Posted in writing

After the Credits

Scene: The weapons factory of the evil-doer is burning and crumbling in the background.  The male protagonist and female protagonist’s eyes meet.  The camera captures their profiles for almost too long.  Finally, they kiss, the structure still ablaze in the background.

Credits roll.  Fade to three months later.

Male protagonist, John, sits on the couch, wearing a stained tank top, shorts, and white socks that haven’t been washed properly.  Probably, ever.  He eats from a bowl of potato chips as the TV spouts incoherent noise.  Most likely some news channel.  Doesn’t matter.

Female protagonist, Jane, enters, frustrated.

“Honey, I think I’m pregnant.”  She produces a pregnancy test with a very ambiguous reading on it.

“What?” He replies, not listening.  “Hey, since you’re here, can you make me a martini?  You know how I like it, shaken and stuff?”

“I’m pregnant!”  She yells, throwing the test stick at him.

He nearly fumbles his bowl of chips in a similar fashion to those people from infomercials.  He catches it, and grabs another chip to stuff into his mouth.  “What?  But we’ve been careful, haven’t we?”

“Remember when we thought we killed Evil-McGee what’s his name at his party then had sex in the back of the limo right before it got thrown off the road by explosives?  I think that’s when it happened.”

“Hmm, yeah.”  He continues munching down on sour cream and chive.  “The agency doesn’t really pack unnecessary things like, I don’t know, condoms, into a spy kit.  Are you really sure you’re pregnant?”

“Well I missed my last period… and the one before that.  I guess the one before that too didn’t happen either.”

“And that didn’t seem strange to you?”  Wiping his hands on the tank top, he sets down his bowl and finally turns to make eye contact.

“I don’t know.  I don’t really have time for periods when I’m dealing with warlords.”

“I don’t really know much about women…” He starts to explain, while she shakes her head knowingly.  “…but somehow I don’t think that’s how periods work.”

“Well you’re right about one thing.  Let me guess, you don’t even know how I manage to keep my hair looking perfect even through all those explosions either?”

“Hair spray?”  We cringes, hoping for the right answer.

She huffs loudly.  “You don’t even look at me like you used to.  Remember how we first met, you tied up to the chair, me playing the part of double agent, ready to gouge your vocal cords out?”

“Don’t tell me you’re a double-double agent now.  Was this your plan all along?”  He jumps up, looking for something to use as a weapon.

“No, you idiot.  I remember the look in your eyes when I turned on all those guys in order to get you out of that place.  Where has that man gone?” She crossed her arms and looked him in the eyes.

“Okay, but what if the baby is a double agent, implanted in you to eventually grow up and kill me?”

“You’re a complete imbecile, John Bond.  I’m going to my mother’s for a while so you can figure out what you want.”

“Your mother the diamond tycoon?”

“She does emeralds.  I swear, you never listen to me.”  She stomps off.  His eyes lock on her as she exists the room, then slowly drifts back to his bowl of chips.

Spy theme plays.

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