the threat they conceal themselves to be, “it’ll take one, maybe two weeks tops. You’ll all be well-compensated... and your secret will be safe and sound.”

“It doesn’t sound like it’ll ever be safe and sound while you’re around, dude” Liv corrects, leaning her head toward one side with a more well-defined look of disgust. “After I’m done filming this thing, you won’t ever have to hear from me again” Ian assures, hands falling back to his sides as the conversation appears to be nearing its end, “I don’t really want to be in the business of filming documentaries anyway. My passion is film making... proper film making.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what your passion is” Liv responds, her anger made clear and obvious, though her vigour and increasing eagerness to assault the man whilst no witnesses are around to see is concealed excellently. “You should! As a matter of fact, it’s something that should be appreciated!” Ian retorts, turning his body ninety degrees whilst stretching his hand out toward the distant treeline, moving aside to grant the young woman a sight for herself.

“Take this scene for example! The irony of why I chose this place and the symbolism of what it represents!” the man doubles down, trying to carry his claims with the weight of a scholar to the practice. “This is where your sister brought Caden that night after they filmed her in the bunker. This is where the truth finally came out about what happened” Ian proceeds, wearing a prideful grin, “and now, this is where it all comes full-circle. More truths come out... This time with her sister.”

With a slight flare to her nostrils, Liv stares forward with a mostly blank expression, the way it rests making it appear more disdainful than anything else from the eye of the man at her line of sight. “Why choose now to do all of this?” the teenager inquires, brushing off the poetic turn that the filmmaker had ushered her toward the scenery of in favour of searching for something more concrete, “if you’ve been struggling to find a new project, why wait seven years to dig all of this up?”

Looking back to the girl with a meagre letdown in his demeanour, Ian passes a glance toward the distance whilst searching for the answer to a question he hadn’t given much thought to. “Why not, I guess?” the filmmaker replies, repositioning himself opposite the girl once more, “I’m not sure why I held off on it for so long, but I know why I couldn’t just wait forever.”

“You’ve already waited forever... It’s been seven years and we’ve all completely moved on” Liv argues back, refusing the man his open-endedness before finding surprise in his hesitancy to buy into such a fact. “No... I waited a very long time, but I did not wait forever” Ian responds, again using his hands to speak as if giving a presentation, “forever isn’t possible- it’s a concept of time. Everything that happens inside of forever eventually- through some way or manner- dies in forever.”

Squinting with a slight confusion, Liv watches the man pull his hands away and position them at his either side. “Think of it like this... You have a duty to staple two pieces of paper together, alright? You can wait to do that duty forever as long as you ensure just a few things” Ian explains, breaking it down in simple terms, “you can wait forever as long as you, the stapler, the staples, and the pieces of paper are still around. Once one of those goes, it dies and it’s forever is over.”

“That just sounds like another way of saying that you can just finish that task as long as you’re still alive” Liv retorts, unimpressed with the concept she’s presented with, “by that theory, I’ll live forever because forever ends when I die.”

“Exactly the point! That’s why I call it the ‘Tree of Life Theory’, it’s what I use to keep my films orderly” Ian reassures, his smile only continuing to grow the more he’s afforded the chance to speak, “everything’s alive when the tree is alive. But when that tree finally dies, all the life that it supports dies too. No matter what the purpose was or what others had to gain from it being alive, the tree of life dying marks the point in which all of that hope- whatever it was- dies too.”

Though her face remains directed toward the film maker, Liv’s eyes wander into the distance as her anger begins to dissipate, instead turning into an overall sense of dissatisfaction that the man easily notices. “Alright, listen. I get that you probably don’t care to hear any of that, but my point is that it doesn’t matter how long I’ve waited. We can get this doc done and your family will never have to see me again” Ian explains, “I’m just saying that you should really, really think about it.”

Bowing her head, Liv stares at the footprints in the snow that the filmmaker had left upon his arrival prior to her own, letting the man finish his point before attempting to leave. “I’ll let you have all of tomorrow to get your mind right. We can meet at that park with the statue of the dude on that horse a few blocks away from your school Thursday night, alright?” Ian proclaims, offering the young woman as much distance as he can offer to her comfort, “give it some real thought, Olivia.”

“Who told you about my autism?” the girl calls out immediately upon the man’s conclusion, turning around to watch his head face back toward her, stopping from retreating any further than he already has, “tell me the answer- honestly- and I might give it some consideration.” With a pause, the man’s hands remain in his pockets as he stares off into the cold, winter evening with a moral dilemma on his mind.

“You know I’m not supposed to mention-” Ian attempts to reply, trying to offer himself an exemption from the request that the girl will not allow him. “If you’re not supposed to mention names, then let me. If I say the correct name, just turn around and leave without saying anything” Liv responds, providing the filmmaker the next best thing to outright silence before continuing, “was it Coleen? Coleen Wolf? Did she put you up to this?”

Glued to the teenage girl as he remains motionless, Ian stares into her determined face and takes a mental note of the well-hidden, but still partially-noticeable visage of frustration. Having remained slightly apart since his remarks were interrupted, the man’s lips remain pulled from each other as his eyes finally break from the young woman, turning away with the rest of his head.

Uttering not even one syllable, Ian turns the way he’d initially set out to depart toward with his hands in his pockets, resuming his walk toward the vehicle he’d parked along the side of the road. Seething on her own, Liv’s face turns back toward the treeline that the discourse’s second participant had once stood against the backdrop of, her irritation only increasing from what it had been moments prior as angry eyes are taken toward the snow-covered branches.

= Generation Alpha is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onwards =

> Wednesday, 1st December 2038 <

In a wooden chair that had usually been left to sit in the sun all day on the side lot that he’s mere days away from converting into an extension of the shop, Andrew sits in silence with nothing more than the snipping sound of his pruning shears being taken to the branches of one of many potted azalea plants at the front of his store. Though they can play music, the various speakers set up around the building and propped up in high corners and shelves sit without power, purposefully shut off.

Though the day is an unusually cold one even as the first day of the year’s final month, the store’s heater is purposefully left off, allowing anything not under the plants that provide warmth and artificial sunlight to the shop’s various flora to remain rather chilly and frigid. Wearing only a red, long sleeve shirt with his business’ branding on the left side of his chest, Andrew bares the bitter elements without much issue, taking little notice of the freezing temperatures that he sits in.

Losing track of time and yet remaining aware of the winter’s bite, Andrew takes pleasure in seeing his breath fog the air that sits around him, paying more mind for his attendance to the plants than the conditions he’s seated in. With countless reasons to believe his life to be cluttered with circumstances otherwise, the store’s owner allows his mind to fall into a state of pleasantry as he continues to whittle away at his duties, still intent on readying his store for the holiday season.

*knock knock knock knock knock*

Beckoned for just a short few feet away, Andrew’s eyes take toward the shop’s front door and the five, consecutive knocks that appear to call out for his answer. Not needing more than a couple of seconds to fail at noticing the face that presses close to his door’s glass exterior, the man returns his sights toward the plant sitting before him. “We’re closed!” the busy gentleman calls back as he guides the shears back toward the yet-to-bloom azalea.

*knock knock knock knock knock*

Disturbed for a second time, Andrew rolls his eyes and presses his lips together before his hands can bring the blades of his clippers down once more. “I’m not serving anybody until the store opens back up in the middle of the month!” the owner quips back, not even bothering to turn his head around toward the unimportant civilian this second time around, “no amount of knocking at my door is going to change that.”

“I’m not here to buy a plant, man” the visitor calls back, realising he can just as easily call out for the store’s owner through the thin glass as he can repeatedly tap at the building’s door. “If you’re from the I.R.S, I already paid my taxes and you’re not seeing another dime until April” Andrew chirps back, unamused at the stranger’s presence and left with little reason to act otherwise, “if you’re anyone else that’s here for anything else, you can just as politely leave.”

Displeased, the citizen on the outside of the shop frowns at the seated father of two before lifting his hand away from his side.

*knock knock knock knock knock*

Frustratedly lowering his shears back toward his lap, Andrew rolls his eyes once more, this time pulling his head back and staring toward the side of his shop with an unpleasant expression. “Sir, I’m a licensed gun owner and my pistol is in a safe around the front counter just a couple dozen feet away-” the building’s lone occupant calls back, again with an unwelcoming, yet steady and calm tone carried toward the visitor’s ear, “- driving me crazy with your knocks does neither of us good.”

“I’m not here for your money or to buy your plants, alright? I’m just a concerned parent trying to talk man-to-man” the civilian proclaims, allowing a pause to linger as the store’s owner goes unresponsive for a moment. Staring forward with a curious gaze, Andrew thinks quietly to himself for a moment before gently discarding the shears onto the storefront’s display window just beside the potted plant, patting himself on the knees as he stands up and walks for the door.

Turning the door’s lock, Andrew parts the entrance’s doors and steps out to join the supposed parent in the frosty embrace of the midwestern December air. “Listen sir, I’ve kept away from the public eye for a while, so I’ll forgive you for not realising this” the long sleeve shirt-wearing shop operator remarks, joining the civilian at street level, “I don’t want to talk about what happened with my oldest. She did what she did, and my family is fractured because of it, and that’s-”

Vehemently shaking his head without speaking at first, the stranger refuses the father any further words through his vocal interjection, finally clearing the air on his purpose for approaching him. “No, no, no- I’m not here about all of that” the visitor explains, wanting to dismiss any such notion prior to pleading his case, “I’m sorry that you had to go through that and all, but- and don’t take this the wrong way- I don’t care about any of that.”

With a faint squint in his eye, Andrew’s attitude shifts just slightly as the conclusion he’d brought himself to is completely dismissed, replaced with something he’s totally unsure of. “Well, what is it that brings you here then?” the wondrous father questions aloud, tucking his hands into his pockets to brace against the cold weather, not necessarily minding the frost, but also not too keen on tackling it head on.

“Forgive me, I’m not really in the loop on how your family tree works and I’d rather not make any assumptions-” the stranger opens, pre-empting himself in the event of misunderstanding, “-but I believe I’m actually referring to your oldest’s sister. I’ve been told her name is ‘Olivia’?” Only deepening, Andrew’s squint accompanies the deeper look of loss that he wears unprevented.

“I’m sorry, are you one of her teachers or something?” the girl’s father inquires, still unaware of who it is that he’s speaking to. “No, I’m actually the parent of one of her classmates” the visitor replies, extending his hand to introduce himself as politely as he can manage, “my name’s Tyler, I’m Coleen’s father.”

Reciprocating the gesture, Andrew shakes the stranger’s hand whilst shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure who Coleen is” the man explains, his apology a simple masquerade used with the hopes of finding answers to his questions, “I’ll take you at your word about them being classmates, though. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I’m hoping that you can be of help, but I don’t really know what you can do on your end” Tyler explains, visibly stricken with difficulty on how to approach the topic he visits over, “my ex wife told me that your daughter assaulted mine a few weeks back. I don’t know if she’s done anything about it, but she’s not the kind of woman to really stick her neck out for our kid. I figured I should just come down and try to at least do something since Susana probably hasn’t.”

“Are you and your wife separated or something? You sound like you can’t stand her” Andrew responds, his words carried in a tone as cold as the winter is, though the end of the conversation he provides at least comes across approachable. “Well, she’s my ex wife for a reason. I’d really rather she not have anything to do with Coleen, but unfortunately the court isn’t very favourable toward the fathers in these kinds of things” Tyler explains, making an effort to recorrect course.

“Anyway, I came by to see if there was anything we could do to keep our kids from going at each other’s throats” he continues, putting his best foot forward, “I don’t know if your daughter’s got a mean streak or something, but I know Coleen takes after her mother in many very poor ways. With how less-than-stellar Susana treats her, I wouldn’t be surprised if the apple failed to fall far from the tree.”

“Are you insinuating that your daughter is bullying mine?” Andrew wonders aloud, crossing his arms as he continues trying to figure out the motivation behind the man standing before him. “I’m sure she’s not friendly toward your kid to say the least. From what I’ve heard, your kid’s got some mental deficiencies. I’m not judging, but those are the kids that tend to get picked on the most” Tyler clarifies, “if my Coleen were the ‘bullying type’, I’m sure your daughter wouldn’t be all too safe.”

“It sounds like you have a pretty easy solution on your hands then” Andrew responds, keeping his arms crossed as he begins leaning against the building’s forward-facing facade, “tell your daughter to leave my kid alone and the problem should settle itself.” Gritting his teeth before lowering his head out of the awkward nature that his line of reply presents, Tyler appears hesitant to buy into such a solution outright.

“The only problem about that is the fact that my daughter came back home sporting a bruise she claims your daughter gave her” Tyler corrects, trying to remain as apparently non confrontational as he can appear, “even if it was justified, your daughter hitting back at least shows that both sides are willing to play dirty with each other if the situation calls for it.”

“Sir, my daughter is developmentally challenged. She’s a well-functioning and developmentally challenged young lady, but she is- nonetheless- developmentally challenged” Andrew explains, holding the posture of someone not fully sold on the conversation, “if you’d like, I can show you and your ex wife a variety of notes that doctors and behavioural specialists have taken on my daughter that boil your kid’s claims down to being outright impossible.”

Holding his hands outward toward the store’s owner in a show of civility, Tyler bows his head once more and lets a pause overtake both parents. “Look, I’m not trying to call you a liar or anything. I’m not here to threaten you or play up to this macho image of whatever manly-man the sixties depicted. I’m just here to reason with you” the visitor explains, “my daughter probably pushed your kid to the point of acting on her impulses. I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Sir, I don’t know if you understand what developmentally ch-” Andrew attempts to interrupt, only for Tyler’s composure to make room for a hint that his patience isn’t one to go tested without results. “Sir, my daughter is rather difficult to get along with. She’s testy and rude on many occasions, and I’m sure she’s incredibly difficult for a lot of people to like. I understand that” the stranger explains, defending his offspring with respect, “but one thing she has never been... is a liar.”

Straight-faced and remaining composed, Andrew takes his turn at bowing his head whilst taking a moment to process his fellow-parent’s stance, trying to see the circumstance from the stranger’s point of view. “Look, my daughter’s a great student. She keeps her grades high and is rivalling some of the Asian kids for a shot at being valedictorian” Tyler explains, “all I’m saying is that I don’t want this thing escalating to the point where the school kicks one of them out.”

“Why is that?” Andrew wonders aloud, looking up from the ground at the man’s face, not taking any insult from the quip, but wanting to hear the gentleman finish the thought through. “Because I think we both realise what way the school will swing if it comes down to that” Tyler answers honestly, seeing no point in beating around the bush anymore, “if they’re left with a choice between a developmentally-challenged young lady and a possible Harvard attendee? Who do you think they’ll choose?”

|

Laying on her side and facing the drywall, Elaine tries to fall asleep without luck, finding difficulty in entering a sound slumber in spite of her eyes having been closed for nearly the last hour. “Are you still awake?” the woman inquires, finally parting her eyelids whilst keeping a relatively low voice, staring at the shadows of tree branches that splash along her side of the bedroom.

“Unfortunately, yeah” Andrew responds in a low voice, his back laid out flat against the mattress as he stares toward the ceiling with wide eyes, the left side of his head directed toward the side of the room with the tree-facing window. “Why can’t you sleep?” Elaine wonders aloud, her voice lowering to the point of a whisper as she continues staring forward, waiting a quiet moment for her husband to answer the inquiry.

“My mind’s just too preoccupied to shut down” Andrew responds, looking toward the heavens for another few seconds before turning his face toward the woman beside him, her hair pulled back into the ponytail that sits at his line of sight, “why can’t you sleep?” Holding her stare at the shadow-cascaded wall, Elaine thinks to herself amidst a silent second before replying, offering the best she can manage.

“I’m really not sure” the woman whispers, conceding defeat to fate’s refusal to let her eyes close and be done with the day as she turns onto her opposite side, looking straight into the eyes of her beloved. “I don’t even have a guess as to why. I’m not sick, or hungry, or too energised” she persists, allowing her train of thought to run in search of a valid conclusion, only to come up empty with little more to offer than the gentle sway of her head, “I’m just not falling asleep.”

Pressing his lips together, Andrew lets one of his free hands rest atop the coupled ones that his wife holds together at the edge of her pillow, gently rubbing the back of her hand. “Honestly, other than having sex, I don’t really have any idea on how to help either of us” the man confesses, a reason to find any other solution to the problem at hand having never shown itself to inspire the search for an alternative.

“As flattered as I am, I’m not horny... That feels like it’d be a problem” Elaine confesses, watching her husband’s accepting grin reply to her at first. “Well, it wouldn’t be a problem for me” Andrew jokes, amusing himself whilst his wife’s hands slip away from the reach of his own, playfully swatting at his chest as the pair let out light giggles. “Alright, you perv” the woman replies, slipping out from beneath the covers with a smirk, “you go to work on yourself while I use the bathroom.”

Humoured, Andrew folds his arms behind his head and allows them to act like a headrest as he returns to staring at the ceiling, aware that midnight is almost upon him without much sleep to be had. Wandering toward one end of the corridor she now enters, Elaine’s ear takes to the entirely opposite direction for one moment, the sound of a voice emanating from the other end and catching her ear through the absolute silence that surrounds the walkway.

Without reason not to, Elaine changes course and begins following her curiosities toward the sound of her stepdaughter’s voice, its volume increasing with each new step that she takes. Keeping her footsteps light and slow so as not to disturb her son along the journey or give herself away to the teenager that spends the late hours of the night awake, the woman focuses on the small strip of light that spills out from the bedroom door, which is cracked the slightest bit open.

Eventually reaching her intended destination, the home’s matriarch places her eye against the doorway’s sliver, looking into the pleasant and well-organised room whilst listening into the words that are uttered by its single inhabitant. Unable to see the outline of her stepdaughter, Elaine’s only source of discovery is the standing camera that she’s barely able to catch a decent angle of, spotting out the red light that signals its continued filming.

“We’re heading out, honey!” Andrew calls out from the downstairs once morning arrives, joining his daughter in stepping through the front door before closing it behind themselves. Upon the rather loud closure of the home’s entrance, Elaine steps out from around the corner at the top of the stairs, peering down at ground level with her hands anxiously tapping away upon her hips, almost as if the woman who operates them were nervous about the venture she prepares to embark upon.

Nevertheless, the temporary abandonment of the home by anyone other than herself and her young son allows the mother an opening to seek out real answers to even greater questions than the ones she was left with the night prior. Uninvited, Elaine walks into her stepdaughter’s room and begins a quick search for the item that she’d caught a look at the night prior, reserving her assumptions about its origins and intentions.

Paying respect to the order that Liv has left her belongings in, the stepmother makes a great deal of effort in not making a mess out of her stepdaughter’s belongings, keeping them tidy wherever a glimpse at the camera is not found. Rummaging through the teenage girl’s desk drawers, nightstands, dressers and closet, Elaine’s wandering eyes eventually lead her under the young woman’s bed, a simple flip of the comforter’s bottom earning her a look at a once-hidden cardboard box.

As if surprised to find the item in question, Elaine’s awe arises not from having found the camera in question, but from the realisation of the purpose that it had once served. With a quick flip of the box’s lid, the woman takes a look at the older model of camera and the various tapes that fill the cardboard container’s empty spaces, familiar enough to close the lid and read the name that’s dawned upon the white label atop it in permanent, black marker.

In the same moment as Elaine’s revelation takes place, a buzzing overcomes the kitchen one level below, the drawer that it originates from prompting the entire countertop to vibrate. Its screen reading the generic caller identification of “Missouri”, the watch that had been hidden away and discarded like a bad memory awaits the answer to a call that will not receive one, destined to tremble repeatedly before falling silent, reaching the same machine that it had been met with the day prior.

== Generation Alpha ==