He looked down at his slashed wrists and sighed an unconvincing sigh before closing his eyes, again.
“Cut!” someone cried. “God dammit!”
Harrison Ford opened his eyes. He stood up, head aching.
A young woman came running up with a towel. Harrison Ford wrapped it around himself and stepped out of the tub. The woman who’d brought him the towel took out some gauze-wrap and spun it around his wrists.
“So we don’t have to redo the make-up,” she told him. He nodded, he was tired. It was a minute later when he realized the director had been talking to him for some time.
“What?” he turned.
The director–glasses off, glowered at him. “You are supposed to be lost–beyond lost, you found out your son was tortured and murdered! Tortured Harrison!”
Harrison Ford nodded, “mhm”
“Mhm–to torture, he says, for fucks sake.”
Harrison Ford refocused, some Samaritan soul put a coffee in his hand.
“Okay–so your son–gone, dead, boo-hoo, your wife killed herself– boo hoo and,”
“The boo-hoos aren’t really helping with the emotional connect…” Harrison Ford said, sipping his coffee.
The director’s face went red. “You–” he took a breath, “I won’t be provoked. You know what I mean, your family is gone, you blame yourself. You’re killing yourself in the hopes of following them into the afterlife.”
Harrison Ford held up his hand. “Yeah, about that, no one seems to be able to tell me what this afterlife is going to be?”
“Because we don’t know yet,” the director growled.
Harrison Ford whistled. “Meta,” he said.
“It’s not meta!” The director cried.
Harrison Ford shrugged. “It’s a little meta.”
The director threw his hat on the ground. “It isn’t fucking meta! They are doing rewrites!”
Harrison Ford drank his coffee, slowly. The director composed himself. He picked up the hat, brushing a bit on his leg.
“Look,” he breathed, “it’s the first damn day of shooting, this whole project is a mess. The only thing we are certain about is that Frank died blaming himself for his family’s death. What comes after it, I don’t know–we’ll find out just–”
“Don’t you dare say meta! Just get in the damn tub and get this scene shot, we’ll get the rest of this mess sorted tomorrow–God will it.”
Harrison Ford shrugged. He finished his coffee and placed it on an empty chair. The woman came back over and started unwrapping his wrists.
“Coffee helped?” she asked, noting his smile.
He nodded. “Yes, quite.”
**For more WHWFD click HERE
**Note for new readers: What Happened When Frank Died is a series of stories we have done every Saturday since our challenge began. You can read however many you want in whatever order you want. They are each individual stories. There is a backstory that you can figure out by looking for clues in all the stories but it is not necessary to enjoy them individually.
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