Bloody Warnings.

Captain Zappa

[We stare at a white room. It’s fragile, like porcelain. It’s clean – untainted, untarnished. Planted against the tiled floor are a pair of bare feet. We slowly pull away to see a faucet of comparable theme – as well as a stand-up shower and a bathtub. We only see his bare backside, but the figure standing in the middle of this room is Zappa himself. As per usual, a gargantuan joint rests between his lips. Dangling from his hand, is the All-Star title.]

“These are the things that happen when you’re given influence by someone or something that’s bound to ignite mercilessly. I warned her, man. I provided every indication that the Zeta are an evolved breed that calculates the odds and plays the game with no other intention but to claim victory. She didn’t listen though. She used her broken weapons in an attempt to compensate for the weakened offense of her kind; a kind that is ultimately slipping away from any sort of traction that they once were able to confidently claim.”

[Suddenly, the faucet turns on. Instead of water emitting, it’s blood. Lots of it. Zappa doesn’t seem to pay any mind to it. Instead, he rests his belt against the tiled floor, takes another puff of his joint, and walks towards the shower stall.]

“And these are things that happen when you don’t see the forest for the trees. You lose. Everything, man. Your championship, your voice, your reputation. Everything that you stood for, that you fight for, disappears when you’re eyes are shut. If you had just kept your eyes open – if you had just paid attention to the signs – perhaps the story would have been told differently.”

[More blood – now pouring out of the faucet like a solid line that’s frozen in motion. As it slowly swirls and gurgles down the drain, we shift over to the bathtub. The blood that seems to be running down the sink’s faucet now appears to be regurgitating through the drain of the bathtub. Inexplicably, steam begins to rise from the ring of crimson plasma – bubbling and coagulating with near immediacy. Zappa steps into the shower.]

“So with much chagrin, let Lyra’s timely alliance with the man that dethroned her be a lesson to you, Jensen. As you pour your blood into the hands of DTR, you’re also letting him take away your vocal chords and anything of value that sailed upon the waves of your presence. Like Lyra, she followed the direct orders of her people – but little did she know that they were simply leading the lamb to her slaughter. Once DTR drains you of everything you’re worth, you won’t be necessary anymore. Be it through failure or success, the platform of which you stand on will eventually dissolve at the hands of the puppeteer taking advantage of the weathered strings attached to you.

If you choose not to listen to anyone, at least listen to the true extraterrestrial chosen one – the only representation of the alien truth that stands strong, now with gold strewn over his shoulder. Your brain will cling onto whatever trust is there, but your soul is what determines the legitimacy of that trust. Do you trust the man that takes your blood because he is a dear friend of yours – or is it because he is the only dear friend of yours?”

[Zappa turns on the shower, but nothing happens. It would appear as if Zappa expects this. He looks up at the shower head, closes his eyes for a smile, and lifts hands in the air. With masterful coordination, the shower head explodes with blood. It starts off as a speckling on his face and body, but ultimately begins to cover him until everything beyond the whites of his eyes is a deep red. Though His joint is also covered in blood, there’s still an ember at the end of it. And thus, Zappa waits not a second taking another hit.]

“What does he think of you, man? This is just a man picking away at the fibers of a displaced pawn that’s lost its control over the decisions it makes. Lyra allowed her kind to make decisions for her, and she trusted that their decisions would allow her to find the greater good. What is your greater good, Jensen? To let a mosquito attach to you until you’re nothing but a helping of skin and bones without an identity?”

[Suddenly, the shower stops. As does the faucet. The sound of raining blood fades into the ether, and the initial silence revisits. Zappa opens the sliding door that leads into the shower and steps out – with not a drop of blood on him. Not only that, he’s perfectly clothed in his flannel shirt and tattered jeans. He wanders over to his belt, stares at it for a moment, and then slings it over his shoulder. As he makes his way towards the exit door, he turns back towards the pale perfection of the bathroom.]

“He will win. He will do exactly what he’s doing until there’s nothing left, because he can. What about the warning signs? Haven’t you seen the signs that indicate a road block is on the horizon? Like her, your warnings are clear and abundant. It is now your turn to decide, man. Do you want to be cold leftovers or a part of the answer? I’m a good person – but as you know, I know what I want.”

[And with that, Zappa flips the light switch off.]