I Wrote A Poem For Once… (This Can't Go Well…)

So today's post is a weird one - literally a 'I was just walking along, and then suddenly a poem just plopped out of my brain and through my fingers onto my phone' kind of post. So yeah, it's a bit deep and miserable, but I quite like it. My first post in a while, enjoy!! :)


Look At Me


Some people say
That the eyes are the window to the soul.
The very doorway into the conscious and subconscious mind,
Where all your dreams
Your hopes
Your fears

Are kept.

You can't look into my eyes.
They're dark as night
Until you look closer
And finally see the hint of chocolate brown
Warming them up.

My Mother's friend once said
I had the darkest eyes of anyone she'd ever seen.



Dark eyes.
Dark thoughts.

Dreams? To one day be free of these thoughts. To break away from self-consciousness and insecurity and rekindle some kind of happiness with the world.
Hopes? That maybe one day, I'll be able to find somebody who'll look past how dark the doorway is.
And see something there
That nobody else has ever even looked for:
The hint of a warm chocolate colour
That usually goes unnoticed.

Fears? That nobody ever will.


And that's why you can't look into my eyes.
I couldn't ever let you in through that doorway:
Because that's when you'd be close enough
To see who I really am.

What Went Wrong. (Something Different)

Brushing the cobwebs off my blogger account, I realise that it has been way too long since I last posted anything up on thestoryofabook. I had wanted to carry on with this blog as a way of getting my writing out there, especially considering that over the summer I wouldn't be at uni, and wouldn't have as much motivation to write. (I spent a lot of time sleeping. A lot.)

But something changed, and it may have been my return from uni, or it may have been my attention being focused upon other passions in life (Check out my band's Facebook page and give us a like if you can!) or even my brain just forgetting how to function normally. Something changed and things took a turn for the worse.

I don't know if you know what it's like having no energy or motivation at all. Well, I'm sure you do, but when it goes on for several months at a time, that's when you realise that maybe it's more than just a temporary blip. When the energy to even do something as menial as getting out of bed is inexplicably sucked out of you and sometimes you just lie on your bedroom floor staring at the ceiling and waiting for something to happen, that's when you realise that something isn't quite right. Even writing this now is making me feel drained, but I guess it should help... Somehow. Accompanied by a constant overwhelming black cloud that hung over me, finding the energy to write something that made sense and actually sounded good was a difficult thing. Posting things seemed even more difficult.

I have been writing: of course I've been writing (more updates on that later). Things have progressed slowly both with the book itself and with its sequel - something I'm feeling pretty excited about already from the plans that I've got for it. Now I'm finally back and settled into uni and with three classes of writing every week, I'm loading myself up with more writing already: restocking the supply so I've finally got things to post up here once again. Not only that, but I'm feeling better about myself too. And more motivated, which is always a good thing. (It's pretty hard to talk about really, I'm sorry if this is coming across as hideously awkward).

So I guess I'll apologise now. I'm sorry I've been away. I'm sorry I haven't posted anything. And I'm sorry for how brutally honest and miserable this post has been. Things will pick up again as soon as I'm feeling better and and more confident in what I write. Keep checking back and there should be something up within the next few days.

Peace. x

Whitechapel

(So as I was looking through some of my old computer files the other day, I came across this little gem that I had almost forgotten I'd written as a potential piece of A Level coursework. I won't really say much about it for want of keeping the plot a secret, however I just remember it being immensely fun to write and the character of Nicole a particularly interesting one that maybe one day I'd like to explore further. Enjoy!!) 

Nothing stirred in the desolate Whitechapel street. Everything was still: even the clouds overhead hung stationary, hiding the silvery wisp of a full moon. It took a moment for the door of the last house on the end to be wretched open, but as it did so there was a noise of satisfaction from inside, and then from there emerged a shiny patent black stiletto heel. Nicole her name was, and she smiled a devious smile as she stepped down onto the pavement. She tucked the small wad of dirty bank notes into her bra, hoisting the straps that she had so carelessly let fall down up onto her delicate shoulders.

He had been about twenty years her senior. The house from which she had just emerged was a tiny grubby pigsty, and had smelt of sweat and cannabis. She scowled to herself as she remembered how he had lain there and expected… her. But despite his squalid living conditions, the man was not poor, and Nicole had left the bedroom with one of the highest takings she had had this month, now ever so carefully stashed safely in her silken red bra. And he was as she liked to think… finished with, for the time being.

A slight gust of wind whipped itself around her, and she shivered violently as it almost forced her black trademark miniskirt up. One of the down sides of this ‘job’ she mused, was that the clothing was made of so little material, and she almost wished for just one time when a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie were acceptable attire. Unfortunately, this day would never arise: men these days were so materialistic. Of course, her life had not always been like this; she had left school with A levels – admittedly, not the best results, but still she thought, anything was better than nothing – and had begun to work. However a blurred downward spiral involving drugs and the repossession of her flat had led her… here.

She rounded the familiar corner that would lead her to the tiny flat in which she had to share with the three other girls… slags. She hated all of them. There was the short sound of shuffling feet behind, followed by a lengthy pause. Nicole turned, expecting to see one of the typical sort – either a lone women attired in similar clothes to her own, or a gang of unruly teens. Despite their typical portrayal as being yobs and hooligans, there was a mutual respect between the gangs of Soho and the ladies that wandered the streets at night.

He was wearing a pair of loose fitting trousers, paired oddly with a ragged dinner jacket rolled up at the sleeves. Underneath was a knitted jumper and he had a tartan scarf untied around his neck. To her, he looked like one of the tramps that she usually saw lying on a bench in tube stations. As he caught her eye she felt a slight sense of unease, and turned away quickly, continuing to totter down the road.

“Hold up, lady.” His voice was a strong and rich tenor – which strongly contrasted his exterior appearance. Nicole turned around, slightly hesitant in her action. She was aware of the type of people that loitered around this area at night time – she had a strict rule of thumb that she only made house calls – she may be in one of the lowest forms of employment; however she was a fraction more sophisticated than to be picked up from the corner of a street. He caught up with her to stand next to her. He was taller than her, even in her high heels.

“You on your way somewhere?” He mused.

“I’m just finished for the night, actually.” Nicole replied, scouting the street for any other signs of life. He looked into her eyes, raising his eyebrows.

“You fancy coming back to mine then?” The sleazy pick up line that she’d heard so many times before exasperated her. He winked at her in a distasteful way.

“I’m sorry, you’ve caught me just as I’m on my way back home.” Politeness was the key. Always be polite, that’s what she’d learned over the last two years. His face fell at her words, but brightened again as he reached into the only remaining pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to her without a word, and when she stared at it, he nodded to it in apprehension. Nicole twisted the envelope in her fingers and gently eased it open. As she stared down into its contents, she counted twenty, no, maybe even thirty twenty pound notes. The man reached out and took it off her – easy, as she was in a state of shock at the sight of it.

“So, I’m gonna ask you again, darlin’. Do you fancy coming back to mine tonight?” Nicole stared down at the envelope in disbelief: its contents were well over a weeks usual takings. She took in his scruffy appearance, then, almost as if shaking her head from a trance, nodded. He smiled, mouth opening to reveal a missing front tooth.

“It’s right this way.”

Nicole begun to walk, and his pace matched hers – after they crossed the first road, he slipped his arm into hers. She did not protest, and complied, all the while thinking how many hits she could buy with the kind of money he was offering her tonight. She followed him in silence, round this way and that, until finally, at the end of another dingy street lit by a solitary street lamp, he stopped.

“Welcome to paradise.” He exclaimed. He pulled her up the front step, and into the house. It was a little rough, and she felt the heel of her left shoe snap off under the pressure. She pulled away from his grasp just as he slammed the door shut behind her. He locked it – not an unusual thing for people from these parts to be so protective. It was at this point that the stench hit her, and she gagged. It was like nothing she had ever imagined or experienced before – the rotting of meat crossed with the lingering smell of public toilets. The man however seemed unfazed by it, and winked at her in the darkness. He had already removed his top half of clothing, and was standing leaning against the wall in anticipation. Nicole shivered internally.

“How about we take this… downstairs.” The man purred in a low voice. Nicole smiled, slipping ever so easily into the role that she always assumed – her mind elsewhere as she did what she had to do.

“Whatever you require…” She said in a sultry low voice. She strode over to him, and caressed his bare shoulder in the darkness. He led her in the dim light towards a small door underneath the stairs which she assumed led to the cellar. All the way, she stroked his naked chest, trying to ignore the smell which was becoming more and more oppressing the closer they got. By the time they reached the door, he was kissing her shoulders, and she let her shirt fall carelessly abandoned to the floor. He fumbled with the lock, his fingers slipping off the key. When he had finally got it open, Nicole smiled at him, and broke apart from him.

“It sure looks dark.” She purred. “I wonder what you’ve got down there.”

He smiled at her, a slight flicker of something more than lust crossing his face. She winked at him, her face as beautiful as a vixen streaking through the forest in the moonlight. He motioned to her, but she stopped him, and placed a slim hand on his shoulders, circling him.

“You first.”

He exhaled and placed his first foot on the top step of the rough stone staircase. At that moment, the atmosphere distorted around the pair, and Nicole took a step back. In a heartbeat, she lunged at him: not in the more sexual way that the man was used to, but in a violent fashion, knocking him down to the floor, and down, down again.

She watched his sluggish silhouette fade out into the darkness. There was a final ‘thud’ as the man juddered to an uneasy stop at the end of the stairs. All was silent. In the near darkness of the night, Nicole smiled again to herself: turned and pushed the door closed behind him. They wouldn’t notice the smell: it was foul enough before. She placed the envelope of cash he had left out on the side into the other side of her bra, stepped over the doorstep, and left, like nothing of any great excitement had ever happened there. 

Autumn

(Another piece of coursework from yours truly, this piece was originally written just over two and a half years ago and has since evolved and been reshaped so many times now that it barely even resembles the original. For my final draft of the coursework, I decided to change the narrative - from a piece that was originally told in first person, I decided to experiment and change it to third, which worked so well that I kept it like that when I handed it in. Enjoy!!)

As surely as trees must lose their leaves in autumn, she knew deep down in the very depths of her heart that this was to be goodbye.

Goodbye.

Such a simple word. Such a simple, and so frequently used shard of icy venom that could penetrate even the warmest of nights with its sadistic connotations – if used incorrectly, it could be this word that tears a person’s sane consciousness into one thousand miniscule irreplaceable pieces.

It had always been them – never the both of them specifically, but they shared the same group of friends, so that was good enough for her. Maybe the two of them were not necessarily the closest of a pair, but they were both the so-called ‘different’ ones: alternative rock music chosen over the mainstream music of their friends, the musicians, and the ones who would be found having the ‘deep and so-called meaningful’ conversations about life, the universe and everything. He had always been there, admittedly, however his attention was hardly ever directed specifically at her, but she could always count on the arrival of his skinny jeans and faded black converse trainers to brighten up the dull days that were drawing their era to a close. However, not even seeing him in any of those clothes could heighten her mood. This was to be goodbye, maybe not for the rest of their friends, but certainly for her: he’d always said that a clean break was best in any situation of goodbye, and she unwillingly had to agree.

So here they are: in the present. They walk as a group for probably the final time through the town park, laughing as he kicks his way through piles of leaves, the way they scatter in every direction a harsh yet accurate allegory for the beginning of their own separate futures, she muses. For a moment there, she could have sworn that he caught her eyes in the rush of laughter. He sees her sad smile as the ice blue of his eyes meet her own chocolate brown coloured ones, but turn away quicker than the time taken to decipher - let alone notice - the very reason they’re glazed over with glistening dew.  They continue their walk, and she can’t help but drink in these short glimpses of him, with that hair that reminds her so much of her favourite musician, who, ironically is his too. ‘Face it’ she thinks to herself. ‘We both know that we’ve got too much in common to ever be able to be anything more than friends.’

When they finally reach the station, she knows that the time is truly up. She can’t help but hope he’ll be happy at whichever stop he gets off at. He wasn’t here.

Everyone takes a turn saying goodbye. As they do so the disassociation inside her and the reality of the situation she never wanted to face begins to mount up. When he reaches her, she manages to force a smile despite everything she’s promised herself. ‘Obviously, it would be too much to ask for a hug,’ she thinks to herself, and instead waves and wishes him the best.  Now that’s he’s so close to leaving, she realises that a return is near enough to impossible.

It’s too late to say anything more to him now: and the reality that yet again she’s wasted her final chance to say something, anything to him. She stands with them, watching as he boards the train that will take him forever away from her and remembers one of the only things that he had ever said that had really stuck out in her mind.

“If you think about it, there are six, maybe even seven billion people on this earth. So what does that mean then? Meaning at least three billion of the opposite sex out there. One hundred million, or even more, of our specific age range. So surely, surely there is one person out there who is perfect for you in every way, shape or form. It just takes time to find them.”

She repeats these seemingly reassuring ghosts to herself over and over as he boards the train, and takes a last long look into his eyes: those perfect blue eyes that he always despised, describing the colour as an un-natural anomaly of nature. Silently, she protested. To her, that last image was perfect. Him: standing typical as ever in those clothes that they both loved, leaning out and waving his goodbyes, his eyes almost gracing hers with their faultless gaze. Almost.

‘I want to remember you like this.’

The train is gone when she opens her eyes once more. She turns and follows the others out of the station, a fragile empty shell of what she had been mere moments before. It felt to her almost as if he had taken her soul away with him on that train. The ghosts of their footsteps still lingering on the gravel pathway that leads through the park: dancing tantalisingly around the bereaved group of friends that she no longer truly feels a part of. What had before been the route of companions and friendship was now shadowed by loneliness, and the fear of a life lived in solitude for the rest of its eternity.

A chill wind lifts her dull hair, whipping it around her face and into her eyes so that her vision becomes distorted, and for a moment she sees a glimpse of reality in an alternate way. A different time, and a different girl. But him, always the same person. A reality that this heartbreaking goodbye had somehow bypassed. The image disappears in the same amount of time that it would take for a heartbeat to pass, and the path once again becomes laced with the shadows of uncertainty in front of her.

Autumn was over. Winter had begun.

A Few Poems

(So here is the second part of my 'blog treats:' another piece of coursework, this one a selection of  five poems written in different styles with the purpose of exploring several different types of poetry and genres. My favourite is almost definitely the first one - so much fun to write and something I'm really pleased with!! As this is being posted as a scheduled post, you'll probably first see this when I'm at the top of a mountain. So whilst you're enjoying reading, I'll be enjoying my week skiing - everyone's happy, perfect!!) 

Why I Hate Rhyming Couplets

So why is it that some people always think poetry has to rhyme?

To me, at least, I always find that trying to is particularly time

Consuming, especially when it is not the content that matters but the way

In which the poet delivers exactly what it is they want to say.

Whatever my inspiration is when I begin to write

Is more often than not a pile of shite,

However at least I seem to have the decency to utilise free-verse

Than to try to bring in irrelevant words simply to ease the flow of speech. Universe.

Surely there is more to a literary life than to try to rhyme every single word

With the line before. I'm sorry, but moon and spoon just sound far too absurd

And unimaginative to be taken seriously in something

That anyone over the age of twelve has been writing.

So how about from now on, people realise that instead of trying too hard

On getting their work to rhyme, instead it is better to be avant-garde

And go with plain old free verse. In short, I'm tired of making something rhyme just for the sake of it,

So maybe it's better just left alone to save the pain of irrelevant trips to a thesaurus.

A Suite Of Seasons

I.

Dewy morning's dawn,

Caught by the golden sunlight -

Winter is over.

II.

The sun bakes the earth

Like an everlasting fire:

Throats and plants are parched.

III.

Orange and scarlet

Leaves fall from lofty branches -

Crunchy underfoot.

IV.

Snuggled up inside,

'Baby, it's cold outside' plays:

Christmas is coming.

About An Apple

Once scarlet,

                                    (Blood red, now the colour of decaying dreams, mottled aesthetic imperfections)

And dewey crisp green underneath,

                                    (The colour of envy, rage, fresh new days with fresh new starts)

:

It is the very epitome of poison,

Innocent as the beautiful snowy white winter's morning

Yet at the same time,

An image,

A false idol

Of innocence lost

In a garden somewhere.

Aged imperfections on the surface are the

Only clues to the symbolic significance of this

Devil's fruit.

A clever disguise.

Go Away.

I am writing this

From my sickbed.

However my head is in far too much pain

To be able to concentrate properly.

Purple Elephants.

Upon Dreaming

A cloud shifts across the inner eye,

Memories of days gone by

To a sunlit day, we say goodbye

And to an abstract place our thoughts must fly.

What is it that lies beyond the realities

Of birds and bees

And worlds and trees?

Eyes close and breathing slows,

Chasing thoughts and fantasies of long ago

Inside the realms of our subconscious thoughts,

The focus of our curiosity is caught.

Will we find a dragon's lair,

Or kingdoms, realms and universes?

A fairytale life is now within reach,

Escaping goblins, giants and witches' curses.

In truth the dream must always end,

With the morning sunrise just around the bend.

Fairies and riches are left behind,

Kept forever inside the mind.

A return is always possible, fear not,

For it is effortless yet to return to that plot.

With thoughts alive until the final breath:

A poignant sweet ecstasy captured only in death.

Paranoia

(So I haven't posted for a while, and I'm thinking about some kind of a special blog post is in order to compensate...

*later*

Okay, so after much thought lets make it even more special - over the next week in my absence (going skiing in the Alps, so excited!!) I shall be posting online two of my pieces of coursework from my Creative Writing class - instead of the usual posting a piece that has had minimal editing, here's a treat that has been properly edited: my script that is as of yet unmarked. I tried to go for a psychological horror take on this, so without much further ado... enjoy!!)

Cast List

JOHNNY – Middle aged and good looking, married to MELISSA and father of JAKE

                     and AMY. A family man who enjoys the outdoors.

MELISSA –JOHNNY’s wife and a caring stay-at-home mother of JAKE and AMY.

JAKE – JOHNNY and MELISSA’s eight-year-old son. Keen footballer and very

close to his parents.

AMY – A shy and cautious six-year-old, JOHNNY and MELISSA’s daughter. She

dotes on her elder brother JAKE and treats him like a hero.

Paranoia 

FADE IN:

Montage..

Screen shows static, occasionally punctuated by home footage and stills taken by JOHNNY’s family.

Wedding footage of MELISSA and JOHNNY.

Photos taken at a christening.

Short videos of JAKE and AMY playing.

Johnny’s voiceover is heard over the top. On his final words, the screen cuts to black with the noise of a television shutting off.

JOHNNY (V/O)

Have you ever had an obsession so crazy that drove you straight to the brink of insanity? And then when you thought that it had reached a climax, it caught you unaware and pushed you straight off the edge?

(pause)

I have. My name is Johnny Brockman and this is my story.

EXT. FOREST - DAY

JOHNNY, MELISSA, JAKE and AMY are walking through a forest with their dog.

JOHNNY (V/O)

I can remember the exact date I first saw him – I was with my family taking a walk in our local forest. Nothing out of the ordinary there: the amount of times my wife and I had taken the kids down there to build dens and rope swings or go bird watching, you’d think we pretty much owned the place.

EXT. CLEARING – DAY

JOHNNY is bending down to take the lead off the dog. MELISSA roots around in her bag for something, finally pulling out a Frisbee. JAKE and AMY run around the clearing as children do playing tag.

JOHNNY (V/O)

I’ve always had the kind of life that many people would dream of. A home of my own. A beautiful wife. Two kids and a dog. A family.

            (beat)

I guess I always took it for granted though, never realised what I had until it was too late.

(beat)

I first saw the shadowy figure as we were about to play Frisbee with the dog. I bent down to take off his lead and as I stood up, he was there at the edge of the clearing, standing and watching me.

Shot of the shadowy figure standing at the edge of the clearing. Close up on JOHNNY’s face.

JOHNNY (V/O)

He didn’t move and even after I blinked, he was still there.

JAKE

Come on Daddy, throw us the Frisbee.

JOHNNY shakes his head and comes out of his trance. The man is still there unmoving. He readies himself to throw the Frisbee to JAKE.

JOHNNY

Okay then, watch out. Here it comes.

JOHNNY throws the Frisbee up into the air and the camera follows it. JAKE, AMY and the dog scrabble around to catch the Frisbee. JOHNNY moves over to MELISSA.

JOHNNY

         (whispering)

What do you think he wants?

MELISSA

What who wants?

JOHNNY

         (whispering)

Him. That guy over there at the edge of the trees. Look, just behind Amy back into the trees a bit.

MELISSA squints towards the trees. Looks confused.

MELISSA

I can’t see anyone Johnny. Are you sure it’s not just the shadows in the trees?

JOHNNY

Look, he’s right there. Standing still. How can you not see him?

                                    (beat)

JOHNNY (V/O)

That was the first day I saw him. And it wasn’t the last either. Melissa thought I was going mad in the clearing back then. I dreamed about him later that night too, and all the while, he was just standing there watching me. He didn’t move, I never got any closer to him than I was in the clearing – at least, not then I didn’t.

INT. JOHNNY AND MELISSA’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

JOHNNY and MELISSA are asleep in bed; MELISSA is sleeping peacefully however JOHNNY is tossing and turning, visibly unable to sleep. Flashes of the scene in the clearing are seen between shots of him trying to sleep and close ups of his anxiety-ridden face.

Johnny sits upright in bed suddenly, eyes wide open.

JOHNNY

He’s… he’s…

        (breathes out)

He’s not here. It’s just a dream. Just a dream.

MELISSA

(sleepily, just beginning to wake up)

Johnny? What’s going on?

JOHNNY

It’s… A bad dream. I’m okay.

MELISSA goes back to sleep, JOHNNY remains sat upright in bed.

JOHNNY (V/O)

But I wasn’t okay. He was still there, waiting for me. No matter where I went, no matter where I turned, he’d always find his way back into my head.

More film clips play in the style of home footage.

Montage..

JOHNNY, JAKE and AMY are playing outside with the dog.

JOHNNY is fixing the gate in the back garden.

MELISSA and JOHNNY driving through a well-lit town. 

JOHNNY (V/O)

Of course, I mentioned it to Melissa. How could I not, she’s my wife?

INT. JOHNNY AND MELISSA’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

Scene shows JOHNNY and MELISSA in bed together, sat upright watching the television.

MELISSA

I just don’t understand why he keeps on popping up in your dreams Johnny; maybe you should go and see someone.

JOHNNY

I’m telling you, it’s not just in my dreams. I’ve seen him in real life too – the other day when I was taking Jake to football practice, he was watching me from the other side of the pitch.

(beat)

And he was there when I was driving with you and the kids to your parents’ last week.

(beat)

I’m not making this up!

Short silence while camera switches from focus on JOHNNY to focus on MELISSA.

MELISSA

Johnny… Are you sure you’re not… on something, are you? I just- well, I mean it’s weird that you keep on seeing this figure whilst nobody else can. It’s like you’re hallucinating or something.

JOHNNY

                                                                      (astounded)

Are you being serious? He’s real, I swear. I keep on seeing him everywhere I go, why do you think I would make something like this up? It’s been nine years, and you can’t believe me when I’m genuinely telling the truth?

Scene pans out on the pair sitting in an awkward silence as JOHNNY’s voiceover begins.

JOHNNY (V/O)

So there you have it, my own wife thought that I was going mad. But I knew that I wasn’t, because I kept on seeing him. And no matter who I told, no matter how many people I pointed him out to, nobody saw him… or believed me. Then one day, things escalated so violently, that I realised the seriousness of the situation.

INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

JOHNNY is sat downstairs at his computer. MELISSA can be heard in the kitchen tidying up. The clocks all indicate that it is late and that the children are already in bed. Everything seems peaceful.

JAKE

 (upstairs, upset)

Mummy? Daddy? Help!

JOHNNY gets up and runs upstairs, MELISSA some way behind. Camera shot from bottom of stairs of him running, panicked. Camera shot from top close up of his hands as he pushes on the door.

INT. JAKE’S ROOM - NIGHT

JOHNNY enters JAKE’s room frantically pushing open the door. Shot of JOHNNY’s face.

JOHNNY

Oh no. No. No. No. Not you.

(beat)

Jake? Jake!

(beat)

                         (angry)

What have you done with him?

MELISSA enters behind JOHNNY. MELISSA SCREAMS. Fade in of sirens and fade out of JOHNNY and MELISSA’s screams. Black screen.

Montage..

Police cars outside JOHNNY’s house.

JOHNNY and MELISSA crying.

Both JOHNNY and MELISSA crying in the police station.

JOHNNY (V/O)

I saw him there, closer than ever before. He was standing over Jake. Just standing there. Over Jake’s body. And then just as Melissa entered the room he disappeared. Faded away into nothing.

            (beat)

The police came. They questioned me. Questioned Melissa. They couldn’t find anything though. No fingerprints, nothing. I told them about him, about the man. They didn’t listen to me. They asked me what drugs I was on. I had tests, did all the questionnaires. They threw around words like hallucinations, schizophrenia, just like Melissa did. Prescribed drugs. Therapy. In the end, any kind of the charge against us was dropped due to a lack of evidence. I tried as hard as I could to convince them about the shadowy man. Nobody listened.

INT. LIVING ROOM – LATE AFTERNOON

Fade in of JOHNNY and MELISSA sat on sofa again, curled up with one another crying. Silence. JOHNNY stands up.

JOHNNY

Melissa. He’s there.

MELISSA

(sobbing)

Johnny stop this okay, you’re scaring me.

JOHNNY

You don’t believe me?

MELISSA

    (standing up to calm him down)

Johnny, don’t do this to me. Not now.

JOHNNY

Melissa, don’t do this to me. He took Jake!

            (beat)

Leave him to me. I’ll show you. I’ll show him. I’ll fucking kill him.

JOHNNY knocks MELISSA out of the way and runs towards the door. MELISSA falls to the floor hitting her head, but retaining consciousness. Camera angles change between following JOHNNY in a rage outside of the house to her crying on the floor, reaching for the phone. Her head is bleeding.

EXT. HOUSE – LATE AFTERNOON

JOHNNY

          (Screaming)

Okay, where are you? Where are you? Come out and fight me. Come on. You took my son. You took my son from me.

INT. LIVING ROOM – LATE AFTERNOON

MELISSA is shakily dialling the police. JOHNNY is still heard in the background screaming and smashing things up outside.

MELISSA

Hello? Police? I need you to come as quick as you can. It’s my husband. He’s gone mad.

Scene fades to black as MELISSA’s last line echoes over the top.

INT. WHITE ROOM – DAYTIME

JOHNNY’s face is seen close up on the camera, non-moving.

JOHNNY (V/O)

They took me away that afternoon. Said I was mad.

                        (beat)

The court ruled that I was criminally insane, accused me of Jake’s murder. I pleaded for my innocence but nobody listened. Melissa took Amy away, said she never wanted to see me again. She was scared.

(beat)

I stopped seeing him after that night. I knew he was there though. And when nobody believed me, I guess I just got pushed over the edge. He was real to me. I guess in a way, the figure had become a part of me, the very embodiment of my own paranoia. The shadowy figure was my own mind, a projection of a subconscious just waiting for something to go wrong with my perfect life.

(beat)

No wonder nobody believed me.

FADE OUT TO BLACK


(Check the blog again on Wednesday 4/4/13 for the next post - I'm not sure what the wi-fi connection is like at the top of a mountain, so it's probably easier if I schedule a post. ;) )