POWERLESS #6

POWERLESS

A Composite Graphic Novel exclusive to Absinthe Hour

PAGE SIX

“Breaking and Entering”

1 – Small panel.  James Tulley holds firmly the long neck of an amber bottle of booze, almost completely gone.  The image is set against a dark panel, as if the reader is there in Tulley’s small, dimly lit apartment, sitting with him, poised to finish off the bottle with him.

NARRATOR (JT): They’re calling it a BREAKING and ENTERING GONE ASTRAY.

2 – Small panel.  James Tulley guzzles the bottle like a nervous, reticent young man downing vigorously the right motivation to approach the most beautiful woman at the bar.  Slivers of booze seep from the corners of his mouth and trail down his chin.  Small, quick drops of the cheap liquor wane fast from the tip of his chin.

NARRATOR (JT): A simple SMALL TIME crook looking for JEWLERY to PAWN.

NARRATOR (JT): And I DON’T know WHY.

3 – Small panel.  James Tulley incongruously wipes his mouth with his sleeve.  A glimpse of the television set behind him bares the only light in the apartment.  It reaches out into the darkness of room, reaches out for the attention of James Tulley, whose back is turned on it.

NARRATOR (JT): Maybe Harrison believes in what I’m doing.

4 – Medium Panel.  The television consumes the panel.  The news is on, and a FEMALE NEWS REPORTER sitting at the desk is inauthentic in her reading of the news, even as she reports the most recent of James Tulley’s exploits.  She fixes a small pile of papers appropriately, orderly; taps the bottom of the stack atop the desk with a loose grasp on either side of the pile.

NARRATOR (JT): Believes in the INUNDATED RECKLESSNESS of my approach,

FEMALE NEWS REPORTER: --no signs of our city’s Superhero for days as our city’s crime rate slowly rises.

5 – Medium panel.  With an extended arm and the assistance of one of the chair’s arm rests, James Tulley props himself up weakly and staggers to his feet.  He tosses the empty bottle of booze carelessly to a spot on the floor in front of him.  His clothes, or what can be seen of them under the heavy shadows, are disheveled and tousled.

NARRATOR (JT): Believes in the seemingly MORALLESS, UNINHABITED island of DELIVERANCE on which only I come MARGINALLY close to residing.

6 – Wide panel.  The view of the night from the expansive widow duly acting as a wall at the far end of the apartment reveals a night undisrupted, quiet, and serene.  It’s unruly still, and the full moon hangs large and motionless amongst hovering, stagnant grey clouds.  James Tulley, hunched, overall acrimonious in spirit, as though he were a wobbled puppet disturbed by the inexperience of his controller’s hand, walks meekly into the kitchen.

NARRATOR (JT): I know now, though, why no one does.

7 – Small panel.  James Tulley grabs the handle of the refrigerator, and yanks slightly on it.  A weak, exasperated light funnels out of the small space between the refrigerator door and the refrigerator itself.

NARRATOR (JT): I FEAR he believes in me.

7 – Small panel.  James Tulley’s face basks in the artificial glow of yellow light.  He’s a mess emotionally.  It’s clear he hasn’t been able to sleep—his eyes are barely open and the areas below them sag dramatically.  He’s horribly ridden with a great depression.

NARRATOR (JT): He shouldn’t.

8 – Small panel.  James Tulley grabs a tall, unopened bottle of booze, the only item on the top shelf in the refrigerator.

NARRATOR (JT): I’m no one’s SUPERHERO.