Method Acting

TW: Driving Accident, Suicide

10… 9… 8… I run frenetically, the timer keeps ticking down, Mr. White is already dead, I just have to escape before the self-destruction bomb activates. 7… 6… On the way to the entrance I see Jessica on the floor, she’s still bleeding from the bullet I shot at her, I remember all the time we spent together, pity is unbecoming of an agent, she betrayed me and this is her fate. A last look at her face, I can see the pain in her expression, it looks as if she’s trying to say something, “S…so…rry…” I keep running.

5… 4… 3… Fuck, I can’t, the exit is right in front of me, I can see the pilot gesturing at me to run faster. I stop. I run back to Jess, this is my last mission anyway, she can’t be all façade. 2… I manage to grab her and turn back again, the helicopter is taking flight, I thought they were leaving me behind but there was a ladder attached to it. 1… While carrying her I jump and extend my arm, reaching for it. 0. Our backs feel the warmth of a ball of flames as we ascend to the skies, I look at her face and kiss her, closing my last mission in grandeur.

*Roll Credits*

The audience cheers, the premiere went great, everyone congratulates me for my incredible performance, they ask to take selfies with me, and to say stupid catchphrases, my back still hurts from the burns! I should introduce myself, my name is Ratfe, no surname, I’m an actor, although this last few years I’ve been John Black, agent of the Britannia intelligence agency.

In only a week the film payed for itself, I expect it will be popular for one more month, and after that I should have a 3 month vacation, with some small events in the middle. The world has changed a lot in these last years, my manager is trying to put me up to date with the latest trends and technology, what does it matter anyway, in less than it’ll take to learn the price of groceries I will start my next project, expected to take around 3 years, a new role, a whole new life I will have to go through, just for a 3 hour long film. My hand hurts from signing autographs, I can’t wait to get to bed.

Preparations for my official birthday have already started, I completely forgot about it, I have to start posting teasers on my social media. Today we’re meeting with my stylist to make an outfit for it. I’m having trouble staying focused, I pretty much ignored everything people said to me. After this meet-up my holidays start, I have to go back home to change out of my formal suit.

I’ve been thinking about things to do, I can’t go on a walk comfortably because I’d have to wear something that would cover my face, I could stay at home but I have no idea what to do in there, my shelves have been restocked with the latest bestsellers, I start browsing through them, it’s been so long since I read a book, John Black read “The art of war” before the movie, he needed to quote it before defeating the evil syndicate. Yes, that must have been the last time.

I’m browsing through the library, reading synopsis, most of the books are about secret agents, seems like the company did their market predictions right. What do I like? A question that always plagues my mind, I know what John Black likes, I know what Tommy Strauss likes, I know what Maccabeus likes. I know so much more about my other lives, yet, so little about my own. The one I suffer for, the supposedly true me. What have I become? Am I just a mix of characters with no central leash to unite them? At what point do I stop being me? Why do we as humans think that the sole fact of our existence grants us an identity of our own? Maybe I like philosophy? Or, maybe, It's Socrates speaking through me, and all I had to read to play him.

I no longer wish to live like this. Always wondering what my favorite food or color is. I have to build myself anew, different from everything I’ve ever been, and for that I need to rebel against my own programming, all the junk code that’s been inserted in myself throughout this career. I picked up a book about crocheting.

My assistant woke me up next morning, the book resting over my face, hiding morning from my eyes. Everything was ready for the big day, I just had to put on the costume and it will all begin. A blue beanie, a red plaid shirt, slightly baggy jeans and generic brown shoes. Meet Tommy Strauss, my most renowned role, his birthday is celebrated all over the country, via many fun events, such as:

The start of the day! An interview about my last work and sneak-peeks at my next one! On the main TV channel, from 9:00 to 10:30, don’t miss it! Next up, meeting with the president and the Minister of Entertainment (Both new faces every time, since I come back about once every 5 years), they give me an award to show my contributions to this country. A small break to dine at the fanciest restaurant in town with some producers (Yes, their asses are on the menu and we suck them!).

And, finally, what everyone waits for, a party at my own house, a four-hour rave from 20 to 00. And when midnight hits everyone shouts Tommy! Tommy! Tommy! And the clocks sound as everyone pops confetti guns. Then, the party ends and they leave. I guess it’s bigger than most birthdays, which makes sense since it happens once every 5 years.

So everything went smoothly, as always, Nessie (my previously mentioned assistant) is the only one left at my house, clock says 00:10.

—Happy Birthday, Ratfe. I’m sure you’re tired of celebrations, but I brought you this cupcake, and a candle. Is there anything else sir?

—Thanks, just go and enjoy your free day.

—You’re welcome, I’ll be going them. Goodnight, sir.

I haven’t told you the best part yet, my birthday, the actual one, is one day after Tommy’s. Only Nessie knows, people actually think I was born the same day as my most famous character, fools, all of them, I swear. Sometimes, while eating Nessie’s cupcakes, I imagine they’re all still here, cheering me on, wishing me well, celebrating something as simple as my existence. And I hear them shout, Ratfe! Ratfe! Ratfe! And I think “I’m so glad I came into this world, and I’m not the only one”. But I quickly crash back into reality, where my name is whatever character you prefer, and my merits are theirs, not matter how many awards I get, not a single one of them for me. I wonder, no, I realize that if anyone else had lent their body to them, they would have been treated the same. So what did I do? Got trained for memory insertion and manipulation, and personality adjustment? That’s all there is, I am just the luck of having a higher tolerance and no side effects, all because of being myself so little, is it really so easy for someone else to conquer my brain? I never doubted this was a privilege, everyone said so, I will make so much money, and everyone will treat me great because of it, they said. Enough to make a poor child happy, certainly. But I never imagined the curse it also is. I’m nothing but a vessel, a house for only guests, am I human at this point? Or just a piece of flesh? And most important of all, can I change or is it already too late?

These incessant ruminations drove me to sleep, and, on the dawn of the next day, I made a decision. This kind of live no longer suited me, I’m tired of worrying about finding myself, so I will do it, I will rebuild myself, not based on mere characters, completely alien to me. I should be able to stay under the radar if I don’t use my credit cards, yes, I’ll drive far away, I won’t be able to pass the border without risking being tracked, but there’s enough hiding ground here. I’ll just lay low for a few months and everyone will assume I died. Oh! I have the perfect idea! I’ll leave empty pill bottles around the house, that way the conclusion popping in their heads will suffice.

The plan is in motion, I stacked my backpack with only money, if I take anything else they will notice. I start the engine and look at my watch, It’s 5:00, no one around the neighborhood will be up this early. It’s so perfect, the only way I could get detected is by my car, ha ha, that’s where the best part comes. I will simulate an accident, I was high, tried to drive and crashed, a simple and fulfilling story, so typical, so Tommy Strauss.

I pressed the brakes, until I was going slow enough to jump out, then, I left a stone on the accelerator and immediately hopped off! I watched as my driver-less car failed to make a right turn and smashed against the trees. My plan had been achieved successfully, I wondered for a few seconds if this was the right path to take, with the intent of not letting those thoughts ruin me I said once again to myself: “Regret is unbecoming of an agent”. For the last time.

Tranquility overcame me, as it happens every time I speak that sentence, but also, as always it is fake, I’m no calmer than before, why? Is there something wrong with me? Have I finally lost it after so many years of spying? This and many other questions came to my mind, in a sad attempt to trick myself, and conceal the single answer to all of them. I am Ratfe, with no surname, not an agent, nor a spy, just a slave. As my face burned with hot tears my whole body began shaking, I ran frenetically to the woods with no other direction than far away, shouting, wailing, hoping for someone to see me and for no one to do so, I couldn’t see, I stumbled into many other trees and fell, but I kept getting back up. Like I had always done. Eventually the initial rise of adrenaline stopped numbing my senses and I started to feel the pain and the cold sensation that covered my body. My strength was wavering, and my every step felt more insecure than the previous one. The moment my tears dried up all I could see was the ground accelerating towards me. This was it, this time I couldn’t get up, all my forces drained, with the only thing left being the feeling of the cold blood on my forehead and the burning marks left by the driving wheel.

All this impulsive behavior helped me accept that the one and only time I truly thought I had been myself, I was letting another guide me. Now, completely lost in both mind and body, I found peace, I was certain this was it, the vase had fallen and will eventually reach the cold, hard floor and break. Death to a life, so meaningless no one will see it end, nor cry its true name. No good memories to reminisce, no one to miss, just me. And as my eyes close, for what will be the last time, a fleeting happiness fills me, as I realize, no character I ever played would run through the woods in anger, to their deathbed, after failing to fake a car crash. This single memory I could confidently call Ratfe’s.