From:
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Chekhov's Gun
Chekhov's gun (Russian: Чеховское ружьё) is a dramatic principle that states that every element in a story must be necessary, and irrelevant elements should be removed. Elements should not appear to make "false promises"
by never coming
into play. The statement is recorded in letters by Anton Chekhov several times,
with some variation:
"Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third
chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there."
"One must never place a loaded rifle on the stage if it isn't going to go off. It's wrong to make promises you don't mean to keep." Chekhov, letter to Aleksandr Semenovich Lazarev (pseudonym of A. S. Gruzinsky), 1 November 1889. Here the "gun" is a
monologue that Chekhov deemed superfluous and unrelated to the rest of the play.
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there." From Gurlyand's Reminiscences of A. P. Chekhov, in Teatr i iskusstvo 1904, No. 28, 11 July, p. 521
Ernest Hemingway mocked the interpretation given by English instructors to the principle. He gives in his essay "The Art of the Short Story" an example of two
characters that are introduced and then never again mentioned in his short story "Fifty Grand".
Hemingway valued inconsequential details, but conceded that readers will inevitably seek symbolism and significance in these inconsequential details.
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THE INCANTATA
Book-1
Palace Of Nine Castles
“What does the hero do when he's dead?
That is the question that plagues mankind.”
Paralyzing force bound Pierce Daniels to the black
chair. It was always a different face and always the same
gun. The only constant known to a man who walked a lonely
razors edge between two nations forever at war.
Growling in the pit of the stomach sent gentle waves
of euphoric relief trembling across his slow silenced mind.
The first word would come soon after wondering what the
first word might actually be. Seven Three Three Seven.
He was known to both Gog and Magog as Mr. Magoo.
A cartoon character nickname for someone both sides felt
they could play with as they chose and slap around with
impunity. No wife or children and parents buried long ago
lead both versions of the United States of America to under
estimate the titanic level of resolve with which Pierce
played this most fatal of games.
His eye twitched. He tried to smile but his body
wasn’t ready. Alert to his quarry the shooter shuffled his
feet. Pierce relished the return of his hearing. With that
sense restored he fantasized about the sounds of waves and
pieces of music he had heard and grown to love. He tried to
rock forward from his chest detecting the movement in his
groin area. Clocking forward he knew only two minutes
remained before he could speak. Thinking clearly now he
silenced his mind voluntarily restoring his true instincts.
Sitting on a soft, carpet, antique desk-map to his
right; was a bold typed message awaiting decryption. The
encoding was obvious to anyone who had the knowledge to
survive the great war of 2012. There were only two very
popular television shows ever broadcast and viewed by a
colossal sized audience in real time. The type of effect
the government clandestine experimenters had sought to use
as a process to acquire a benchmark gauge that would
determine the power of synchronized mass consciousness on
the quantum fields that generated the future and past.
The first show broadcast in 1966 was the hopelessly
titled; THE TIME TUNNEL. Experimenters were unaware people
existed who were already capable of using such simple cause
and effect relationships as a television broadcast and the
power generated by the viewing audiences’ consciousness to
initialize the type of devices required for time travel.
Einstein was long gone and the picture of reality had
changed dramatically since his departure into the grave.
HUGO=HUE GO HUG15
YEMI=25EM-ATOMOSE
MR. EKO=51115 OK5
OG218=OG Vs. MAGOG
MR. FIVE = KNOCKOUT
The decoded message seemed a shop worn deception.
Pierce opened his eyes and looked at the shooter.
This was the first executioner he had ever recognized.
Struggling for composure he allowed no...
“Where is Einstein?”
“Heads in a jar; his dicks in Doc’s flux capacitor.”
Pierce waited for the muzzle flash. The shooter had yet to
raise his weapon. Looking downward he noticed it was still
the same Arsenal 44. Magnum used on him every time before.
Unable to move his limbs yet he studied the face of the
look alike wondering why it took the NSA so long to finally
try this trick. The shooter looked at the single gold pen
on the desk before moving to a semi-squatting position to
examine the underside of the white drafting table Pierce
used as an oversized work board for his math problems.
“There are no marks under the table.”
“The count is accurately reckoned at precisely 7337.”
“We’ll see.”
The shooter put the weapon on the table while asking if
Pierce was a fan of Star Trek.
“Portnoy’s Complaint is more my cup of tea mate.”
“A Fool’s Mate can easily be avoided.”
The shooter began preparing a pot of tea by selecting
three bags from the glass jar on the old kitchen’s counter.
Three bags were silently denuded of their strings and
labels before being quickly watered logged in the stout
white china tea pot now headed towards the far end of the
top floor apartment in the 1920’s art deco building.
The shooter paused before entering 6:00 into the
microwaves key pad. Pierce picked up the pistol and glanced
under the table. Reassured there were no jump calibrations
marked underneath he placed the gun in his mouth and pulled
the trigger. The shooter pressed the start button on the
key pad hoping to avoid an awkward moment. The pistols
firing hammer clicked resolutely against the empty chamber.
“How many times have you made it to Canyon De Chele
and succeeded in jumping off the cliff?”
A sinking heart and an empty pistol were laid on the
table for his opponent to play with as he pleased. The long
interrogation followed by the innocuous opportunity for an
escape was the standard script from this point on. The long
drop from Mummy’s Cave into Canyon De Chele was now certain
to lead right back into this chair paralyzed again by time.
“The CIA put LOST together for you with great care to
assure you the mission was understood and very successful.”
“The Chekhov’s gun on the table bit then?”
“Orientation time. Can you move your legs?”
“Load the gun.”
The shooter pulled Pierce to his feet shouldering him
forward and out the door left open on the previous trip to
the microwave. The shooter loaded the gun while leading his
target to the roof of the building. Loaded and replaced in
its clip-on belt holster; the snap of its removal audible.
The weapon and holster were passed to Daniels, he complied
by walking towards the sleek dark red four seat jet copter.
One minute later they were in the Shell gas station
parking lot on the southern side of the railroad access way
obscured by well fed overgrown brush. They crossed the
intersection formed by a rural highway and the rail bed.
Pierce knew the snipers nest were arrayed at both treetop
and ground level interspersed at fifty yard markers all the
way to Facility-1 of The Advanced Intraphase Research site.
Shooter and target walked calmly through the dense
bramble curtain of prickly brush. The shooter smiled after
holding the web of tangles aside for Pierce’s passage into
the kill zone known as The Bell Devil’s Walk of Hellfire.
“Hurry Pierce.” That phrase was never spoken before.
Daniels composure broke as he quickly tapped his beltline
for tranquilizers. The first five dozen silenced shots spit
out entered the shooter who let go and fell on his back
quietly smiling. “God’s luck to Self 7337. Hang tough Doc.”
Pierce walked inwards. “Today is a good day to die.”
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: www.darkrealms.ca (1:229/2)