Redshirts

chipper little Gawker reporter wanted to know if I had anything I wanted to say about it. Sure, here’s what I want to say:
    Fuck.
    That is all.
    And now I’m going to spend the remaining few hours as a writer on The Chronicles of the Intrepid doing what I probably should have been doing the moment all this shit started: sitting on my couch with a big fat bottle of Jim Beam and getting really fucking drunk.
    Thanks, Internet. This little adventure has certainly been an eye-opener.
    Love,
    Apparently Not-So-Anon-a-Writer, After All
    *   *   *
    Dear Internet:
    First, I’m hung over and you’re too damn bright. Tone it down.
    Oh, wait, that’s something I can fix on my end. Hold on.
    There. Much better.
    Second, something important’s happened. I need to share it with you.
    And to share it with you I need to go into script mode again. Bear with me.
    EXT — FEATURELESS EXPANSE WITH ENDLESS GROUND REACHING TO THE HORIZON — POSSIBLY DAY
    ANON-A-WRITE—aw, fuck it, half the Internet already knows anyway: NICK WEINSTEIN comes to in the expanse, clutching his head and wincing. ANOTHER MAN is by him, kneeling casually. Some distance behind him is a crowd of people. They, like the MAN near NICK, are all wearing red shirts.
    MAN
    Finally.
    NICK
    (looks around)
    Okay, I give up. Where am I?
    MAN
    A flat, gray, featureless expanse stretching out to nowhere. A perfect metaphor for the inside of your own brain, Nick.
    NICK
    (looks at MAN)
    You look vaguely familiar.
    MAN
    (smiles)
    I should. You killed me. Not too many episodes ago, either.
    NICK
    (gapes for a second, then)
    Finn, right?
    FINN
    Correct. And do you remember how you killed me?
    NICK
    Exploding head.
    FINN
    Right again.
    NICK
    Not your head exploding, though.
    FINN
    No, someone else’s. I just happened to be in the way.
    (stands, points over to the crowd, at one guy in particular)
    He’s the guy whose head you blew off. Wave, Jer!
    JER waves. NICK waves back, cautiously.
    NICK
    (stands, also, unsteadily, peering)
    His head looks pretty good for having been blown off.
    FINN
    We figured it would be easier for you if you didn’t see us all in the state you killed us in. Jer would be headless, I would be severely burned, others would be dismembered, partially eaten, have their flesh melted off their bones from horrible disfiguring diseases. You know. Messy. We thought you’d find that distracting.
    NICK
    Thanks.
    FINN
    Don’t mention it.
    NICK
    I’m assuming this can’t be real and that I’m having a dream.
    FINN
    This is a dream. It doesn’t mean it’s not also real.
    NICK
    (rubbing his head)
    That’s a little deep for my current state of sobriety, Finn.
    FINN
    Then try this: It’s real and taking place in a dream, because how else can your dead talk to you?
    NICK
    Why do you want to talk to me?
    FINN
    Because we have something we want to ask of you.
    NICK
    I’m already not killing any more of you. I’ve got writer’s block, because of you. And I’m about to lose my job, because of the writer’s block.
    FINN
    You’ve got writer’s block, yes. It’s not because of us. Not directly, anyway.
    NICK
    It’s my writer’s block. I think I know why I have it.
    FINN
    I didn’t say you didn’t know why you had it. But you’re not admitting the reason why to yourself.
    NICK
    Don’t take this the wrong way, Finn, but your Yoda act is getting old quick.
    FINN
    Fine. Then I’ll put it this way: Denise Hogan? She was right.
    NICK
    (Throws up his hands)
    Even in my own brain, I get this.
    FINN
    You’re a decent enough writer, Nick. But you’re lazy.
    (motions toward the crowd)
    And most of us are dead because of it.
    NICK
    Come on, that’s not fair. You’re dead because it’s an action show. People die in action shows. It’s one of the reasons it’s called an action show.
    FINN
    (looks at NICK, then points to a face in the crowd)
    You! How did you die?
    REDSHIRT #1
    Ice shark!
    FINN
    (turning to NICK)
    Seriously, an ice shark? What’s even the biology on that?
    (turns back to the crowd)
    Anyone else randomly eaten by space animals?
    REDSHIRT #2
    Pornathic crabs!
    REDSHIRT #3
    A Great Badger of Tau Ceti!
    REDSHIRT #4
    Borgovian Land Worms!
    NICK
    (to REDSHIRT #4)
    I didn’t write the land worms!
    (to FINN)
    Seriously, those aren’t mine. I keep getting blamed for those.
    FINN
    That’s because you’re the senior writer on the show, Nick. You could have raised a flag or two about the random animal attacks, whether you wrote them or