Sample Story: "The Fine Line Between an Actor and a Liar"
This was one of the few days each year when Andy was at work.
Casually, he sprinkled water onto the landing of the mall’s high staircase. He limbered himself up, and began his theatrical breathing exercises.
***
Acting hadn’t worked out for Andy. He’d been a high-school thespian and pursued theater well into college, until his parents’ money ran out. His training and talents hadn’t gone to waste: Andy found a livelihood far more lucrative, and with better hours, than that of a struggling actor.
Andy was a slip-and-fall artist: a professional victim. He had learned to turn his theater skills toward convincing juries of imagined injuries.
It took a while to build himself up. At first, Andy brought pocketed bones into restaurants just to get a free meal. But it didn’t take too long to rack up an impressive rolodex of ambulance-chasing lawyers and script-forging doctors.
Andy’s first big score came when he noticed an ice-cream parlor with a steeper-than-average stairway from the parking lot. An average conman might have pulled a simple slip-fall-and-sue.
But Andy was classically trained.
A costume cane and a forged doctor’s note added to the effect when Andy came tumbling down those concrete step. The brilliant stroke was his lawyer’s, who had realized that Andy could sue the owner of the shop not just for personal injury, but also for not being ADA-compliant. That had been years ago, and Andy was still receiving his monthly settlement checks.
Afterward, lawsuits, especially class-actions, became Andy’s bread-and-butter.
He’d purposefully driven his Toyota into a streetlight, blaming the incident on a faulty accelerator. The jury was told that Andy would never walk again.
But after the settlement came through, Andy had miraculously recovered.
Andy had sustained “life-threatening” injuries from diet-supplements, exercise-equipment, and erectile-dysfunctions pills. He’d fallen down more stairs and been hit by more cars than anyone else in the city.
***
Andy took one last glance down the mall’s stairs, making sure there was a clear path and plenty of witnesses below.
He began walking briskly toward the wet tile. He brought his feet up and made sure to twist his face into a mask of fear and surprise. Tucking into an impact-absorbing shape, Andy tumbled more-or-less harmlessly down the flights of stairs onto the floor below. He kept his face contorted in pain, and glanced around to gauge the public’s reaction.
A man was already running up to Andy’s landing-site.
“Somebody get help!” The man called as he knelt down next to Andy’s prone form.
Andy looked up at the good-Samaritan and experienced an instant rush of recognition: a worried face from behind an ice-cream counter; a distraught figure on the witness stand; a signature on settlement checks.
Andy tried to speak, but the man clamped his hand down over Andy’s mouth. With surprising strength, the man’s other hand twisted Andy’s head in an unnatural direction.
The snapping of bone and Andy’s screams were muffled by the man’s shouting: “Somebody call 911! I think his neck is broken!”