The Elf

I recently wrote this short story, and am currently in the process of turning it into a screenplay for writer's craft.


Monday
New York is a cold, hard city, and I'm a cold, hard man. I've been living here for years and never once saw a single thing interesting or anything good coming out of this hell-hole. People live on the streets, guns go off every night, and you can always just barely hear that wonderful faint sound of police sirens in the background as you try to doze off at 12:30 in the morning. I've never experienced anything pleasant here, and the only reason I stay is because my job pays excellent money.
Which is why, when I met Mr. Gump, I decided to pack my bags and have a change of scene.


It was a cold and windy October morning in the big apple. I was tired, and the last place I wanted to be was work. But, seeing as it was Monday and work was the only reason I strived to keep myself alive, I had to go. My car was having the oil changed so I had to take the subway across town.
Of course, I hate the subway. It always reeked of urine and alcohol, and everyone seemed to take a liking to pushing and shoving on the underground train. Usually by the time we hit downtown it would get really cramped too. I would have taken a cab, but the price to cross town was getting outrageous, and so there I was: cramped and grumpy on my way across town with hobos and poor folk brushing up against me with their dirty bodies.
I stood for most of the ride, but found that the trip across town is much longer and more taxing to the legs on the subway, and reluctantly took one of the few seats that remained unoccupied on the rickety transporter. I quickly realized my mistake, however, when I glanced to my right to take in the sight—and stench—of a most revolting looking beggar. I twisted my head around quickly in hopes of finding another seat, but saw none, and so gave a rather loud huff and slouched uncomfortably into the thin red velvet of the subway chair.
The hobo beside me shifted abruptly, as if waking from a dream, and looked over at me with wide eyes. I pretended not to notice him, and made a point of inhaling through my mouth rather than my nose. There was a young woman and child sitting across from me, so I tried focusing on them to distract from the hobo's somewhat piercing gawk.
I glanced over after several moments to see if the hobo had stopped. He hadn't. I looked straight ahead once again: “Never seen Eddie Bauer before?” I asked in an irritated tone.
The hobo chuckled: “Can't say I've had the privilege of meeting him.” he paused to continue his stare for a moment: “Never smelled a homeless guy before?”
I directed my annoyed stare at the hobo, taking a good look at him for the first time: “Can't say I've had the privilege.” I replied through gritted teeth.
The hobo laughed heartily: “Well feel yourself privileged my friend.”
I took note of his teeth as he opened his mouth to laugh again—ivory white, without a single spot on the gums. In fact, other than his clothes, the hobo looked like a perfectly healthy twenty year-old man. If I were to trade garments with him I would look no different than he did now.
However pretty he may have been, the stench still lingered in my burning nostrils.
“Gump.” he stated as he extended a hand to introduce himself. I looked at his fingernails—clean and well maintained. I hesitated as I grasped the hand: the skin was smoother than any woman's hand I had ever held. I frowned, slightly confused.
The hobo laughed once again: “I suppose you could call me a clean freak.”
“A clean freak that smells horrible.” I stated flatly: I was not interested in making a friend.
The hobo smiled, not at all offended by my direct insult: “Can't be the hair.” he chuckled as he removed a patched and torn toque from his slender head.
It was my turn to stare. The awful-smelling hobo had a head of hair equivalent to a horse: flowing, shimmering, and long. Extremely long. The hair nearly reached the smelly man's hips as he shook his head to release the golden strands from the confines of his winter cap. The hobo laughed aloud at my gaping mouth.
“There's only one other thing it could be,” he said, “but that's my armpits and I'm afraid I won't be removing my shirt in temperatures as cold as this.”
“The subway's heated.” I corrected, and immediately regretted it as the hobo proceeded to remove his shirt: “That won't be necessary!” I said abruptly as I raised a hand in protest: “I'll take your word for it.”
The hobo shrugged and gave a satisfied, 'huff' as he settled himself back into his seat. I wasn't so satisfied: “What the hell is that smell if it isn't you?”
“Oh, it's definitely me.” he corrected, “Couldn't be anything but. Everyone else on this train seems to have had acquaintances with this Eddie Bauer fellow you mentioned. You'd think if he had so many clothes, he'd at least be generous enough to give some away. I mean really—”
“--The smell!” I pressed, rather irritated by the young man's nonchalance.
“Oh, right.” He giggled: “Silly me. It's age my boy; the smell of age.” he smiled at me as if I was supposed to know exactly what he meant.
“You're younger than I am.” I stated flatly
“Seems that way, doesn't it?” he replied in an equal tone.
“Yes it seems that way because it is that way Mr. Gump.” I began clenching my jaw repeatedly: a habit I fancied maintaining whenever I was more than a little vexed.
“On the contrary, I'll be turning four thousand on Wednesday. Wednesday. Don't forget that: no one ever seems to remember my birthday these days.”
I made no effort to reply, and simply returned to my pensive posture of staring ahead and breathing specifically through my mouth as opposed to my nose: Mr. Gump was insane. I should have known: anyone living on the streets who was concerned about hygiene must have some form of a mental illness.
“Are you going to remember?” the hobo startled me out of my contemplation: “Wednesday.” he said.
To my relief, the subway stopped at my station right at that moment, and I hurried out and away as quickly as I could: I enjoyed my simple, boring life, and I didn't need some mentally ill hobo trying to befriend me.
The better part of my day passed without occasion, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I boarded the subway that evening to find the hobo was not there. I laid my head back in silence, and took in a long, relaxing breath: silence

Tuesday

The next morning started out the same as every other day of my life had started: shower, breakfast, and get dressed. Normally I would follow the monotonous routine by hopping into my beautiful BMW and driving to work. But the BMW was in the shop for the week, and I had no interest in paying for a cab across town when the subway was just as easy and much cheaper.
I boarded the subway as I had the previous morning and, sure enough, there was the hobo—and he was looking right at me. I stood facing away from him in hopes that he wouldn't notice me. I thought it was working until I heard him giggling.
“Nice try.” he laughed, “Come sit. I ain't gonna make you stand.” said the odd little man as he hefted a large garbage bag off of the seat next to him.
I couldn't deny that it would be nice to sit through the rather long subway ride, and painstakingly took a seat next to the smelly man: “What's in the bag?” I asked without actually caring.
“Oh just a small part of the collection I've been working on over the years.” I huffed: he said it as if he were my grandfather reminiscing his days of youth.
The hobo turned and gave me a quizzical look: “What?” he asked sternly—or tried to with his youngish voice.
“You can't be over 25 years old.” I explained, “We went over this yesterday.”
The hobo laughed out loud: “So you don't believe I'm turning four thousand tomorrow?”
“Of course not!” I nearly shouted, “It's common sense! No one has lived over 120 years old ever! It's simply not possible!”
The hobo raised an eyebrow: “Ever watched Lord of the Rings?” I opened my mouth to reply, but realized we were at my stop and quickly departed the subway.

Wednesday

He brought balloons. Lots of balloons. I thought I was walking into the apartment of Patch Adam's girlfriend when I stepped onto the subway that morning. I had trouble finding a seat, and when I finally did I somehow managed to sit on a balloon which resulted in a loud and startling, 'POP!'
When I finally settled into the thin velvet chair I heard a familiar chuckle somewhere next to me through the mess of colourful birthday balloons: “Did you remember?”
“Happy birthday.” I sighed in high anticipation of that inquiry since the moment I had seen the balloons.
“I only have one question,” I continued, “how have you managed to be on the same car as me three days in a row?”
The hobo poked his head through the balloons like a gopher: “I've had plenty of experience dealing with fellows like you: it's sort of my hobby.”
“Stalking people is a hobby?” I retorted. The hobo smiled: “You never answered my question yesterday morning.”
“What question?”
“Lord of the Rings.”
“What about it?”
“Seen it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” the hobo proceeded to remove the toque which had been occupying his head since I first laid eyes upon him. Once again I stared in awe at the hobo's hair: so long and golden. Without saying anything he pulled an elastic out of one his jacket pockets and set the hair in a ponytail behind his slender head. The hobo then pointed to his ears, and I nearly fell out of my seat as my eyes followed his extended index finger.
His ears were pointed. And long. Like an elf. From Lord of the Rings.
I did my best to remain calm and collect my thoughts before making any sort of rash statement towards the pointy ears of the—elf? No. That was ridiculous. There's all kinds of costume stores dotted across New York City. Realistic elf ears would be no problem to find.
“Nice costume.” I said as if nothing had happened.
The hobo didn't laugh this time, but moved to grasp my wrist. I pulled away quickly, thinking that his, 'birthday' meant he get to eat, 'regular people' or something equally as crazy.
“Calm down.” His voice was suddenly very aged and wise; I felt like a two year old being disciplined for inappropriate behaviour. Without meaning to, I extended my arm and felt the pointy ears. They were warm. I gave a slight pull: “Ow!” exclaimed the elf, returning to his, 'normal' voice and retreating his ears back into the concealment of his toque.
I said nothing, but simply stared in disbelief. I stared for the next ten minutes until we reached my stop. I went through the entire day with a blank expression on my face: trying to discern whether or not I had dreamed the subway ride that morning.
I boarded the subway that evening actually hoping to see Mr. Gump, but, as usual, he was nowhere to be found and I went to bed that night with a feeling I hadn't felt in over 10 years: excitement. I had something to look forward to.

Thursday


I woke up Thursday morning with a start and looked at the clock: late. By half an hour. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal due to the fact that I knew several shortcuts to the office—but I had to take the subway.
I raced around the house in a panic: I had been late for work several times before, and the resulting experience was far from pleasant. My boss had threatened termination, and been very clear that next time was the last time.
Of course, it was only a threat. I knew he needed me, and I knew I was the best employee in the entire department. I was a valuable asset, and soon to get promoted. Besides, after three identical threats it was becoming more of a nuisance than anything. No, it wasn't work I was worried about—I didn't want to miss seeing Mr. Gump.
I managed to rush myself up to being 10 minutes late, and literally ran as fast as I could to the subway station. I boarded the first car on the first train that came. I ran on frantically, my eyes darting every which way in search of the odd little man. I saw nothing, and regrettably took a seat—alone—by the door.
My last, tiny flicker of hope was entirely extinguished when the train shuddered and jolted to a start of the long, lonely trip across town. I felt defeated. I was sitting quite literally alone on the subway: not a single human being other than myself occupied the metal shuttle and it was all I could do to keep myself from shouting out in frustration.
I didn't shout. I sat. I thought. And I nearly sobbed.
I thought back on the past ten years: day after day of nothingness; working, eating, sleeping, and simply surviving. I hadn't spoken to my family in several years, I had no friends other than my coworkers and even then I only communicated with them in a business manner. My life was pointless. I was living an empty life: surviving for the sake of survival, and nothing else.
As the subway continued to roll along and collected more passengers at various stops, I cast an ever hopeful glance to the doors every time my ears caught the faint sound of the sliding metal. Every stop became a high point: a moment where I found a sliver of hope and searched frantically with my eyes for a sight of my new found—and only—friend.
It was exhausting; sitting, waiting, and watching, for the very idea of hope had not entered my brain in nearly a decade, and was now overwhelming my entire body and soul in a matter of two hours. By the time I got to my own stop I could hardly move; so spent from an overload of anticipation. I slowly exited the train and gave one final hopeful look around the station for Mr. Gump before trudging up the subway stairs to carry out yet another pointless day at the workplace.

Friday

In over five years of dreamless sleep—for I had gotten so miserable, alone, and senseless through my ten years of solitude that I no longer dreamed—one tends to forget the absolute phenomenal feeling of experiencing a dream.
After returning home from work Thursday night, I was still feeling defeated and overwhelmed by my revelations early that morning on the subway, and proceeded to go straight to bed. No food, no water, just sleep. This means I had slept from six 'o clock PM to six 'o clock AM—twelve hours. The most exhilarating 12 hours of the past ten years of my life took place then: I dreamed. I can't remember what exactly it was I dreamed about, but I dreamed, and I remember the wonderful feeling during and after that dreaming.
I made my way to the subway feeling quite content: I was on time.
My content was overwhelmed with joy when I boarded the subway to see Mr. Gump sitting in his usual spot, and it was all I could do to keep myself from lifting his small figure into a tight embrace. I smiled at the elf and placed myself in the seat next to him. We said nothing for several minutes, when I finally turned to him and started to apologize for not being on the train the previous day.
Mr. Gump had been keeping a straight face until then, but the moment I began explaining myself he burst into uncontrollable laughter: “Have some trouble with your alarm clock?” he asked, “And how was your dream?”
I said nothing and let my jaw hang limply in disbelief: “Y-.....You did that?” I finally stammered.
“Of course!” Mr. Gump stated matter-of-factly, “You think your alarm can just change itself?”
“How did you know about my dream?”
“It almost always comes after the Thursday.” he muttered
I frowned: “What's that supposed to mean?”
“I suspect you had some revelations yesterday in my absence, yes?” Mr. Gump asked, ignoring my question.
“Well, yes, but--”
“I've known you much longer than you've known me my friend.” Mr. Gump said as he turned to look at me again: “I've been watching you for several months now: eating, sleeping, working. I must say it's a very boring and demeaning routine, and one I've seen many times before.”
I shifted uncomfortably: Mr. Gump was stalking me?
“It's kind of a hobby of mine you see: I like to, 'fix' people.”
“What do you mean, 'fix'?” I frowned.
“Listen young man I've been alive for four thousand years. I've seen a lot of crazy things. I've watched monuments being built, worshipped, and destroyed several hundred years later. I've witnessed the birth and maturity of many children. I've been to nearly every major location in this world and then some, and you know what I've noticed?”
I made no effort to reply.
“People can't be pleased.” he huffed: “Look at us: we've gone from the innocence of the first man and woman to the creations of civilizations which eventually became so evil they were obliterated by the very force that created them. We've searched for happiness and found it in Jesus when we came, but then decided we'd rather have him dead.
I've watched the world go from being united by one, singular, truthful faith, to splitting off into the modern day, 'What's true for you isn't necessarily true for me' nonsense.”
I could see the effect of the age upon Mr. Gump in that moment: the talk of humanity's mistakes was causing him grief and anger—yet he kept going with his rant:
“Tell me something my dear boy,” he said, “you believe in the law of gravity, correct?”
“Well....yes.” I muttered
“Of course you do it's an undeniable fact that's constantly effecting us. One cannot deny that gravity keeps us rooted to our home and likewise our home rooted to the earth, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Right so say I decide one day that the law of gravity isn't true for me: I don't believe in it anymore. It's silly talk: I choose to believe that gravity is not real and that I can fly. I gather a group of followers and we all go jump off a cliff. We don't believe in the law of gravity so it won't apply to us, right?”
“Well...” I stammered
“Wrong!” shouted Mr. Gump, and I was quite taken aback by his sudden outburst: “Just because humanity chooses to not believe in something does not mean that it will not effect them! I was there at the crucifixion of Christ! I know for a fact it is true, and the modern day human cannot just deny the fact and live their life by what each and every fellow believes to be, 'true for me but not necessarily true for others'! It doesn't work that way, boy!”
“Okay...” I muttered, “but what does that have to do with me?”
Mr. Gump relaxed a little and retreated more fully into his chair: “Because that is exactly the way you are living: Only you believe nothing. You live out your life day to day with no purpose and no intent, except to earn your next dollar for your next meal. Your existence is empty, and your life will forever be empty if you don't do something about it soon.”
With that final statement Mr. Gump shook my hand and left the train at the next stop, leaving me open-mouthed and dumbfounded by his words.
I sat on the train until it reached my station, but I didn't go to work. I got off, hailed a taxi, and went home. I called my boss and informed him I would not be coming into work that day—or ever again.
I packed my entire wardrobe into dusty suitcases and called my parents to let them know I would be coming for a visit.
It was my mother who picked up. She sobbed the entire time.
I went to the airport and bought the first ticket to ______ --home.
As I boarded the plane I looked out the window and surveyed the runway, and thought I saw a young homeless man waving to me.
I waved back.