Work Text:
Black Box
On a different plain of universal thought, four men live in what is only can be described as a black box. What does this box mean, only they know what it truly means? For us, the "normals" of this world, see it as perhaps containment, for them it's escape.
What we see are four men that are easily recognizable from the hey day of tv sitcom. Each lost in their own man made world.
In the far corner, sitting on a low couch, the tall Texan known as Mike is slowly strumming his Gibson acoustic guitar. Working on yet another would be hit.
In adjacent corner, is Micky, dabbling in his current hobby of choice, electronics. Wires, cables, fuses, with tools of sizes scattered on the work bench. Trying to find the right combination to make the right sound. The others are happy to see him working on a project, a busy Micky meant that he wasn't using his excessive energy in getting them into trouble.
Sitting on the velvet sofa with the girl of the moment, Davy is doing his best in checking his love interest's dental plan. Lip locking, tongue twisting kissing as the prelude to the next stage of heavy petting. As the others would say he's the little monster that they wish they could be.
Taking up residence away from the others is Peter, the spiritually attuned member. It doesn't hurt either to have a little smoke of the good stuff to help get you into the "mood."
Each of them was preoccupied in their own self made world, forgetting that it was together that they had made a mark.
A cuckoo clock on a wall strikes midnight.
** **
A blank stage, the four men stand in the middle of the stage, waiting.
"Did you do that?" Mike asked Micky.
"I didn't do it. I was perfectly happy playing with my synthesizer." Micky told in his defense.
"You know," Davy started, "I hate it when that clock strikes twelve. I'm usually just starting to get to know the bird and then poof, she's gone."
"Well, if the clock didn't strike twelve, the bird would have left as soon as she saw your dick." Micky snickered.
Davy glared and Micky who tried to look contrite but didn't quite make it.
"So now what?" Mike asked.
"We wait to see what they do to us." Peter replied, "Like always."
"But they haven't done anything with us." Micky moaned. "I haven't been hurt, made love to, or even had a good line for a long time."
"Well our fighting didn't help." Peter pointed out.
"Fighting, what fighting?" Micky asked.
Davy, Peter and Mike all gave Micky "the look."
"What?" he asked in his defense.
"Maybe someone will take pity on us." Davy stated as he walked away to the end of the stage.
"All we can ask is for volunteers. Maybe someone will write something. I would really like to get back to my writing."
The stage starts to morph. Soon they found themselves back in the pad. Soon they will find them in a story line that will bring another dimension to their lives. Only time would tell what it would be.
A call from above the stage calls "Action!"