MAGICAL KINGDOMS AND URBAN LEGENDS
The Director breezed into the crowded room, fanning himself
with a white glove which he held in his right hand.
Dozens of bright eyes, doubly enlarged, greeted him. He smiled benevolently.
‘Hot day.’ He paused. The air of the packed, 2nd floor conference room was
stuffy and congested. This was the main reason why he’d chosen it. He also
smelt something comforting, - fear. ‘Thank you all for coming.’ The Director stopped, bowed his head, sighed and then poured himself a glass of water from the carafe that sat on the table. He brought the glass to his lips and tilted. He took a long time, allowing the water to slowly trickle down his parched throat. He then put down the glass and gave a satisfied gasp. He could mentally feel hundreds of technicolour hands trying to hold on with their fingertips to their shifting world. He couldn’t help milking it a little longer.
‘This has been a difficult decision,’ he said. ‘I think of us all as more than a
studio, we’re a family.’ There was dead silence. The Director looked at the
frozen forms. ‘Well, don’t you think?’
There was a sudden chorus of panicked assent, and bobbing heads.
‘You know it might be a bit forward but when you think about it, I’m your father.’ He gave a wide smile. ‘You could also say that because the studio created you and I own the studio, that I own you, to use or throw away,’ he chuckled. ‘Like an animating god with the power of life and death.’ He suddenly lifted up his arms in a dramatic gesture as though he was about to strike down some of the puny creatures below him. Then he stopped, paused for a moment, grinned again, and added, ‘just kidding of course.’
A few weak titters spluttered around the room, but quickly deflated with lack of support.
The Director then closed off his open stance and drew himself up gravely. To the characters in the room he seemed to grow and multiply, filling the whole front of the space, or was the room getting smaller?
‘Unfortunately, even families have to sometimes make sacrifices. As you know we are facing dark days at the moment. So, with the need to channel money to fight the dangers that are facing the Free World, it may happen that some of you will, um… how should I put this? Take a hiatus…, retire from the main stage…, be shelved for a while.’
The word ‘shelved’ caused Pluto to let out a little yelp but he was silenced by a warning look from his master. The dog returned to lying on the floor in a curled pretzel shape, biting his tail in response to the tension.
‘As to who needs to have a, um… sabbatical from the silver screen, the list is still being finalised,’ The Director uttered softly and slowly.
Thee triplet ducklings ran around in circles in the back of the room, but their Uncle made no move to stop them, his eyes were fixed on the Director.
‘It can’t be me,’ he thought, ‘the kids love me. I’ve used that stupid voice for years. I’ve permanently ruined my vocal codes. Aghh, I should have never listened to that bloody top-hatted cricket and his preaching about consciences.
The Director resumed fanning himself with the glove. The implications
of his last sentence and the subsequent deathly silence hammered everyone in the room, until their feet were rooted in the ground. He saw the saucer-eyes examining the glove then scanning the room in vain for big mouse ears and a red and white polka-dot dress.
The Director put the glove in his pocket. It wasn’t the pretty mouse’s, he’d got it from the costume department, she was being re-coloured, but it had had the right effect. They would comply now. They owed him everything and needed to be reminded of this when they got rebellious. ‘A cartoon character union, really!’
‘Ahh.’, he began to dream about rides, souvenirs, dollars, T.V shows, and his
name on everything.
At 4:00am that morning, in Anaheim California, in a special cryogenic chamber built under a massive roller coaster ride, the night supervisor noted the increased brain activity of its frozen occupant.
‘The Director is highly active. He must be dreaming sweet dreams today.’