#goddamn and in the state right above mine wtf

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch | Game of Thrones (All Eight Seasons in Three Weeks)

by Don Hall

On April 17, 2011, I watched the first episode of the first season of HBO’s Game of Thrones. I immediately loved it like so many others. I was so happy to see Sean Bean as another epic hero in a Lord of the Rings sort of drama. Before the second episode, a friend of mine let me know she had read the first book and that Ned Stark is beheaded shortly after.

“Fuck that!” I thought. “That’s some bait and switch bullshit.”

Despite the overwhelming pop-culture gravitas the next eight or so years held, I ignored the show from that point on. Sometime during Season Five, I decided that I’d wait until the goddamned thing was done and then I’d watch all of it in one fell swoop.

Thank you, COVID quarantine.

I’m not one of those DON’T SPOIL IT assholes unless it just opened, so I knew a number of things going in. Of course, that Ned Stark would get his head lopped off. I knew that there was something called The Red Wedding and all hell had broken loose after but didn’t know whose wedding it was or who got axed. I knew about Cersei’s walk of atonement but not the circumstances. I read some squawk about Arya finally getting laid and I knew that the finale disappointed, well, everyone. 

I also had heard that Daenerys dragon-flamed thousands in a bloodthirsty move, John Snow killed her, and that Brandon Stark was made the king at the end (all making long-time fans Twitter-furious).

I read that the show runners for the final season no longer had a book to adapt but an outline of possibilities from author George R.R. Martin and that there was a Starbucks cup present in Season 8, Episode 4.

Endings are hard. I recall really enjoying LOST during its six seasons. I loved the characters, the riddles, the labyrinth of theories about the island. I also have a sour taste in my mouth because I hated the conclusion. That failure to stick the landing tainted the entire six years of engaging and fun television.

I loved Spielberg’s AI: Artificial Intelligence but the last fifth of the film (the epilogue following the kid’s descent into the ocean staring at the statue of the Blue Fairy from Pinocchio) was both unnecessary and has made any repeated viewings uninteresting.

Stephen King is almost legendary for shitty endings to brilliant tales. The most notable is the creation of Pennywise the Serial Killing Clown. Easily on of the scariest villains ever penned only to reveal at the end that he is just a big fucking spider.

On the other hand, Six Feet Under, The Leftovers, and the most recent Watchmen all ended so well and I was so satisfied that they sit on a mental shelf of some of the best told stories I know.

Watching Season One of GoT and knowing the ending likely had me looking for clues. And the clues are there. Brandon Stark is the first significant character we see which indicates in some way that the whole thing is his story. Likewise, Daenerys shows us her impulsive anger and desire for power very early on. Throughout the series, both these aspects built a resume in my viewing that indicated the logic behind where it ended.

By Season Four, I realized that there are three things that define this sprawling storyline: a fixation on cocks (and the removal and absence of balls), broken vows and lies, and spectacular deaths. 

Lots of talk about testicles. Like almost ridiculous amount of time spent on so many characters without them. Ramsay Bolton cuts off Theon’s nuts and he became like a neutered puppy. Varys has a dude in a fucking crate he keeps as revenge for lopping his grape nuts off. Grey Worm, while often badass, still spends an awful lot of screen time either reminding us or him being reminded that he is a Ken Doll in the crotch.

Add to that the nearly non-stop cock bragging by Bronn, Tyrian (a dwarf in size but, oh, the size of his Johnson!), the mysterious primacy of Podrick’s magic man meat. Yeah, George had a fixation on dick and sack.

I could be wrong but the only character among hundreds who never told a lie or broke a promise was John Snow, right? I mean it was fucking 76 hours, so I may have missed it but it was almost a guarantee that no one in this series could be trusted ever.

By Season Six, if Martin were trying convey some sort of overarching message it was not that power corrupts but those who pursue power are corrupted by the pursuit. The only truly decent characters in the entire cast of hundreds are the ones who do not want to be in power. Ned Stark doesn’t want to be Hand of Robert Baratheon. John Snow has less than no interest to be Lord Commander, King in the North, or Occupant of the Iron Throne. Tyrian Lannister enjoys power but rarely seeks it. Arya Stark isn’t invested in acquiring power but instead skill to avenge injustice. Jorah Mormont only wants to serve a Queen he loves and is inspired by. 

Back to the spectacular deaths.

The best Death by Dragon Fire was the first, Kraznys mo Nakloz, the slave trader who sold the Unsullied to Daenerys.

Sansa Stark feeding Ramsay Bolton to his own dogs was well-deserved (he was maybe the only truly irredeemable character in eight seasons) and satisfying. I never liked Sansa but her double-tap with Arya killing Littlefinger was just exactly right.

Lyanna Mormont dying by being crushed by an undead giant just as she stabs it in the single blue eye was rad.

Oberyn Martell getting his eyes gouged and his skull crushed by The Mountain after one of the best single combat scenes in the series was awesome.

Tyrian capping his dad while Tywin is dropping a deuce wasn’t spectacular but was somehow perfectly fitting.

In my view, the best death was Arya’s assassination of Ser Meryn Trant. Gruesome, well deserved, and by the exact right means and by the right character. 

Arya Stark was, hands down, my favorite character in the entire thing. Her journey to Bravos and subsequent training and then what she did with that training was righteous. Tyrian was also a favorite and Peter Dinklage carried so much of this series it’s difficult to imagine any of it working without that specific actor playing that specific character. Third on this list was Bronn. Plain-spoken, always true to his nature, funny, and surprisingly honest in intent, Bronn felt like the audience stand-in in this world of royals, religious fanatics, and soldiers.

Also, I’ve been seeing cinematic dragons since I was a kid and these dragons were what I think real dragons would look like.

I understand the need for so many to want there to be messages of import from such a pop culture behemoth but I’m not so sure Martin was going for any of that. Aside from the idea that the act of pursuing power is the true corruption, any über-ideas were like the best characters — set up for our enjoyment only to be axed as soon as we fell in love with them.

The feminist message seemed to be that women are perfectly capable of being in charge and just as capable to be fuck ups and despots as well. The whole Bernie Sanders-ishness of Daenerys freeing all the slaves would be quite progressive except that, once freed, all her slaves tended to serve her, die for her, or kill for her. In fact, the two most prominent freed slaves — Grey Worm and Missandei — served virtually no distinguishing purpose in the storyline.

I read some pissing and moaning about the only two black characters in eight seasons either being killed off or becoming the tool of fascism and I’d be more distraught but Missandei was a cardboard cut-out of a character and Grey Worm was simply a follower. Not a lot on diversity in Westeros, you know?

But let’s look at that fucking ending.

If I were to throw out a recommendation to anyone thinking to watch the series for the first time, I’d say STOP AFTER “THE LONG NIGHT” AND GO NO FURTHER! First, the epic battle to defeat the Night King is a fucking ride and definitive. Season One, Episode One: “Winter is coming.” Season Eight, Episode Three: “Winter came and we kicked its ass.” Done. Finished. Second, after saving the world from the undead and the creepy snow god on his undead snow dragon (was that blue fire hot? Cold?) who gives a flying fuck about the Iron Goddamned Throne?

Sure you’d miss the fight between The Hound and The Mountain but after eight seasons of build up, that battle royale was pretty much just a brawl, devoid of the emotional pay off expected. You’d miss Daenerys burning the Red Keep and thousands of innocent women and children (which is some spectacular filmmaking and completely in character for her despite your need for her to rise above her obvious and oft-stated lust for power and vengeance). 

You’d also miss the two biggest missteps in the series: the deaths of both bloodthirsty Queens. Which ain’t much to miss because spending 76 hours of Cersei connive, betray, napalm hundreds in a church, fuck her brother, try to kill her other brother, lose her children, and become one of pop culture’s most indelible villains, she dies by getting rubble dropped on her. WTF? Are you kidding me? Not even a callback to the first episode and drop her out of window?

And, while I felt the transition from Mother of Dragons to Pol Pot was rushed, I bought that Daenerys let the rush of power seize her. But a character so larger than life, so imbued with destiny, dies by getting stabbed in the gut? WTF? Even her shitty brother got a molten gold crown.

In a series defined in some ways by creative and satisfying deaths, to punt the demise of two of the most interesting and central characters just blows.

The internet is filled with die-hard fans playing coulda/woulda/shoulda with the ending of Game of Thrones but that changes nothing. We are stuck with the ending we are given. 

I thoroughly enjoyed the world of Westeros. Like a book I’m thrilled to read, I feel a little wanting for more after the final page and I’m still hearing that goddamned catchy theme song in my head. I choose to pretend I never saw the final three episodes. I choose to end the series with the defeat of the Night King because once you save the world, who gives a fuck about almost anything else?

#I Like to Watch #Games of Thrones

[areswriting]

a x e : xviii

My shoulders shake with a silent sob as I fall against the wall behind me. I curl against it, my hand covering my eyes, because I can’t watch them take Elise away—but I know that they need to. In a perfect world, I would come to her rescue. No. In a perfect world, we wouldn’t be here. In a perfect world—she would be healthy and full of life. But this world is not perfect. She is not healthy—and what little life Elise has, she takes from herself every day.

The door slams shut and I’m ready to let myself fall to the floor and break into a hundred thousand pieces. I’m ready to find God and beg, plead, pray for him to spare her—we’ll stop what we’re doing, just please let her live. I can’t lose someone else. It’s less of a prayer and more of a bargain, but most of all it’s a realization. She’s the other half of my heart; the second beat. Or maybe the first—God, I just know I can’t live without her.

“Sir?”

I look up and see that I’m not alone—that the doctor didn’t leave the room. “Why aren’t you with her?” I try to shout, but my voice is small and broken.

“I assure you, she’s in great hands,” he says, stepping nearer. “You did well by bringing her in today. Had you not gotten her here when you did, she would have died.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I say. “And she did die—”

“She did,” he nods, “But you saved her life.”

I laugh and shake my head. “I stood in the corner—you saved her and you need to go and keep saving her.”

“We actually need her parents here to treat her since she’s underage,” he explains. “Do you know how to reach her mother?”

I shake my head. “Her mother isn’t in the picture—her dad’s name is Simon O’Hair, but he’s in California. You can’t wait for him to get here to help her.”

“Mr…?”

“Dyer,” I say.

“Mr. Dyer, we just need consent, it can be over the phone,” he explains. “We’re going to do everything that we can.”

▲ △ ▼ ▽

“What do you mean, I can’t see her?”

The nurse gently folds her hands and offers a look of sympathy even a blind person could see through. “I’m sorry, but Ms. Allaire is underage and we only allow immediate family in the ICU.”

“Can you at least tell me how she’s doing?” I ask. “She’s been back there for almost twenty-four hours.”

“As I’m sure her other nurses have informed you, we aren’t allowed to give information to anyone who isn’t family,” she says, plastering a fake smile to go with her fake compassion.

“This is ridiculous!” I snap. “Can you tell me if she’s breathing?”

The nurse sighs and pulls me into the corner of the room, where several pairs of eyes follow us. “She’s breathing, okay?”

“On her own?” I press.

“Yes,” she says quietly. “She’s breathing on her own. But I can’t tell you anything else.”

“Fine—thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes as I turn to walk away. I find comfort in a plastic recliner and look at my phone. My reflection on the black screen shows deep, dark circles around my swollen, blood shot eyes. My body begs for sleep, but my mind won’t let it come.

The screen lights up with a picture of Jason and I quickly silence and ignore his call. Within seconds, texts from him flood my notification bar.

J: Where are you? Are you with Elise? Are you guys ok?

J: The school notified dad and Cerise that you two aren’t here.

J: Wtf is going on?

J: Abram???

I consider not opening them—but that wouldn’t be fair to Jason.

I’m fine. Elise is in the hospital, they won’t tell me what’s wrong. Don’t tell Cerise.

No sooner than the message sends, Jason is calling me again—and I ignore him. Again.

I can’t talk. I’ll let you know something as soon as I know something.

J: Seriously?

I don’t bother opening the message, instead I turn it off completely and rest my head in my hands. I knew this day was going to come—I just thought I had more time. And that’s all I can think about for the next two hours.  

“Abram?”

I slowly raise my head. A dishevelled Simon runs toward me and I jump to my feet. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me and I shock myself by hugging him back—not knowing I needed that until it happened.

“Is she okay?” he asks, pulling away.

“They won’t tell me anything,” I say.

He nods and walks to the desk. I hear him tell the woman sitting there that he is Elise’s father and she presses a magical, hidden button that opens the door to the ICU. Once Simon disappears through it, I deflate back into the recliner and close my eyes. I’m at ease knowing that at least now, she isn’t alone.

A gentle hand on my shoulder stirs me and my eyes pop open revealing Simon bent down in front of me. I rub my eyes, looking from him to the clock on the wall—it’s three hours later than it was the last time I looked at it.

“Is everything ok?” I say, pushing myself out of the recliner.

Simon nods, smiling. “She’s stable and she wants to see you.”

“I’m not allowed,” I say, stifling a yawn as I stretch.

“I gave my permission,” he says. “Go, I’ll get us something to eat while you visit with her.”

When I look at the door, I see the nurse that had refused to let me go back motioning for me and I say thank you to Simon before power walking to her.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you come back earlier,” she says.

“Where do I go?” I say, not caring how sorry she is pretending to be.

She leads me through the ICU and directs me to room 9. I run through the open glass door to see Elise waiting with her arms outstretched.

I try not to fall on top of her when I hug her, but I can’t help but to pile myself onto the bed beside her. She clings to me and doesn’t let go and I feel her tiny body shaking against mine.

“Abram—I’m—I—I’m sorry,” she sobs against my neck as her small hands grip the back of my shirt.

I shush her and shake my head, my eyes filling with tears of relief. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I do,” she says. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you.”

“I’m just glad that you’re okay,” I say, my hand brushing down the back of her hair. “I was so worried.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” she goes on. She pulls away to look at me and I quickly wipe my faces with the back of my hand. “Abram, the doctor told me—he told me that you saved me.”

“I didn’t,” I say.

“You did,” she says, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “If you hadn’t forced me here—I would be dead. Technically, I did die, but you’re the only reason I’m still here.”

“You’re going to win this, Elise,” I say. I grab her hands—and for the first time, they are warm. “You already look so much better—I—”

“I know,” she says. She brings my hand up to her mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I know. This is going to sound vain and bratty but my teeth—they’re not healthy. I can’t lose my teeth.”

I laugh and cup her face and plant a kiss on her forehead. “If it takes the state of your teeth to help you, that’s fine—I just want you to be ok.”

She grips my wrists and leans into my palm before kissing it. I want to pull her in and kiss her mouth and it takes everything in me to stop myself from doing so.

“Abram,” says Elise, her eyes on mine. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

I swallow hard and gently shake my head, prying myself away from her. “Jason is really worried about you—you need to call him.”

Her eyes avert over my shoulder and her face falls. “Mama?”

It takes the sound of heels clicking for me to look over my shoulder. Cerise saunters from the door to the end of the bed, hair done up, all tight white dress and diamonds.

“Sors, ​​mon garcon,” Cerise snaps and lays her coat over the back of a chair. When I don’t budge she places her hands on her hips. “Voulez-vous que j'appelle la sécurité?”

“Abram, go,” Elise says, glaring at her mother. “I’ll be fine.”

With a scowl at her mother, I do as Elise says and leave her room. I find my way back to the waiting room and I feel my heart skip a beat then pound relentlessly when I take in Malachi, who stands with his arms folded across his chest.

“How did I know I’d find you here?” he says.

“Someone had to take her to the hospital,” I say.

“Does it look like I care?” Malachi replies. He places his hand on my shoulder—just where my bruises are starting to fade, and squeezes. “What did I tell you about embarrassing me?”

“Is there a problem here?” I look to my left to see Simon with two boxes of food in his hands. He sets them on a chair and moves to stand in front of my father.

Malachi releases his iron grip and extends his hand to Simon. “Malachi Rose. Abram’s father. And we only have one problem. My son.”

Simon looks at his hand but doesn’t take it. “Simon, Elise’s father,” he replies. “And I’m not sure what the problem is, exactly, seeing as though your son saved my daughter’s life.”

Malachi laughs. “He’s had some issues with skipping school, isn’t that right, Abram?” I nod and look at my feet. “I’m only here to make sure he gets back there.”

“Why don’t you let me give him a ride?” says Simon. “Their school isn’t that far from here.”

“That’s not necessary,” says Malachi. “I want to spend some quality time with my boy.”

▲ △ ▼ ▽

The tires squeal as the car turns out of the hospital parking lot, sending me flying against the passenger door. I try to adjust myself, but my seat belt locks up and I can hardly move.

“Is this how you were driving when you killed her?” Malachi asks as the engine revs and the car speeds off. “Like a fucking idiot?”

“Or did you brake too soon?”

I watch his foot slam onto the brake pedal, and if it wasn’t for my locked seat belt, I’m sure I would have gone through the windshield.

“Answer me, goddamn it!” he screams and pounds his fist onto the steering wheel. “You aren’t allowed to sit there and look like you’re scared—not after what you’ve done!”

He reaches over and unclicks my seatbelt, his foot pressing the gas pedal all the way down.

“Were you speeding? Huh? Answer me!”

“Someone hit us,” I scream back at him. “They came into our lane and—”

“Like this?” Malachi jerks the wheel to the left, just barely missing a car in the other lane. “Huh? Is that how it happened? You just let someone swerve over and hit you?!”

I grab the handle above the door with both hands, hanging onto it with a white-knuckle grip. Malachi doesn’t let off of the gas, and when we’re on the freeway, he swerves in and out of traffic until there are no cars in front of us.  

“She shouldn’t have died,” he says—and I’m more scared now that he’s not screaming. “She shouldn’t have died.”

And when I see tears roll down his cheek? I’m terrified.

“God, I would have died for her a hundred times—why did you do this to me?” His fist hits the steering wheel again, only this time it seems like all of his strength has been sucked out of his body. “Why, God. Why.”

He looks over at me—and his body shakes the same way mine does when I break. When anger is no longer enough to contain my pain. When it rips its way out of me.

“I can’t even look at you,” he says, and while I hear the disdain in his voice, I also hear something else. The vacant rattling sounds of something once soft, but now dead. “All I can see is her.”

“How do you think I feel?” I say. “When I look in the mirror and see her—but knowing I’m nothing but the worst parts of you.”

The back of Malachi’ hand slaps hard against my mouth, which immediately fills with blood.

“Hit me back,” he shouts, shoving me so hard that the car swerves. “Come on, you big fucking jug head. Hit me. Big bad hockey player—come on you pussy! HIT ME.”

“NO,” I shout, and blood spews all over his seat. “I may have gotten all of the worst parts of you—but I am better than you. I don’t beat on people, you fucking monster!”

The back of his hand hits hard against my mouth again, effectively silencing me the rest of the way back to Middlebury.

#ae #my writing