(no subject)
In a chair in the common room sits a newcomer, recently through the rift. Said newcomer has his knees drawn up to his chest and a camera clutched tightly and carefully in one hand, like a lifeline. He appears to be staring blankly out into the middle of the room. On closer inspection, the gaze doesn't shift, even the slightest bit.
Mark is not happy. He's not happy to be here, somewhere unfamiliar and unexpected. He's not happy with not knowing how he got here. He's really not happy with the rift, whatever that is (he didn't pay much attention to the explinations), for the new development of blindness. (Have you ever heard of a blind filmmaker? It's ridiculous.) Not to mention, the nagging emptiness that he's attributing to losing his sight.
Sulky and unnerved though he may be, the feeling of being utterly alone makes things ever worse. It couldn't make things worse if someone came to talk to him. It might even help a little.
Mark is not happy. He's not happy to be here, somewhere unfamiliar and unexpected. He's not happy with not knowing how he got here. He's really not happy with the rift, whatever that is (he didn't pay much attention to the explinations), for the new development of blindness. (Have you ever heard of a blind filmmaker? It's ridiculous.) Not to mention, the nagging emptiness that he's attributing to losing his sight.
Sulky and unnerved though he may be, the feeling of being utterly alone makes things ever worse. It couldn't make things worse if someone came to talk to him. It might even help a little.