Extra Matcha Powder- a short story by Ted Dewberry

This is a little horror short story that came to me after reading an article
about "face blindness", a real condition called Prosopagnosia.  I hope you enjoy.


                                Extra Matcha Powder
                                              By
                                    Ted Dewberry

Parker arrived at five am at COFFEE BAR 23. On the food
court area of the CIA building’s secure floor, the area off
limits to everyone, but those with the highest security
clearance. After complaints from agents who had to go
through security twice, just to go to lunch, the agency began
hiring workers with certain useful “disabilities.”
The small coffee bar, that had sandwiches and pastries
too, was not the twenty-third concession in the building, but
was named after an Agent, a nameless agent who did something
BIG during the cold war, but had to forever remain nameless.
Just another black star on the CIA wall of honor.
Parker glanced down at him mise en place, cursing his age
as he fiddled with his new and now necessary bifocals. His
coffee was full and ready to be ground, his knee-level fridge
was filled with different milks, his syrups were on a little
dispenser next to the hand-off point and his “sprinkle-ons”
were in a row on the top of the NUVIO Espresso machine. Cups
and lids were stocked to the brim, a cleaning log indicated
when the Nuvio was last cleaned (the previous night, of
course). The only thing left was his pastries. Shaw, the
delivery guy was late.
Parker flipped on the power. The Nuvio started to
percolate, building up pressure. It was an old machine, a
manual tamper. Parker insisted on old school. He liked the
control of tamping the grounds. Hated how the sixty-thousand
dollar automated machines were destroying the art of pulling
a shot. How could a machine know the individual customer
that loved a little extra crema in the espresso. It
couldn’t. Parker could.
Soon Parker heard Shaw’s squeaky cart rolling down the
long hallway from the service elevator. The walk should have
taken two minutes, but Shaw like to milk the clock and
usually took five. Soon he smelled Shaw’s cheap cologne and
pomade hair gel, heard his aimless whistling.
“Mornin’” Shaw muttered as he passed by Parker who was
opening the pasty case from the front.
“I open in five minutes. Can’t you make it a little
earlier?” Parker asked.
“Traffic.” Shaw said. His usual excuse.
Parker loaded the pastries with military precision. In
less than a minute, the entire case was loaded full and neat.
The scones looked especially good today.
“Have a good 'un.” Shaw muttered as Parker closed the case.
“Just a minute. Do you have the invoice?” As Parker asked
this, Shaw stood up and faced him. Everything that Parker
saw, smelled, sensed, was normal on Shaw, with one exception.
Where there was normally a recognizable face on a person,
Parker saw nothing to indicate identity. The eyes, nose and
mouth became a menagerie of features without features, as if
he was looking at nothing. Face blindness it was called,
though it had a much longer name. Parker had it and this was
why the CIA hired him. He was able to serve coffee to anyone
in the building and could never describe their faces. Quite
an asset where keeping a covert agent’s identity secret was a
matter of life and death.
“I’m outta here.” Shaw left with an empty cart. Left in
a hurry. He had only three minutes to get back on the
service elevator to the unrestricted area. If he didn’t on
his own, the guards would help him along.
Soon, the five-thirty bell rang and a green light on the wall
indicated that everyone who didn’t have the clearance to be
there was gone.
“Hi Parker.” His first customer with the British accent. He
smelled of Bay Rum cologne, always dressed in a suit. He
only made appearances once ever few months.
“Hello, sir. Medium Vanilla Latte?”
“Bingo.”
As Parker steamed the milk, he glanced up at the agent, the
featureless blob, still unrecognizable, but darker than he
remembered.
“Bay Rum”, as Parker called him, swiped his CIA debit card
and took his drink.
“Excellent, old boy. You know, I always look forward to
coming to the home office to have a cup of your handiwork.
In the old days, you know what we had to drink?” Bay Rum
leaned in for emphasis.
“What, sir?”
“Instant.” Bay Rum said with a shiver. “Just ghastly.”
“I agree.” Parker suppressed a gag reflex.
After Bay Rum, a steady stream of faceless customers
followed. Triple espresso, hot chai, iced mocha, on after
another, Parker remembered his customer’s drinks by their
cologne, perfume, the scarf that they wore, their comb-overs.
With these clues alone, he got the drinks right every time.
He had a place here where his disability was appreciated, and
by extension, his barista skill were that much more valued.
He had a home here. He had a purpose. He was happy.
Then, it happened. The NEW customer.
“Green Tea Latte’, extra matcha powder please.” The new
customer said.
When greeting a customer, he always tried to look at where
the eyes should be on the face. The eyes were only partially
discernible from the rest of the face, but it was polite to
try and make eye contact. As he glanced up now, he saw
something that stopped him cold. Two brown eyes, a large and
sloped nose, a chiseled chin. It was so foreign that he
couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.
“What’s wrong?” Extra Matcha Powder asked in a smooth voice.
Parker felt his knees buckle beneath him.
“I’m sorry, sir, I’m just not feeling well.”
Moments later, a small crowd formed around Parker. The
CIA’s own medical team brought a wheelchair and started
taking his blood, just to be sure that he wasn’t poisoned.
The coffee bar was taped off for further investigation.
In a secured room, James, the security chief pulled up a
chair next to Parker.
“Can you explain what happened?”
“The new customer. I think...I saw...his face.” Parker
admitted.
“But, you have face blindness.” James asked.
“Yes. I only can guess that its a face, but the features are
clear. I’ve never seen a face before. Never.”
“Do you see my face?” James turned sideways as if that would
help.
“No. The woman who took my blood, I didn’t see hers either.
The only face I saw was the new customer, the one that
ordered the green tea latte’, extra matcha.”
Another security agent opened the door and whispered
something to James. He glanced at Parker.
“Go through the roster. New agents within the last month.
Bring them here.” James nodded confidently.
Parker felt a sudden jolt of fear run through him. He didn’t
want to see the face again. It was foreign, frightening, too
detailed, especially when near the regular featureless ones.
He felt certain that something was wrong. Hallucinations. A
brain tumor. There must be a reasonable explanation.
They didn’t even get as far as the line up. Through the
window, Parker saw “Extra Matcha Powder” tack clear nestled
in the middle of a row of faceless agents.
“The one with the blue tie. That’s him.”
“Sure?”
Parker nodded. “One hundred percent.”
Two heavily armored guards surrounded the man, each holding
an arm. They rudely threw the door open, dragging the man in
front of Parker.
“Easy. Easy.” Extra Matcha Powder said.
James didn’t look at the man, keeping his eye on Parker,
watching his reaction. It was hard to miss. Seeing the face
again, Parker tensed up like a spring.
“You’re new here. Parker here was chosen for this clearance
level because he is face blind. Now, he tells us that he can
see your face, only your face, clear as day. What do you
have to say?”
Extra Matcha Powder let out a long groan and eyed Parker with
disdain.
“He has Prosopagnisia?”
James nodded. “If that means face-blindness. You know the
proper name of every disorder, do you? Care to explain
what’s going on here?”
Extra Matcha Powder smiled awkwardly.
“Well, this is the one contingency we didn’t think of.”
“We?” James gestured to the guards. They threw cuffs on
Extra Matcha Powder and pushed him to his knees.
“I’m using a device that disguises my face with a mental
projection. That’s how he can see me.” Extra Matcha Powder
said cooly.
“Really, that’s some trick, since no such machine exists.”
James said, loosing his patience. “Why don’t you turn it
off?”
“You really don’t want me to do that.”
As Matcha Powder said this, James nodded to one of his
officers who slammed on the back with a nightstick.
He winced, flashes of light appearing on his skin.
“Very well, but remember, you are demanding this.”
“Turn it off, asshole!” James screamed.
Extra Matcha Powder looked into Parker’s eyes, smiling.
“Do you enjoy this, seeing a face?”
“No, not really.”
“Neither do I, each time I look in the mirror, I am
disgusted. Watch this.” Extra Matcha Powder turned his
head, quick and hard. A beeping sound, then his face turned
as featureless as the others, identical except for one
critical element, the color. Instead of featureless flesh
tone, it was featureless deep green.
James and the guards screamed like children locked in a
room with the bogeyman. The green shape extended out like
tentacles, hitting the heads of James and his guards. In one
motion, one simultaneous CRACK, the featureless faces of the
security men were reduced to a red stubs attached to necks.
The CRUNCHING sound echoed in the room as Extra Matcha Powder
chewed the bone, eyes, brain and skin in less time than it
takes someone to swallow a pill. He snapped the handcuffs
like they were made of string.
Parker felt warm, hot fluid splash on him. Solid piece of
something wet landed on his shirt. Looking down, he saw a
piece of cerebellum.
Extra Matcha Powder turned his head swiftly with another
click. The face projection, the human face returned, his
lips covered in red bone fragments. He wiped it on his
sleeve.
“What are you gonna do to me?” Parker asked, trembling.
“This incident doesn’t change anything. Just moves up the
date a bit.” Extra Matcha Powder said, getting the last of
the blood off.
“So you’ll let me live?”
Extra Matcha Powder smiled like a salesman.
“In two weeks, after we process Earth, there won’t be a
single human alive on this planet.” He patted Parker’s
shoulder in a gesture of consolation.
“If I were you, I’d, how do you say it on Earth, ‘Party Party
Party.’”. Extra Matcha Powder strolled out into the hallway,
straightening his blue tie. He took one look back at the
terror-struck Parker and pointed at him.
“I’ll miss your green tea latte’s. Tasty!” He clicked his
tongue and laughed as he turned the corner and vanished,
leaving Parker in a blood-soaked interrogation room.
THE END

"Extra Matcha Powder" Dewberry,Ted

The Art of Human Salvage

Over the last weekend, The Art of Human Salvage won an award at the Philip K. Dick Science Fiction Film Festival for "Best African-American, Latino and Person of Color: BEST SHORT FILM".
Congrats to Dempsey Tillman and all of the cast and crew!

I thought it might be a good segue to talk about the writing process for The Art of Human Salvage as the original feature script that was a Shriekfest finalist in 2011.  After working in retail for three years, I began to envision a future completely dominated by corporations.  A world gentrified to the point where there was nothing was offensive or dangerous, but at the same time, all the individuality was gone.  All the color was gone.  I remember that when someone got fired at the giant furniture-selling corporation where I worked, they were never fired, but "separated".  When raises were given that often amounted to less that a quarter per hour, you were expected to be grateful, even when it was a million miles away from a living wage.  The CEO was worshiped like a deity.  We were warned that the things we did in our personal lives might cause us to get "separated", an off-color Facebook posting for instance.
I imagined this one giant corporation running the world.  What would be the first freedom to take? 
My answer was THE ARTS. (It always seems to be the arts)  For the main character, eight-year-old Dominik, it was photography.
Photography was my first art form from the time I was Dominik's age.  I would take pictures with a crude Instamatic camera and work with the limitation of the medium made for casual snapshots, eventually graduating to more "professional" platforms.  Still, that Instamatic period stayed with me.  I used that stripped-down simplicity and took it to the next level as Dominik, a slave in an opium den, uses raw materials not only to create his own camera, but to make his own film under the instruction of one of his old-addict customers, an artist from a world before The Corporation.  The execution of this skill is enough to warrant a death sentence or, as The Corporation calls it, "SEPARATION".

This was where I began.  Where I ended up was a feature script with Salvage Officers (the good guys), Slingers (the very bad guys), and a mysterious CEO that never appears in person, but is universally worshiped.  When Dempsey Tillman made the short-film version of The Art of Human Salvage, he provided a glimpse into the world of The Corporation.  There is much more to see and many more doors to open.  I look forward to the day when the feature film is made and the world can open all the doors. 

"East Hollywood" Positive Feedback!

 Michele Montserrat wrote this wonderful feedback about "East Hollywood" which goes live as an ebook today on Amazon.com!

"Ted Dewberry has a book coming out on Amazon this coming Friday the 15th. Got a chance to read a pre-pub version and here's my review. Enjoy!

http://www.amazon.com/East-Hollywood-Ted-Dewb…/…/B019926MQA/

This is an unflinching look at the frenzied, fast food and sex-soaked world and home life of Dr. Tulare, a medical doctor practicing in Los Angeles, California and a frequent patron of Heretic Mountain for magical spells, black and otherwise. His son, Ted Tulare, does the best he can to cope with his father’s revolving crew of ex-con girlfriends, prostitutes, drug addicts and other sketchy characters who set up camp at their rented apartment in East Hollywood. Still dealing with the aftermath of his mother’s death by an overdose a number of years ago, the boy roams LA with his best friend Jerome, and dreams of the day when his dad will give him the Caddy on his 16th birthday. With the help of liberal doses of alcohol, movies, and weed, the boy is able to tune out some of the unrelenting chaos of his father’s home, while highlighting the food, culture, and street life of LA in 1984. Mr. Dewberry has done a great job of capturing a miasma of domestic abuse and neglect, leavened with a dark, wry humor – along with many, many scenes of chili cheese fries and chicken.

From the moment the book begins, a creeping despair unfolds. East Hollywood is not a happy, well-lit room. This frank and brutal tale of a father who has no qualms of inflicting his lifestyle on his child will not be the cup of tea for the reader who prefers their fiction light and upbeat. If you aren’t in the mood for a midnight coming-of-age tale, keep browsing the e-book listings.

But, before you take a pass on East Hollywood, consider - sometimes it can be fun to see how each fresh hell unfolds. Suspense and horror films continue to do great box office, and this book appeals to that artistic sentiment. Dewberry keeps the narrative moving with just the right touch of humor to keep the reader engaged, wondering just exactly how the boy deals with the train wreck his home has become under the narcissistic Dr. Tulare. So, while I found myself cringing to read such lines as “The chicken was hot with grease pockets that spurted on your face like a porn star,” and “Stayed at the hotel with this blonde with the biggest tits in Glendale.” Then I was delighted as the story shifts through humor, and then turns lyrical; the emotional wonder of the boy’s first trip to Yosemite, and his musing on the “…sweet dreams of Santa Ana winds and the trees with fragrant purple flowers that lined Prospect Avenue." Many moments like these lift this story out of the mire, and I appreciated both their beauty and the space they leave in the narrative for the reader to catch the breath.

Finally, toward the end of the book, the threatening and ominous people out on the streets of LA are seen with new eyes by Tulare’s son. He muses then how the prostitutes and drug dealers and colorful characters are actually the engine of life and color on the street, a world that will too soon be sadly gone, eaten up by the march of gentrification; “All of that would be eviscerated from East Hollywood. It would be bought up and processed. It would, itself be made into the whore of the corporate world, looking like any other street in any other city.”

East Hollywood. A gritty, witty journey through the heartbreak of family dysfunction. I know I was left sad, wondering, disgusted, and laughing by turns. Sometimes it’s good to read a story like that. A wild ride which I recommend."

Writer Profile: Edward Santiago

I met Edward at Shriekfest in 2014.  We were both screenplay finalists and have kept in touch since then.  It was a true pleasure to be present when Edward won the Shriekfest prize for best screenplay in the feature Fantasy/Sci-Fi category for his script "Knights of the Valiant Heart".
 
I had a chance to ask Edward a few questions about his writing process and about the path that got him this far in his career.

TED:
Edward, many who write have a seminal moment when they knew that writing is what they wanted to do.  Did you experience that and, if so, could you describe it?


EDWARD:
During my life, I had many moments that I realized that I wanted to write and create stories, mostly film and graphic novels, to entertain people. My journey has had many points in which I almost lost sight of who or what I wanted to be. I always loved film since I was a kid, growing up with Horror and Science Fiction films.
If I could say that there was one moment when I realized that I wanted to create something, I would say when I was presented a copy of Fangoria magazine in the early 80’s. At the time, I was so scared of horror movies back then that I would hide behind the couch just to avoid seeing the movie. My older brother bought me that magazine, and there was this article about make up effects. This is the point that I realized that these were gags! It was fun to be scared, and the movies were a fantasy.  I realized that from that point on that I wanted to create these awesome fantasies and come up with ways to have fun with the audience.  Hence I decided that I wanted to write these stories and have fun!



TED:
I think the toughest time in a writer's career is the period just before a publisher, agent, manager, contest etc. recognizes your talent for the first time.  In my case, it felt like trudging through a dark wilderness with no sense of direction.  What was this pre-recognition period like for you?

EDWARD:
Up to this point, that is still a feeling that I have, not only as a writer but also as a person. You’re wondering how you’re going to pay bills, buy food, healthcare, and all the basic day-by-day living expenses. It’s a scary feeling, knowing that you have a talent and that it’s very difficult to find people willing to look at your work and decide to take a chance on you.
This past month I’ve called about 65 different production companies. Out of these, about 10 requested a query letter. So far I’ve got only three requests for the script. I guess perseverance is your greatest ally. Of course you have to wait what would be the possible outcome while still try to survive the best you can with what you got.

TED:
So what specifically was your first success?


EDWARD:
My first success as a writer was to finish my MFA in Creative Writing at Full Sail University. This gave me the push to work for my dream. This had led me to win the 2015 Shriekfest Film Festival screenplay competition for best fantasy script.

TED:
What was the experience of winning like for you:

EDWARD:
It was a great surprise and what made it special was that I enjoyed being among peers and friends to celebrate that moment. It's wonderful that a story that I wrote was enjoyed by the judges and other readers.

TED:
What advice would you give to a screenwriter who is starting from scratch today?

EDWARD:
I would say to read books like Syd Field's "Screenplay" or Chris Vogle's "The Writer's Journey". Learn structure, read scripts, watch movies. Listed to great dialogue and find out why it works. Never stop learning. If you can go to school to learn it, great. if you can't, then look for seminars. Be with people who encourage you. Just fight for it. Don't let anybody else tell you that you can't do it. If you listen to them, then you won't make it.

TED:
What's ahead for your writing, Edward?

EDWARD:
Right now I'm working on developing my next script, 135 Rue St., a horror comedy about a Reality Home Improvement TV Show crew that they end up in a house with an evil spirit inside. I also want to explore different genres, maybe a musical drama about the pressures of being an all-female rock band and how friendships would be tested by the pressures of fame.
I hope that I'll be able to make a sale soon. It's been hard work, and a lot of disappointments, but I'm still here hanging on!(that's a hard one lol) I'll be honest. Sometimes it's very hard. I recently had a "no" from a very promising contact. It hurts. It really does. But It will pass and I have to move on. Dwelling too much is counter productive. Just let it pass, get up and try again.

TED:
Thank you, Edward for an insightful conversation!

My First Blog!

My First Blog!

Hello everyone.  This blog is all about writing.  While I will be talking about my writing (BOOKS AND SCREENPLAYS), I will also be interviewing other writers who may not be well known yet.  The purpose of these discussions is to talk about the process that a writer goes through to create their work and to offer insight to readers that might be interested in tackling that book or screenplay. The process certainly doesn't end when you write FADE OUT.  There is the rewriting process that requires most writers to put their early draft in the hands of an editor or other trusted individual.  What follows is the process of digesting the feedback, requiring the writer to discern between good notes that solve major, unseen problems and bad notes that will send the story off into oblivion.  

Then there is the question of how you get your project out into the world.  In my personal experience as a screenwriter, screenplay contests have spearheaded the building of my brand and provided me valuable networking opportunities.  These opportunities have led to attention from filmmakers, culminating in the 2014 production of  "THE ART OF HUMAN SALVAGE" short film (based upon my feature screenplay) by director Dempsey Tillman, starring Edward James Olmos, Jamie Walters and Matthew Boylan.  See the website here.
 This short film went on to garner several awards, including an award for the screenplay and has an excellent chance to be made into a feature film in the near future.

Recently my writing has expanded to include novels including "POLYBIUS", a science fiction novel about a 1981 video game programmed to drive players insane and "EAST HOLLYWOOD"  A coming of age story about a young boy trying to coexist with his hedonistic physician father in the wild days of early 80's East Hollywood.
See my author page here.  

I look forward to discussing my work and my process with my readers.  This is really about the nuts and bolts of writing as well as the inevitable pitfalls that come at us.  The take away from the discussions here is that YOU are not alone with your struggles and disappointments.  Success can sometimes take many years of hard work with difficult and sometimes comedic struggles in the wilderness of obscurity.  I hope this blog can be a little flashlight that makes it easier to see the forest trail to your eventual destination.