I feel a thousand bees swarming into my bed sheets, waking me up and making my body vibrate. My eyes slowly open like a cocoon about to release a butterfly at its final stage of growth. When my eyes finally wide open I blink a few times and I notice the vibrations are gone. I pick up the phone from under my sheets. I turn it on but the light of the phones almost blinds me then when my eyes adjust to the screen I see that there has been six missed calls from Francis. Francis always calls me to bother me or to get help for his “jobs.” I keep telling myself to ignore that high school dropout if I am a successful writer but he has a personality that mimics a shy child so no matter how many times he pisses me off he still finds some way to make me forgive him.

      My phone begins to vibrate again with the lime green words Francis written on it. Right before I pick it up I look at the sky and I close my eyes to hope that he does not ask me a annoying question or statement which I doubt.

“Sup Jack please tell me you are available”

“Uhhhm depends on the favor cause if it is something I do not like I have to think of an excuse”

“Don’t worry well how do I say this without getting you to exited you know what screw it I wanna make a movie.”

“Sure good luck sending that to Steven Spielberg or Gorge Lucas of Tarantino”

“Who are those people?”

“Ha you should have stated in school” 

“Anyway I’ll leave my script at eight P.M I have been working n it ever since you gave me toes a thousand dollar and when I came to your house.”

     Oh my god he must have seen my work of writing when I was drunk that day, I bet he has my spare keys as well. I hang up the phone and I head to the kitchen t prepare my break feast. Then I go back to bed to wash off the thoughts of reading a horrible script. With that time I can write a book that is most likely going to get denied.  At eight I open the door and I see the pile of papers waiting to be killed and butchered by the torturous pen of thoughts. I pick up the papers then in the blink of an eye my eye turns into a heat evil seeking missile finding the first mistake. He does not use screen directions I mean come on look at references before you begin working in your actual thing. I also realize that he does not write in play format he wrote in short story format. When I finish checking his script I see that all twenty papers are covered in criticisms. The papers looked like a kid grabbed a red pen and drew all over it. I called Francis to make sure he came over. The phone rang in that buzzing nose that sounds and vibrates like an earthquake. When he picks up I do not hear anything but sobs and cries.

“Are you okay Francis or are you in your midlife crisis”

“I wish (sob) I’m just sad that my script will not be as good because it was denied and rejected by five people and they told me really offensive things to me man”

“Well then you are disappointed Francis because it sucked now next time you want to waste my time write a poem because those are way easier to do. Well in your sense that is. And I grew tired of your shenanigans so don’t call me again for this stuff because I lost a lot of money before”

    I hang up then a thought pops to my head that I might have mistreated him and that he is going to come and bother me at my house.  The thought takes place in my head all the time like it was taunting me all night even when I am asleep. When I wake up my eyes open with the same cocoon mechanic then I realize that my phone has not vibrated which make me happy then scared that probably he does have my spare keys and that he came to my place to see if his writing idea worked.  I slowely wake up and I tiptoe like the pink panther to the living room then I see that someone is sleeping in my couch. This makes me scream like a little girl. Then out of the covers in the couch Francis begins screaming as well

“How the hell did you get in my house” I ask in to make him feel special with getting away with my spare keys.

“Remember that night you got drunk that night so I had to drive you home so you gave me your spare keys

”Oh there is where my spare keys are. Anyway what are you doing here?”

“I did what you said I wrote a poem”

       The thought of him writing a poem makes me face palm myself. I begin to laugh hysterically in the floor and I see Francis looking at me confused as if I turned into an alien or something. I stand up straight and I look at him as the hands me the poem. I read the poem and I begin laughing even more because all he wrote was Violets are blue roses are red and sunflowers are yellow.   This makes me want to laugh but I know if I laugh I will upset him so I try not to laugh this makes me looking if I am chocking on something. Then I tell him that poems should come from the heart and is what you feel and that it is to describe something in a descriptive matter. Then I begin teaching him about rhetorical devices and other writing tools.  This makes me look like my old creative writing teacher.  He seems amazed so he begins writing another poem. I see him with his scrawny hands covered by his black jacket which is as puffy as pillow writing with this decrepit pencil that has been chewed on. He hands me a new poem which says: The animal looks down with his watermelon eyes looking sad in despair of its decrepit gold that runs through his body and its short tusks. Also he is glued onto that golden staff with the same decrepit gold running through it. Both the staff and the elephant are the same both with a feeling of sadness and despair. I am shocked by this as he finally succeeded in something in his life other than being a total failure and a high school dropout. I begin complementing him and giving his constructive criticism.

“Hey Jack so I might have succeeded but how did I fail in the script though”

This also makes me want to laugh but then again it would make him sad.

“Well first of all wrong format second of all the dialogue is not what is a normal person would say and thi-“

“It’s what I would say”

“Then again nothing a normal person would say and third of all you cannot kill a character off with an alien spaceship just because you did not know how to solve the conflict.”

He looks at me confused for a few seconds then he throws away a bunch of papers in the garbage.

“I guess I have to write a new script” Francis says in disappointment. This makes me laugh and this time I did not force one muscle in my body to stop myself from laughing.

TWO MONTHS LATER

I am there for the first time in my life fully awake in the morning looking at my phone which lies dead in my table without annoyance or getting packed with messages and missed calls from Francis. But that is not the news that concerns me or makes him want to jump anymore as I am failing as a writer. For the first time I realize without Francis I cannot write any good material now it looks like instead of me stepping on Francis for his failures it is everybody else stepping on me. As I continue to torment myself with these thoughts I hear my door bell ringing I walk over there open the door and is see Francis.

“Where have you been for two months Francis and why are you wearing a tuxedo”

“Well that is because my movie sold to a director and now I have my life together man.”