Fic; How Do You Measure? (1/2)
Title: How Do You Measure (1/2)
Pairings: cara/kahlan, dahlia/garen, bedine/raina, kahlan/richard (implied), denna/dahlia
Rating: pg13
Word count: 4000+
Warnings: it's a rent xover so drug use and aids feature heavily, but are only vaguely referred to.
A/N: since I haven't used names to clarify: richard: the film maker, kahlan: the performer, cara: the thinker, dahlia: the lover, garen: the musician, berdine: the philosopher, raina: the dreamer, denna: the snake.
Also, this fic is for legendland bigbang, but was written because of xixlovexgreenx and wouldn't have gotten out of my brain without her and synergyfox putting up with my moaning and flailing. Also jolo_65 needs love for being badass and beta'ing super quick for me.
Disclaimer: I don't own rent or legend of the seeker, make no money, done only for enjoyment
Zoom in. On the window of the penthouse apartment. On the fight scene within, in full swing. Dark haired beauty passionately enraged. As the ever smiling doltard fails to calm her.
In frustration she throws up her arms. An air of repetition clear. They have had this fight before. A thousand times. And once. Accompanying scream of anger filters out through the dusty cracked window. Down to the cold street below.
She will storm out. Will not return this time. Done with this scene. The end of their particular chapter.
As the curtain falls on this relationship. As the first frost cracks at the window pane. Zoom out to a panoramic view. Of the run down tenement block. Of this small microcosm of a universe. Of the lives so radically changed. Starting from this point. Rippling out to shape their lives. Unseen.
***
Close up. As the curtain rises. To reveal a group of people. Friends. Like so many others. The film maker. The dreamer. The philosopher. The performer. The musician. The lover. The thinker.
There they stand. Lives interwoven. Inseparable. Yet fragile. In their existence. Their links. Tentative. Bound but for the moment it all comes crashing down.
How may one measure a life? Even a year within one. A defining year. A final year. Another year in a constant stream of them. In days survived. In miles traversed. In lives touched. Loves lost.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
Described in time. Or acts. In words, perhaps deeds. One year. Seemingly like any other. For one final. For others transient. For all it shapes them. Changes them. As each day has the power to do. Brings them together. Forges bonds. Breaks hearts. Batters bodies.
How to quantify a life, a year within. How to describe. To explore, explain. Document. Simply follow the love.
Remember the love.
***
Fast forward. Skip the adverts. To when our story begins.
December 24th 1989 9pm. Eastern Standard Time.
See the world though the lens of a camera. An all seeing emotionless eye. Easier that way. To detach from the world it shows. A world torn apart. Ravaged and raped. Post apocalyptic. Waiting for life to begin again. For normality to return. For love and kindness. Relying on hope of the future. Living for today. This day. A world living in terror. That there may not be a tomorrow.
Unscripted. We will go off the cuff. See if anything comes of it. Try to document reality. Real life. Yet it all seems fictitious. So fantastic it could not be conjured. No mind that warped.
A land of plenty. Where many live below the poverty line. A land built on freedoms. Oppressing those who do not fit. Do not conform.
And it all comes back to money. The having and the getting. That little slip of paper. With the face of a dead man. A number. Arbitrary in the grand scheme. Trivial. Vital to survival.
The film maker returns to his humble abode. Met by the hermit musician. In her new role as recluse. No power. No heat. Cold winter wind rushes through broken windows. Chills them to the bone.
Start a fire. Try to get warm. Block out the cold. The world outside. The truths beyond these walls. Carried on an arctic gust.
Burn the past down. Start again. As heat spreads to their fingers. Warmth spreads to their faces. Screen plays crackle with incendiary wit. Sheet music ignites the air with passionate fire.
Phone rings. Familiar voice. The philosopher's smiling face below. Returned triumphant. The conquering hero.
See the philosopher resplendent in victory. See the dark shadows surround her. See her run. Flee. Flight from the fight. See her bleed. Slumped. Beaten. Broken. Ragged breath followed by ragged breath.
The pain runs deep. Reaches deep inside. Further than you can even recognise. Tearing you inside out. Until you are torn apart. And there is nothing left. Noting recognisable.
Try to reach out. Make a connection. Yet be betrayed. By everyone. Everything. In an age of technology. Advancement. In an age where strangers, lovers, landlords, your own blood cells betray. Watch it all fall apart. This fabric of time and space. Reality. The raging shifting winds of change. Rip away. Expose the naked underbelly. The soft fleshy parts of your soul.
As above the fire burns. Heat of rebellion. Glow of hope. Fire of indignation bright.
Burn the past to the ground. Wait for the future to rise. The eternal phoenix of possibility.
***
Cue the rise of dark music. Signalling something imminent. The rise and fall of a sorrowful cello. Entangled with the haunting melody of a piano. As the snake arrives. Judas. Surveys her kingdom. Old friend. Money’s lapdog. Sold out for love. Of money. Power.
Sweet words. Laconic gestures. Ever present smile of the serpent. So different now to how she once was. Once a dreamer. Like them. Turned schemer. A builder now set to destroy. Tear down. Aiming to bring an end to their existence. One she used to share. Now watching. From the sidelines. Elevated by fortune. Sulking in the shadows. Skulking. Longing for what she cannot want.
Grand designs. Elaborate plans. Draw them in. Suck them down into her world. Her dark abyss. Of suits and deadlines. Bottom lines and sell outs. Where the good of the few outweighs the good of the many. If it is the right few.
Listen to her silken tongue. As it spins her lies. Making promises. Deals. With the devil. Once friend. Now enemy. The system made manifest. The rich and powerful standing before them. All that causes them to rebel. To rise up. Speak out.
Taking shelter from the homeless. Money from the poor. But it‘s all ok. It’s alright. Because It’s A Wonderful Life is on TV.
Leave an ultimatum. A ticking bomb. Threatening to destroy all they have built. Created. But she will return. Always drawn back to what she once had. Could never want to return to.
***
Enter stage left. The dreamer. Hoper. The angel in this tale. Watch her descend. Softness in the harsh winter night. A light amongst the dark. A light amidst the dark.
The good Samaritan. Small act of kindness. Take care of the stranger. Heal her wounds. Be what everyone else fails to be. Human. Humanity. Simple acts forgotten in a complicated world.
A helping hand. Leading to so much more in later acts. But for now there is just this. An offer of help. From the angel to the philosopher. All that is required at this juncture.
Close scene. As they walk off into the darkness. Not hand in hand. But one resting heavy on the other. But this is more than romance. This reality. Life.
***
Watch as the musician reflects. Exposes her pain.
A year of withdrawals. A shorter life span for it all. And a broken heart. To seal her fate. Explain her pain. Tortured soul a little more tortured. Battered. Bruised.
One dream. To express it all. Make her life somehow mean something. Before virus takes hold. Before life is no longer worth living. Not that she lives. Not that any one does. Merely tries to survive. Make it through the day.
Find the lyrics. The notes. The meaning. To all of this. Make a meaning. For an otherwise empty life.
Reminisce on the past. On the pain. Long for the refrain. The bridge. The applause and final curtain. To mark the end. Signal something better is close to hand.
Find glory. A blaze of glory. Beyond cheap coloured lights. The roar of the crowd. Find something real. In a life of fallacy. Words rings true. Truth. The cleansing fire.
Before time flies. Dies. Fades into nothing. Forgotten in the darkness.
***
Flashback. For narrations sake. Continuity.
Scene:
A dark and smoky club. Underground. In a forgotten part of town.
Characters:
Blonde in a beaten red leather jacket. Tough exterior. Hiding a more beaten heart. Fragile.
Dark beauty. White shirt suggesting a purity long since lost.
This is the first time. A crossing of paths. Random happenstance. Brief dalliance. To become something more. Possibly. Always possible. As permanent as anything can be. At least here. Now.
This is the last time. That the performer gives as much as she takes. That the thinker will feel special. More than a shadow against the night sky. But it is enough. In a world of darkness. To bask in the light of brief moments. Hold to them. Feel their warmth. Stave off the cold.
***
The quintessential seduction scene. Stock and standard. Except nothing is. Nothing can be. In this world where nothing grows. Where we all just die. Where disease stalks corridors. Silent menace. Ever lurking dark shadow. Clouding everything. Blocking out the sun.
A rare moment of connection. Raw from memories of the past. The musician lets her defences down. On a cold night. In a cold city. In a cold world. And lets the lover in. Forgets to keep her distance. To close herself off. For a moment at least.
Light a candle. Illuminate the darkness. Banish shadows to dark corners.
And the lover dances. An elaborate age old dance of temptation. So close. Yet out of reach. Where she must remain. The musician tries to remain stoic. Hide behind indifference. Almost trick herself. So long since she has played this game. Rusty at this dance. Awkward. Stilted. Youth and life. And all the things she should not touch. Would only tarnish.
Something familiar. Moonlight. On hair that begs for fingers to run through it. Searching eyes. Easy to get lost in. Smile. Almost familiar. And something new. Fresh. Vibrant. Alive. Drawing them closer. Touch electric. Will not dwell. Try to ignore.
A child. Born to be bad. Kindred spirit. Memory of a dark past. Of temptation. And life. And love. And feeling. Dangerous. Touch the fire. Might get burnt. May burn. And never even notice.
Flirt. Tempt. Tease. Forget for a moment. Almost ignore the pain. The fear. Almost live.
***
The angel descends. A bright light. Illuminating their dark little corner of the world. Laughter fills a room long silent. Smiles reach eyes long cold. Cover face which thought they had forgotten.
She makes them feel again. Makes them remember what living was. And everything is less bleak. Black. Almost bearable. As though the sun peaks out from behind clouds. As though it may rise again tomorrow.
As if they were only waiting. For this moment. To remember what life is. What it’s all about. What they fight for. Shout about. Why they seek something beyond this existence.
The dreamer. The angel. Bringing gifts of bread and wine. Well, Stolle. A messenger from somewhere else. A miracle. For them. With them. Simply to remind them.
What it is to smile. To live. To feel.
***
Exposition scene. Examine the characters motivations. Psyche.
Scratch the surface. But no deeper. Any further and it will all fall apart. Keep it just below the surface. Heart on sleeve seemingly vulnerable. But if you can see it, it cannot be broken. Know where it is. That it continues to beat.
The film maker must learn to speak. To see she was blind for so long.
The thinker must learn to feel. To bend without breaking.
And they must dance. Learn their part in the performers elaborate routine. The take and take. The push. Always giving. Always pulling. Trying to hold on to her. To grasp at that which cannot be touched. Always just out of reach.
Except when she remembers. And looks at them. Eyes so blue stop the world. Make hearts race. And it’s worth it. Because eyes so cold, burn.
She can make them swoon. Make them forget to breathe. Makes the world turn and the stars come out and the sun rise.
She is a dark dizzy merry go round. And this is truth. Whilst they cling to lies like life rafts. Whilst their heart she is mangling. They play dumb.
And she is everything. Every moment. Every movement. Every musical note. Believe it’s all alright. Because it’s worth it. The fire in your brain. Might as well dance a tango to hell. At least they’ll have tangoed tonight.
And it's almost enough. Every hour apart. Every kiss doubted. Every roving eye and pretty girl. Because she looks at them. And her eyes burn in to the very fabric of their existence.
***
Community built on disease. In a world built on pain. Fitting somehow.
Find safety amongst others like you. Of your kind. Accept. Learn to ignore the fear. To fight it each day.
Believe and it might just come true. In this world of fantasy. Magic cures more plausible than real ones. When no one cares.
Learn to live for today. Know tomorrow is not certain. Live for the day. Or fail to live at all. Become the walking dead. Alive in name only. Just waiting for the end. The day the disease takes holds.
Scan faces. Hoping against hope. Fighting a battle they know they will lose. Finding strength to battle the darkness. The weakness. The virus that is taking hold.
There is only today. There is only this. Forget regret. Or life is yours to miss.
***
Dance like everyone is watching. As though your life depends upon it. Because it does. Sex sells. So sell your body to the highest bidders. Look but do not touch. Breathe but do not exist.
Claws out of the darkness. The filth and depravity. Tarnishing her pale beauty. Into the darker night. Yearn for the bright lights and loud music. To banish the shadows. Quiet the mind. Yearns for a hard body. To dispel the loneliness. To believe for a moment. She is not alone.
The lover. The leaver. Running from her own mind. Her own body. Own life. Constant motion. Rolling stone. Stay still and they will think you’re dead. Stop moving and it might catch up to you. She might catch up to herself. Find herself. When all she wants to do is lose herself. Hide. Not in shadows. But in plain sight. Under bright lights. On cold and lonely nights.
Disappear. Become someone else. Leave this life behind. At least for tonight. It is all she wants. All she asks. To live in this moment. For this moment.
And it scares the musician. Locked away in her safe danger. Isolated in her world of fear. Where light and life dare not tread. That she might feel. That she might smile and laugh. And live. In the moment. For a moment. With the other.
***
Life is not for living. Nothing but a death sentence. A brief reprieve. Before the hangman’s noose. Before the dawn and the cutting block. So she lives like death. To atone for sins she did not commit. To make amends for living life. Once. For those moments. With that other. In that other world, a life time ago. So full of life. So tainted by death. That now, here, she dare not live at all.
Cannot stand the sight of life. The taste of it. Banish it from her deep dark dwelling place. Intimidate. Insult. This woman with moonlight in her hair. Big grey eyes so full of promise. Life. Love. Of possibility.
So young. Thinking herself wise. Knowing that life is meant to be lived. To be taken hold of. Shaken. To get every drop of existence from its jealous grasp.
Indignation. At the intrusion. Interrupting her glory song. Her meaningful song. Interrupting her loneliness. Isolation. Her meaningless, unimpressive existence.
Throws water on the fire. Put it out before it ignites her soul.
Maybe next time
The heart may freeze. Or it may burn. Pain can ease. Remember. There is no future. Learn. To forget the past. Live each moment as the last.
Only them. Only this. Forget regret. Or life is missed.
Give into love.
Or live in fear.
***
Capture the look of fear. Break it down on celluloid for the entire world to see. As they sing out. Praying to a god that fails to listen. To a higher being. That long ago forgot them. Abandoned them.
Pray for strength. For comfort. In a world gone mad. Even their bodies betray. Cannot trust a thing. Cannot rely on anyone.
But their prayer is universal. Sing of a fear shared by all. To see the dawn. The next day. Ask aloud if anybody cares. Will they be missed. Remembered. Simply an unmarked grave. Distant memory. Unnamed soldier. In a war they did not know was being fought.
Want only to live. To wake from this nightmare. To love and live again.
***
Dream the dream. Imagine getting out. Something beyond this. Escaping. Taste desert sand and freedom in the air. Open your eyes to see misery and poverty.
Make elaborate plans. To simply break free. From this humdrum existence. Abscond from themselves. Starting over. Somewhere all this is not real. Somewhere it will feel like a dream. A nightmare. Some mythical disease. Tale of warning. The stuff of twisted childhood stories. Where monsters stalk the streets at night. Where monsters show their real faces.
Imagine a place where their work is rewarded. Can create. Not watch it be destroyed. Where people listen. And the heat is oppressive. Cold does not have a place there. Wide open spaces. And trees.
Anywhere else they could possibly go. Any place after this. Other than this. Would be a pleasure cruise. A dream come true.
Leave this behind. Forget the darkness. Leave it to rot and ruin. Leave the rot and ruin. Run away. Hand in hand. Philosopher and dreamer. One and the other.
***
Look for any port in a storm. Whatever that means,
Watch. As these two ships pass in the night. Finding safe harbour in a strangers eyes. And see a story unfold. Love story for the ages.
Soft curves melt into a slender frame. Sheltering each from a bitter jealous wind. Asking for nothing in return. Expecting nothing. In a world full of demands. For money. Time. Life’s blood. A glimpse of freedom. Amongst drudgery.
Barely know one another. Hardly spoken. Find a connection. From isolation. From the cold. Warmth in each other’s arms. In each other’s eyes.
Share the warmth. Whisper promises. Watch them drift into the chill winter air. Do not care. Have more words to spare. Time to share. Something new. To discover. Uncover. Something true. That might just be real. Seems to feel. Lasting. In an impermanent world. In a cyber world.
The dreamer promises shelter for her queen. The philosopher vows to protect her king. Each swears to see. To look. To live and feel.
Cover one another. Protect each other. Be what each other needs. To hide from the world. Protect from life. To have and to hold. For as long as this lasts.
Pan out on a chaste kiss. Fade their promises into the background softly. Scope shot. Show what loneliness in this world means. Show the burning light of them within the shadows that surround.
***
Cue the spotlight. Her moment in the sun. Her time to protest. Shout out. Sing out. Highlight the injustice. Her time to shine.
The performer in her element. All eyes face forward. Hanging on her every word. Stir up the crowd. Fight the power. Stick it to the man.
As a blonde in red leather cannot help but look on. The thinker trying not to think. Not to feel. Just to be. Watches her dark beauty from the Heavens.
Music swells. Rises. Words grow harsher. Riles up the crowd. Pressing the point home. Fight the power. Stop the changes. Halt the so called progress. Save them all. From the horror of monotony. From homelessness. Purposelessness.
Make a stand. And fight the good fight. Until it all turns to chaos. And there is nothing they can do. Anyone can do.
Moo’s fill the night air. Disrupt the peaceful discontent. Tranquil nightmare.
Crowds surge. And cries go out.
The thinker’s eyes only for her. Worry etched on her face. Urge to protect. And serve. To save her damsel in distress. Loses sight of her. Only for a moment. Heart stops. Until her eyes are filled with the sight of her again.
And see it all explode. Police with batons. Beating unarmed strangers. Try to stay detached. Not the time to become emotional. Observe and record. As the world burns. Another small piece of it fades and dies.
***
Group scene. Feel the vibe. As drinks flow. Laughter fills the air.
The film maker surveys the scene. Scans the crowd. Camera in hand. Tries to capture it. This. An incorporeal, unseen force. Bond. Whatever. This friendship. This life.
For all the dark. There is the light. In a lover's eyes. A friend's smile. Giving meaning to it all. Being an us. Instead of a them. Freedom from deadlines. From ties that feel like nooses about their throats.
Celebrate. Raise a glass. To fighting the power. Sticking it to the man. Blow off the oppressors. Flip off the conformists. At least for tonight. Leave fear outside. Come in from the cold.
Bohemia is the fallacy. Long since dead. The snake grins. Mocks. Teases and taunts. False prophet. Spews lies. Hoping they are true. And their lives are no more meaningful than hers. Before they raise their middle finger. Show spirit lives on. In ideas. Not people. That cannot be crushed.
Sing a song. To all that is worth living for. Expression. Communication. Freedom of belief. Of personality. To live and not die. To all those have come before. Shown the way. Forged it. Fought for it. Broke down the barriers.
To choice.
To no absolutes.
La vie Boheme.
The dreamer and the philosopher. Side my side. Share soft loving kisses. Crack jokes. Laugh and play along. Eyes never leaving the other. Not for a second. Now they have found each other. Never letting go. Hold on. Hold out. Dream of tomorrow.
Performer and thinker. In a tight embrace. Passion and fire. And everything they both are. Exponential increase together. Maybe fleeting. Short lived. May not last. But in those exchanges they give everything to each other. Are everything to each other.
Joviality fills the Life Cafe. Life fills the Life Cafe. Disease still there. Fear suppressed but far from forgotten. Here and now. Only this moment matters. The next may come. If it pleases the court.
Creation. Compassion. Opposite of the world everyone else exists within. They are as they were meant to be. Created for this. Empathy. Ecstasy.
To no shame.
No time to play the game.
The snake flees. Runs to crawl. Back under her expensive penthouse rock. At least for now. They win this night. Though the stakes are high. Casualties numerous. In the long run they lose. But it’s the small victories. Make it worth everything.
To people living. Living with. Not dying from disease.
Tear it all down. Start again. Rebuild the world in their image. The opposite of this. Not peace. But creation.
Viva la vie Boheme.
***
Learn not to expect anything. Optimism is for those who wish to be disappointed. For that is all life is. A series of disappointments. Punctuated by misery. Even when you expect nothing from it. It will still let you down. Still hurt. Slice you through. Like a blunt blade. The edges jagged. As tears bleed out.
How to measure a year. In moments. In funerals. Dollars. The price of your soul. The cost of a life. How can it be measured? Quantified. Set down and drawn up.
In a world where nothing ever happens. Where no good truly exists. Life in limbo. Heart in turmoil. Pain in your eyes. But a smile on your face. Carry on. Push through. Hope that they don’t notice. The world’s a stage. We are not players but puppets. Life tugging at our heart strings.
How do you live in this world. Where nothing can be measured. And nothing ever lasts.
Count the minutes. Hold on to the victories. Live for the moment. Forget the past. Ignore the future. This is all there is. This here and now. This moment. This transient eternity.
Measure this.
Pairings: cara/kahlan, dahlia/garen, bedine/raina, kahlan/richard (implied), denna/dahlia
Rating: pg13
Word count: 4000+
Warnings: it's a rent xover so drug use and aids feature heavily, but are only vaguely referred to.
A/N: since I haven't used names to clarify: richard: the film maker, kahlan: the performer, cara: the thinker, dahlia: the lover, garen: the musician, berdine: the philosopher, raina: the dreamer, denna: the snake.
Also, this fic is for legendland bigbang, but was written because of xixlovexgreenx and wouldn't have gotten out of my brain without her and synergyfox putting up with my moaning and flailing. Also jolo_65 needs love for being badass and beta'ing super quick for me.
Disclaimer: I don't own rent or legend of the seeker, make no money, done only for enjoyment
Zoom in. On the window of the penthouse apartment. On the fight scene within, in full swing. Dark haired beauty passionately enraged. As the ever smiling doltard fails to calm her.
In frustration she throws up her arms. An air of repetition clear. They have had this fight before. A thousand times. And once. Accompanying scream of anger filters out through the dusty cracked window. Down to the cold street below.
She will storm out. Will not return this time. Done with this scene. The end of their particular chapter.
As the curtain falls on this relationship. As the first frost cracks at the window pane. Zoom out to a panoramic view. Of the run down tenement block. Of this small microcosm of a universe. Of the lives so radically changed. Starting from this point. Rippling out to shape their lives. Unseen.
***
Close up. As the curtain rises. To reveal a group of people. Friends. Like so many others. The film maker. The dreamer. The philosopher. The performer. The musician. The lover. The thinker.
There they stand. Lives interwoven. Inseparable. Yet fragile. In their existence. Their links. Tentative. Bound but for the moment it all comes crashing down.
How may one measure a life? Even a year within one. A defining year. A final year. Another year in a constant stream of them. In days survived. In miles traversed. In lives touched. Loves lost.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.
Described in time. Or acts. In words, perhaps deeds. One year. Seemingly like any other. For one final. For others transient. For all it shapes them. Changes them. As each day has the power to do. Brings them together. Forges bonds. Breaks hearts. Batters bodies.
How to quantify a life, a year within. How to describe. To explore, explain. Document. Simply follow the love.
Remember the love.
***
Fast forward. Skip the adverts. To when our story begins.
December 24th 1989 9pm. Eastern Standard Time.
See the world though the lens of a camera. An all seeing emotionless eye. Easier that way. To detach from the world it shows. A world torn apart. Ravaged and raped. Post apocalyptic. Waiting for life to begin again. For normality to return. For love and kindness. Relying on hope of the future. Living for today. This day. A world living in terror. That there may not be a tomorrow.
Unscripted. We will go off the cuff. See if anything comes of it. Try to document reality. Real life. Yet it all seems fictitious. So fantastic it could not be conjured. No mind that warped.
A land of plenty. Where many live below the poverty line. A land built on freedoms. Oppressing those who do not fit. Do not conform.
And it all comes back to money. The having and the getting. That little slip of paper. With the face of a dead man. A number. Arbitrary in the grand scheme. Trivial. Vital to survival.
The film maker returns to his humble abode. Met by the hermit musician. In her new role as recluse. No power. No heat. Cold winter wind rushes through broken windows. Chills them to the bone.
Start a fire. Try to get warm. Block out the cold. The world outside. The truths beyond these walls. Carried on an arctic gust.
Burn the past down. Start again. As heat spreads to their fingers. Warmth spreads to their faces. Screen plays crackle with incendiary wit. Sheet music ignites the air with passionate fire.
Phone rings. Familiar voice. The philosopher's smiling face below. Returned triumphant. The conquering hero.
See the philosopher resplendent in victory. See the dark shadows surround her. See her run. Flee. Flight from the fight. See her bleed. Slumped. Beaten. Broken. Ragged breath followed by ragged breath.
The pain runs deep. Reaches deep inside. Further than you can even recognise. Tearing you inside out. Until you are torn apart. And there is nothing left. Noting recognisable.
Try to reach out. Make a connection. Yet be betrayed. By everyone. Everything. In an age of technology. Advancement. In an age where strangers, lovers, landlords, your own blood cells betray. Watch it all fall apart. This fabric of time and space. Reality. The raging shifting winds of change. Rip away. Expose the naked underbelly. The soft fleshy parts of your soul.
As above the fire burns. Heat of rebellion. Glow of hope. Fire of indignation bright.
Burn the past to the ground. Wait for the future to rise. The eternal phoenix of possibility.
***
Cue the rise of dark music. Signalling something imminent. The rise and fall of a sorrowful cello. Entangled with the haunting melody of a piano. As the snake arrives. Judas. Surveys her kingdom. Old friend. Money’s lapdog. Sold out for love. Of money. Power.
Sweet words. Laconic gestures. Ever present smile of the serpent. So different now to how she once was. Once a dreamer. Like them. Turned schemer. A builder now set to destroy. Tear down. Aiming to bring an end to their existence. One she used to share. Now watching. From the sidelines. Elevated by fortune. Sulking in the shadows. Skulking. Longing for what she cannot want.
Grand designs. Elaborate plans. Draw them in. Suck them down into her world. Her dark abyss. Of suits and deadlines. Bottom lines and sell outs. Where the good of the few outweighs the good of the many. If it is the right few.
Listen to her silken tongue. As it spins her lies. Making promises. Deals. With the devil. Once friend. Now enemy. The system made manifest. The rich and powerful standing before them. All that causes them to rebel. To rise up. Speak out.
Taking shelter from the homeless. Money from the poor. But it‘s all ok. It’s alright. Because It’s A Wonderful Life is on TV.
Leave an ultimatum. A ticking bomb. Threatening to destroy all they have built. Created. But she will return. Always drawn back to what she once had. Could never want to return to.
***
Enter stage left. The dreamer. Hoper. The angel in this tale. Watch her descend. Softness in the harsh winter night. A light amongst the dark. A light amidst the dark.
The good Samaritan. Small act of kindness. Take care of the stranger. Heal her wounds. Be what everyone else fails to be. Human. Humanity. Simple acts forgotten in a complicated world.
A helping hand. Leading to so much more in later acts. But for now there is just this. An offer of help. From the angel to the philosopher. All that is required at this juncture.
Close scene. As they walk off into the darkness. Not hand in hand. But one resting heavy on the other. But this is more than romance. This reality. Life.
***
Watch as the musician reflects. Exposes her pain.
A year of withdrawals. A shorter life span for it all. And a broken heart. To seal her fate. Explain her pain. Tortured soul a little more tortured. Battered. Bruised.
One dream. To express it all. Make her life somehow mean something. Before virus takes hold. Before life is no longer worth living. Not that she lives. Not that any one does. Merely tries to survive. Make it through the day.
Find the lyrics. The notes. The meaning. To all of this. Make a meaning. For an otherwise empty life.
Reminisce on the past. On the pain. Long for the refrain. The bridge. The applause and final curtain. To mark the end. Signal something better is close to hand.
Find glory. A blaze of glory. Beyond cheap coloured lights. The roar of the crowd. Find something real. In a life of fallacy. Words rings true. Truth. The cleansing fire.
Before time flies. Dies. Fades into nothing. Forgotten in the darkness.
***
Flashback. For narrations sake. Continuity.
Scene:
A dark and smoky club. Underground. In a forgotten part of town.
Characters:
Blonde in a beaten red leather jacket. Tough exterior. Hiding a more beaten heart. Fragile.
Dark beauty. White shirt suggesting a purity long since lost.
This is the first time. A crossing of paths. Random happenstance. Brief dalliance. To become something more. Possibly. Always possible. As permanent as anything can be. At least here. Now.
This is the last time. That the performer gives as much as she takes. That the thinker will feel special. More than a shadow against the night sky. But it is enough. In a world of darkness. To bask in the light of brief moments. Hold to them. Feel their warmth. Stave off the cold.
***
The quintessential seduction scene. Stock and standard. Except nothing is. Nothing can be. In this world where nothing grows. Where we all just die. Where disease stalks corridors. Silent menace. Ever lurking dark shadow. Clouding everything. Blocking out the sun.
A rare moment of connection. Raw from memories of the past. The musician lets her defences down. On a cold night. In a cold city. In a cold world. And lets the lover in. Forgets to keep her distance. To close herself off. For a moment at least.
Light a candle. Illuminate the darkness. Banish shadows to dark corners.
And the lover dances. An elaborate age old dance of temptation. So close. Yet out of reach. Where she must remain. The musician tries to remain stoic. Hide behind indifference. Almost trick herself. So long since she has played this game. Rusty at this dance. Awkward. Stilted. Youth and life. And all the things she should not touch. Would only tarnish.
Something familiar. Moonlight. On hair that begs for fingers to run through it. Searching eyes. Easy to get lost in. Smile. Almost familiar. And something new. Fresh. Vibrant. Alive. Drawing them closer. Touch electric. Will not dwell. Try to ignore.
A child. Born to be bad. Kindred spirit. Memory of a dark past. Of temptation. And life. And love. And feeling. Dangerous. Touch the fire. Might get burnt. May burn. And never even notice.
Flirt. Tempt. Tease. Forget for a moment. Almost ignore the pain. The fear. Almost live.
***
The angel descends. A bright light. Illuminating their dark little corner of the world. Laughter fills a room long silent. Smiles reach eyes long cold. Cover face which thought they had forgotten.
She makes them feel again. Makes them remember what living was. And everything is less bleak. Black. Almost bearable. As though the sun peaks out from behind clouds. As though it may rise again tomorrow.
As if they were only waiting. For this moment. To remember what life is. What it’s all about. What they fight for. Shout about. Why they seek something beyond this existence.
The dreamer. The angel. Bringing gifts of bread and wine. Well, Stolle. A messenger from somewhere else. A miracle. For them. With them. Simply to remind them.
What it is to smile. To live. To feel.
***
Exposition scene. Examine the characters motivations. Psyche.
Scratch the surface. But no deeper. Any further and it will all fall apart. Keep it just below the surface. Heart on sleeve seemingly vulnerable. But if you can see it, it cannot be broken. Know where it is. That it continues to beat.
The film maker must learn to speak. To see she was blind for so long.
The thinker must learn to feel. To bend without breaking.
And they must dance. Learn their part in the performers elaborate routine. The take and take. The push. Always giving. Always pulling. Trying to hold on to her. To grasp at that which cannot be touched. Always just out of reach.
Except when she remembers. And looks at them. Eyes so blue stop the world. Make hearts race. And it’s worth it. Because eyes so cold, burn.
She can make them swoon. Make them forget to breathe. Makes the world turn and the stars come out and the sun rise.
She is a dark dizzy merry go round. And this is truth. Whilst they cling to lies like life rafts. Whilst their heart she is mangling. They play dumb.
And she is everything. Every moment. Every movement. Every musical note. Believe it’s all alright. Because it’s worth it. The fire in your brain. Might as well dance a tango to hell. At least they’ll have tangoed tonight.
And it's almost enough. Every hour apart. Every kiss doubted. Every roving eye and pretty girl. Because she looks at them. And her eyes burn in to the very fabric of their existence.
***
Community built on disease. In a world built on pain. Fitting somehow.
Find safety amongst others like you. Of your kind. Accept. Learn to ignore the fear. To fight it each day.
Believe and it might just come true. In this world of fantasy. Magic cures more plausible than real ones. When no one cares.
Learn to live for today. Know tomorrow is not certain. Live for the day. Or fail to live at all. Become the walking dead. Alive in name only. Just waiting for the end. The day the disease takes holds.
Scan faces. Hoping against hope. Fighting a battle they know they will lose. Finding strength to battle the darkness. The weakness. The virus that is taking hold.
There is only today. There is only this. Forget regret. Or life is yours to miss.
***
Dance like everyone is watching. As though your life depends upon it. Because it does. Sex sells. So sell your body to the highest bidders. Look but do not touch. Breathe but do not exist.
Claws out of the darkness. The filth and depravity. Tarnishing her pale beauty. Into the darker night. Yearn for the bright lights and loud music. To banish the shadows. Quiet the mind. Yearns for a hard body. To dispel the loneliness. To believe for a moment. She is not alone.
The lover. The leaver. Running from her own mind. Her own body. Own life. Constant motion. Rolling stone. Stay still and they will think you’re dead. Stop moving and it might catch up to you. She might catch up to herself. Find herself. When all she wants to do is lose herself. Hide. Not in shadows. But in plain sight. Under bright lights. On cold and lonely nights.
Disappear. Become someone else. Leave this life behind. At least for tonight. It is all she wants. All she asks. To live in this moment. For this moment.
And it scares the musician. Locked away in her safe danger. Isolated in her world of fear. Where light and life dare not tread. That she might feel. That she might smile and laugh. And live. In the moment. For a moment. With the other.
***
Life is not for living. Nothing but a death sentence. A brief reprieve. Before the hangman’s noose. Before the dawn and the cutting block. So she lives like death. To atone for sins she did not commit. To make amends for living life. Once. For those moments. With that other. In that other world, a life time ago. So full of life. So tainted by death. That now, here, she dare not live at all.
Cannot stand the sight of life. The taste of it. Banish it from her deep dark dwelling place. Intimidate. Insult. This woman with moonlight in her hair. Big grey eyes so full of promise. Life. Love. Of possibility.
So young. Thinking herself wise. Knowing that life is meant to be lived. To be taken hold of. Shaken. To get every drop of existence from its jealous grasp.
Indignation. At the intrusion. Interrupting her glory song. Her meaningful song. Interrupting her loneliness. Isolation. Her meaningless, unimpressive existence.
Throws water on the fire. Put it out before it ignites her soul.
Maybe next time
The heart may freeze. Or it may burn. Pain can ease. Remember. There is no future. Learn. To forget the past. Live each moment as the last.
Only them. Only this. Forget regret. Or life is missed.
Give into love.
Or live in fear.
***
Capture the look of fear. Break it down on celluloid for the entire world to see. As they sing out. Praying to a god that fails to listen. To a higher being. That long ago forgot them. Abandoned them.
Pray for strength. For comfort. In a world gone mad. Even their bodies betray. Cannot trust a thing. Cannot rely on anyone.
But their prayer is universal. Sing of a fear shared by all. To see the dawn. The next day. Ask aloud if anybody cares. Will they be missed. Remembered. Simply an unmarked grave. Distant memory. Unnamed soldier. In a war they did not know was being fought.
Want only to live. To wake from this nightmare. To love and live again.
***
Dream the dream. Imagine getting out. Something beyond this. Escaping. Taste desert sand and freedom in the air. Open your eyes to see misery and poverty.
Make elaborate plans. To simply break free. From this humdrum existence. Abscond from themselves. Starting over. Somewhere all this is not real. Somewhere it will feel like a dream. A nightmare. Some mythical disease. Tale of warning. The stuff of twisted childhood stories. Where monsters stalk the streets at night. Where monsters show their real faces.
Imagine a place where their work is rewarded. Can create. Not watch it be destroyed. Where people listen. And the heat is oppressive. Cold does not have a place there. Wide open spaces. And trees.
Anywhere else they could possibly go. Any place after this. Other than this. Would be a pleasure cruise. A dream come true.
Leave this behind. Forget the darkness. Leave it to rot and ruin. Leave the rot and ruin. Run away. Hand in hand. Philosopher and dreamer. One and the other.
***
Look for any port in a storm. Whatever that means,
Watch. As these two ships pass in the night. Finding safe harbour in a strangers eyes. And see a story unfold. Love story for the ages.
Soft curves melt into a slender frame. Sheltering each from a bitter jealous wind. Asking for nothing in return. Expecting nothing. In a world full of demands. For money. Time. Life’s blood. A glimpse of freedom. Amongst drudgery.
Barely know one another. Hardly spoken. Find a connection. From isolation. From the cold. Warmth in each other’s arms. In each other’s eyes.
Share the warmth. Whisper promises. Watch them drift into the chill winter air. Do not care. Have more words to spare. Time to share. Something new. To discover. Uncover. Something true. That might just be real. Seems to feel. Lasting. In an impermanent world. In a cyber world.
The dreamer promises shelter for her queen. The philosopher vows to protect her king. Each swears to see. To look. To live and feel.
Cover one another. Protect each other. Be what each other needs. To hide from the world. Protect from life. To have and to hold. For as long as this lasts.
Pan out on a chaste kiss. Fade their promises into the background softly. Scope shot. Show what loneliness in this world means. Show the burning light of them within the shadows that surround.
***
Cue the spotlight. Her moment in the sun. Her time to protest. Shout out. Sing out. Highlight the injustice. Her time to shine.
The performer in her element. All eyes face forward. Hanging on her every word. Stir up the crowd. Fight the power. Stick it to the man.
As a blonde in red leather cannot help but look on. The thinker trying not to think. Not to feel. Just to be. Watches her dark beauty from the Heavens.
Music swells. Rises. Words grow harsher. Riles up the crowd. Pressing the point home. Fight the power. Stop the changes. Halt the so called progress. Save them all. From the horror of monotony. From homelessness. Purposelessness.
Make a stand. And fight the good fight. Until it all turns to chaos. And there is nothing they can do. Anyone can do.
Moo’s fill the night air. Disrupt the peaceful discontent. Tranquil nightmare.
Crowds surge. And cries go out.
The thinker’s eyes only for her. Worry etched on her face. Urge to protect. And serve. To save her damsel in distress. Loses sight of her. Only for a moment. Heart stops. Until her eyes are filled with the sight of her again.
And see it all explode. Police with batons. Beating unarmed strangers. Try to stay detached. Not the time to become emotional. Observe and record. As the world burns. Another small piece of it fades and dies.
***
Group scene. Feel the vibe. As drinks flow. Laughter fills the air.
The film maker surveys the scene. Scans the crowd. Camera in hand. Tries to capture it. This. An incorporeal, unseen force. Bond. Whatever. This friendship. This life.
For all the dark. There is the light. In a lover's eyes. A friend's smile. Giving meaning to it all. Being an us. Instead of a them. Freedom from deadlines. From ties that feel like nooses about their throats.
Celebrate. Raise a glass. To fighting the power. Sticking it to the man. Blow off the oppressors. Flip off the conformists. At least for tonight. Leave fear outside. Come in from the cold.
Bohemia is the fallacy. Long since dead. The snake grins. Mocks. Teases and taunts. False prophet. Spews lies. Hoping they are true. And their lives are no more meaningful than hers. Before they raise their middle finger. Show spirit lives on. In ideas. Not people. That cannot be crushed.
Sing a song. To all that is worth living for. Expression. Communication. Freedom of belief. Of personality. To live and not die. To all those have come before. Shown the way. Forged it. Fought for it. Broke down the barriers.
To choice.
To no absolutes.
La vie Boheme.
The dreamer and the philosopher. Side my side. Share soft loving kisses. Crack jokes. Laugh and play along. Eyes never leaving the other. Not for a second. Now they have found each other. Never letting go. Hold on. Hold out. Dream of tomorrow.
Performer and thinker. In a tight embrace. Passion and fire. And everything they both are. Exponential increase together. Maybe fleeting. Short lived. May not last. But in those exchanges they give everything to each other. Are everything to each other.
Joviality fills the Life Cafe. Life fills the Life Cafe. Disease still there. Fear suppressed but far from forgotten. Here and now. Only this moment matters. The next may come. If it pleases the court.
Creation. Compassion. Opposite of the world everyone else exists within. They are as they were meant to be. Created for this. Empathy. Ecstasy.
To no shame.
No time to play the game.
The snake flees. Runs to crawl. Back under her expensive penthouse rock. At least for now. They win this night. Though the stakes are high. Casualties numerous. In the long run they lose. But it’s the small victories. Make it worth everything.
To people living. Living with. Not dying from disease.
Tear it all down. Start again. Rebuild the world in their image. The opposite of this. Not peace. But creation.
Viva la vie Boheme.
***
Learn not to expect anything. Optimism is for those who wish to be disappointed. For that is all life is. A series of disappointments. Punctuated by misery. Even when you expect nothing from it. It will still let you down. Still hurt. Slice you through. Like a blunt blade. The edges jagged. As tears bleed out.
How to measure a year. In moments. In funerals. Dollars. The price of your soul. The cost of a life. How can it be measured? Quantified. Set down and drawn up.
In a world where nothing ever happens. Where no good truly exists. Life in limbo. Heart in turmoil. Pain in your eyes. But a smile on your face. Carry on. Push through. Hope that they don’t notice. The world’s a stage. We are not players but puppets. Life tugging at our heart strings.
How do you live in this world. Where nothing can be measured. And nothing ever lasts.
Count the minutes. Hold on to the victories. Live for the moment. Forget the past. Ignore the future. This is all there is. This here and now. This moment. This transient eternity.
Measure this.