WHICH TITLE SHOULD IT BE?

Meredith is somewhat good at writing. She thought that winning a consolation prize for a newspaper article would be her gypsy of success but instead landed up almost killing her sister.

ONE DAY BEFORE

Meredith is dusting her books off while drinking the most bitter coffee made in a percolator. The repeated thrashing, particles floating in the virgin sunlight couldn't keep her sister Anne asleep for a little more on the worn-out couch.

"For God's sake, Meredith," Anne finally quits being a sleepyhead, "Just donate those books. Let the poor children read."

Meredith turns around and stares at Anne, "Oh, you think those impoverished kids would love to read assault, kidnapping stories written by the culprits themselves, right Anne?

Anne runs her hands through her hair and flutters off the couch.

"You kept some coffee for me, right?" Anne grips the percolator and takes a sip from it directly, following her spitting it out.

"Oh my, this coffee can even wake up dead people, lord," Anne's taste buds are intoxicated with concentrated caffeine.

"So, Meredith," Anne tiptoes to her and butters her, "I heard your hiatus from writing is almost over."

"So?"

"When?'

Meredith got the hint, but she's stretching it to disappoint Anne in the least embarrassing way possible.

"When are you starting?"

"Okay," Meredith knew it was coming. She puts the books on the bookshelf and turns to her, and says, "My hiatus is over, but...I still don't know what to write?

"What? All this time was given to you for that single purpose, Meredith."

"Anne, listen. I don't go out, I hate the internet. Where the heck am I supposed to get the information, or, inspiration from?"

"We can go out to dinner tonight. A little sibling bond, huh?"

Meredith opts out of the meaningless conversation.

"See, I really don't know."

Anne still tries to seek light in the dark, "So, you have ideas, right?"

"I do, but..." Meredith wants to write, but she is stuck, in the swamp of having too many creative thoughts to process.

"But what, Mer?'

"Okay, you know what? Let's do it. This evening - you and me, we're gonna go out and have some good time and conciliation and clearance on thoughts, hmm?"

Anne rejoices as the indecisive Meredith slowly joins in smiling.

"Anne, make the reservations for "June & Asparagus", I'll get a diary, to jot things down, cool?"

"Cool," Anne is on the seventh-heaven, imagining all the gold and diamonds.

It's afternoon. Meredith is lying on the couch, taking a soft, deep afternoon dose of sleep. Anne sits by the dinner table, writing something on her laptop. Just then, her eyes set on Meredith - resting like an overworked angel even though she doesn't even work. Anne stands up and notices Meredith's room's door is open. Anne grabs a rag and decides to clean her sister's room for the good decision she's taken today.

EVENING

Meredith tries on a dazzling yet classy full-length purple dress. She looks like an important, elegant woman who has her things together in control. Whereas, it's another way around. She's having too many opinions about this - Am I comfortable in this dress? Am I overdoing it? Can I rock this with heels and hurt myself or wear flats and ruin the look? Is this what's called "overdoing"? Never mind.

She finally changes into an another dress, and then another one, after taunting herself in the mirror.

She scavenges for an another fit. Anne enters her room to see dresses, shirts, jeans, thrown all over as if the closet had a cyclone swirled all around. Anne steps on the dresses and nears Meredith.

"Wow, you really have no sense of direction, huh?"

Meredith is getting annoyed, "Can you stop pestering me and start helping me?"

"Tell me, how did you even decide that you wanted to be a writer?"

Anne begins to pick up the clothes and scrutinize them; keeping them over Meredith's body to see if they match. She talks as she shortlists the wear.

"You won a consolation prize for a newspaper article, right, Meredith?"

"Why are you asking me these questions as if I'm a criminal of some kind?"

"You even got a bouquet from the principal. That's something..."

"And?"

"Why did you write that article?"

"Why not?"

"You think it's necessary to shine spotlight on our parents' death, don't you?"

The conversation is going sour. Meredith has a dazed look. Anne's mood is dipping quickly. Meredith opts out yet again.

"I'm not in the mood to go now. Let's stay in for tonight," Meredith flicks her arm away from her as she keeps a shirt on her chest. She picks up dresses and begins to put it back. Anne, getting slowly angrier, still helps her.

They finish putting everything back. Meredith and Anne share a timid yet prolonged look.

"What?" Meredith is tired.

"Why did you write it?"

"God, Anne, I wrote it because it was...so mystifying."

"You find the blood and the gore and the faces of mom and dad mystifying, huh?"

"And, sad."

Anne nods in sheer discouragement.

"Meredith, just stop trying to monetize off their demise. I beg you."

"Then why the hell were you pressuring me into writing in the morning?"

"Oh, Meredith."

"What?"

"You're gonna write a novel on it, aren't you?"

"Who told you that?"

"I read your diary when you were taking a siesta."

Meredith is shook. Her eyes widen, it's almost like she is in utter disbelief. She grunts terrifyingly.

"Why, Anne?"

"I know, now."

"Know what?"

Anne sits on the bed and lies on her back, " Dad and mom had a fight. For the first time ever. To patch it up, we all went to our favourite diner, and then had the tastiest fries ever. Instead of making things come together, mom served him divorce papers. From there, things begin to go hazy. I don't know if I had mousse or vanilla ice cream for dessert. I saw dad crying in the diner washroom. In the car, the radio was turned off for the second time ever. The first time was when grandma died and we had to go another town for the funeral.

This is the time when incidents become blurry in my mind. Mom and dad stayed quiet. Me and Anne were singing 'pat-a-cake' continuously until our dad got tired of it and yelled, "Snap out of it!" Then mom ordered dad to not project his anger at us. Dad and mom fought. I can't remember all the angry sentences thrown at each other between them, but all I can keep in my mind is, "That project of yours will be damned. And good luck with your girlfriend." Dad didn't say it.

It was mom. It was her. Her response was somewhat abrasive and it got abusive real quick. Then she pulled a string somewhere from the dashboard and clicked something. And then it was white. Whitewashed world enveloped us. Mom and dad weren't there anymore. The car was intact. We were intact. But we had memory damage, as we were told by Jen, our foster mother. It only lasted a week, though."

Meredith is astounded by how she by-hearted and enunciated every written word in her diary regarding the death. Anne sits up as Meredith slowly tries to exit the room. Anne smiles, "And that's not even the interesting part. Meredith."

Anne stands up and begins to corner Meredith in an eerie way. Anne continues, "If you could go back in time, and save either one of our family, who would you save?"

"Anne, why does it even matter?"

"Tell me. Mom or dad?"

Meredith finally makes a choice uninterestingly, "Okay, mom."

Anne and Meredith are in a tight space, closing in with hinting of possible violence.

"Anne, cut it.  What is happening?"

She finally turns around and lets Meredith breath in the corner, but she still hasn't let go of her eerie sister, "One Meredith. Two diaries."

Something about it catches Meredith by utter shock and disbelief.

"I remember when you couldn't make a choice between yellow leather and yellow cardboard cover so you bought both. See? This is why you should stick to a single thing. When I was cleaning your drawer because you finally agreed to go out, I found an article of yours - "The Magnum Opus", unpublished, taped in the pages of your cardboard notebook. It was so good. It was horrifyingly good. I didn't know that you could write that good."

Meredith finally breaks her silence on Anne's breach of privacy, "Why did you read it?"

Anne turns around and grabs the ceramic lamp by the bedside, and violently pulls the plug off by tugging the lamp. Meredith is scared, and mostly melancholic. Tears begin to pool as she begs Anne.

"Anne, please. I wrote it because we needed money to live...on our own."

"You put her project out. It was on bringing back comatose people who had their lives in hands of God, and you ruined it. Mom worked so hard on it. Not even that. It was such a huge project. And what ruined your fucking mind was I was on the project. I was going to paid in millions, Meredith. And you sold all of this for an article that cost fifty-five thousand and no publishing. Oh, and you chose "The Magnum Opus" for the title. WHY?"

"Okay!" a woman's voice echoes loud in the house. Meredith and Anne break their expressions. Meredith wipes her tears off and Anne places the lamp down. They both somehow switch to normal. They walk through the house. Spotlights hang above. Black walls expand around the house - it's a set. A set-up of Meredith's house. They both walk out of it towards a woman in the chair, holding stacks of crisp white pages.

People around them walk and begin to put the props back to their places. Anne and Meredith stand before the woman. The woman instructs both of them with poise and simplicity, "Meredith almost kills Anne. It's the other way around. But, why would we begin with Meredith almost killing her sister Anne?"

Meredith and Anne shrug and return to the set that has been re-made to the incident where Meredith tries dresses for the outing.

The woman turns to another thin woman, strikingly resembling Meredith. It's the real Meredith, who sits on the writer chair and has an everlasting smile on her face with dark brown hair resting on her shoulders. The woman asks Meredith, "Meredith almost kills Anne. But, the situation's different here."

Meredith, with a charismatic tone, responds, "Meredith was a person who wanted the comatose scheme to come out. Whereas Anne only wanted money. I don't blame her for it of course, but, almost killing her sister for the money wasn't good. She knew I was her golden goose, and she threatened me. So, I defended myself which ended up hurting her. And I still grieve, but if she wasn't so greedy, things would've been way different."

The woman is totally enthralled with her mini-story, "So, where is your sister now? How is she recovering?"

"I'm actually writing a novel on our little, weird life. She's somewhere nearby. She changed her identity now. She took some money from me and I think...she lives in New Zealand now. "

Meredith from the set looks around the production house and sets eyes on the real Meredith, breaking from the conversation with set's Anne. Her eyes are full of rage - is she Anne?

"Jane," set-Anne pulls the set-Meredith back in to the reality. They both continue rehearsing, but still, "Jane"/Anne/set-Meredith gazes at the real Meredith.

"By the way..." the real Meredith leans to the woman director. The woman turns her attention from the set to Meredith, "Yes, ma'am?"

Meredith answers in an intimate whisper, "I'm actually fazed choosing the title for the play," Meredith pulls her phone out and shows two posters of the same film by her - "The Wake" and "Blinding Moonlight". Same story, just two different titles.

Meredith questions, "So now, which title should it be?"

THE END