Script scene 1, creative class, 2008. Powered by Blogger.

Thursday, 30 October 2008

The afternoon of October 30th 2008

The sky was blending grey above me, the leaves on the trees had turned red, orange, yellow and brown, and were falling. Coarse grass beneath my feet tickled right up to my ankles. I watched, waiting in silence for him to appear. I saw high above me through the bareness of those branches, the man from the long stretch - stood in his bobble hat, staring through the silky pane of his bedroom window. He watched over me in his daydream as his thoughts drifted through the autumn air, clinging to the golden leaves that mesmerised him. They flickered and spun and waltzed over toward me but as I held out to catch his dream, my body jerked and our silence was broken. I chuckled to myself as I watched Tarun carelessly skip along the garden path and trip over his laces on the crazy paving. He lay there, staring over at me. Tarun cracked a smile and we laughed together at his foolishness as he pulled out a boney arm from underneath him, presenting a crumpled gift, the crimson colour of his blushing face, and every bit as beautiful. Reaching down to help him, I clasped my hand in his, and he tugged me to the ground. I laced his crimson face with kisses, and stared deeply into his eyes. His warm embrace gathered around my waist as his lips touched mine, tenderly holding us there. My head rested against Tarun's chest, listening to the sound of our breathing. I took his sunburned hand, peering up at the window I had watched from below. Only a little light leaked through the edges of the heavy curtains, drawn now, and I curiously wondered at the life that lived behind them.

Thursday, 21 August 2008

The evening of August 21st 2008

Went as quickly as it came.

Wednesday, 20 August 2008

The morning of August 21st 2008

I laid for hours waiting in the bed, the wrong way around with my coat, shoes and socks on. I laid there watching my reflection in the shards of glass still on the floor, shattered from mirror's frame. Silence; overpowering silence. The water dripped from the leaky tap in the bathroom and I checked the time from the tick-tock of my wrist watch. My body was numb, I couldn't move. I checked the time - one more time - another hour gone. My head crammed full of selfish babble from unwelcome guests who spoke so loud that I couldn't hear myself think. So I didn't. They drank tea carelessly with porcelain service and as they clattered the cups back down to their saucers, their noise pierced right through my skull. I didn't try to think or move or listen. I remembered my momentary freedom. Those people had ceased their partying and I'd heard the sound of kids on the street, kicking a football against my wall, blending with the buzz of traffic from the road. I'd heard the glass break as the frame smashed to the floor. I walked down the stairs and on reaching the bottom entered the kitchen to make coffee. Slamming the door failed to stop the clattering. Moving over to the sink, I turned on my tap, the kettle heavy in my weak hand. I placed it in it's stand and flicked the switch. The water began to bubble just like my straight jacket of tension that woudln't release. Holding out my hand over the sink, it did not shake as the steaming kettle lifted. I held my breath.

Thursday, 14 August 2008

The afternoon of August 14th 2008

I was fourteen, not too long before meeting Mahamaya. It was summer and the sun was shining brightly through the the trees in the orchard. Not one cloud blemished my beautiful blue sky. It was around four o'clock. A welcome, gentle breeze brushed against my face and the sweet smell of baking grass lingered in the air. Slackening the tie around my neck, and half unbuttoning my shirt, I hitched my skirt right up to just below my bottom. The cold winter had long been and gone and pretty spring had passed. There, in a daisy patch, in the sweltering heat, I counted the tiny apples and pears beginning to form on the ends of the branches. I pondered over old life, making way for new, wondereding of a man I loved who was feeling so much sorrow. There were sounds of laughter from the other houses and music blared through wide open windows. The strange air around me whispered words in my ear and I shut my eyes, choosing to listen. The birds lowered their silly tune as the branches of the 'old tree' seemed to part. The light shone on my milky body. My skin begin to tingle, my bare legs burned, and a glowing red light protruded right through my eyelids. Laid there in the long grass, I had a feeling I was being watched. That the words I heard were sent to me, carried in the breeze. That the branches were parted by some magical force, by a man standing in one of those upstairs, long row windows.

Sunday, 10 August 2008

The morning of August 14th 2008

Along this row of terraces, three houses down the long stretch, there once lived a man. A very well dressed, handsome man, tall and dark, who went by the name of Harrison. He lived there together with his wife and they had two quite pleasant children, baby William and Innushka. He was a doctor. A proud man, who took pride in his work and had pride for his family. He had joined me once on a double decker bus into the City. I would watch and envy his wife, for all the love that surrounded her, until one sunny day in June when I happened to meet Eva. Soon, the years passed and as baby William outgrew his name, she became a drunk and a whore (my brother told me so). Sheltered from the world outside her daydream and hidden by that love that I had longed for.

Saturday, 9 August 2008

The morning of August 9th 2008

I remember it must have been January time because it was snowing, and the lights were still hanging from the bridge. I was sat there alone on a seat on the left hand side of the top deck. It was quieter than usual because I was late. The windows appeared completely frosted, haunted by condensation. The bus had stopped and I'd heard a rhythm of footsteps make their way up the stairs. There had appeared a tall, friendly looking man in a bobble hat and snow boots. He held his child in his arms, a sweet boy of three or four, and strode across to the front seat on the right side. I remembered as a child I would choose that very same spot. In my hands would be an imaginary wheel, to my left a rack that kept the change. They sat together. I heard their laughter and saw their smiling faces from the mirror above. Their matching hats, his father's unshaven face. The windows were covered and the man began to draw in the condensation on the window. He drew a picture of himself, each stroke of his finger revealing a small part of the hustle and bustle of the busy city we were nearing. His arm was drawn out and attached to the hand at the end of this arm was another, miniature version of himself. The boy wrapped his arms around the man and kissed him on the cheek. "Watch me Daddy!" Baby-faced and serious, he copied his Father's marks. "Look what I'm drawing Daddy". The sound of his tiny voice was pure and untainted. I never took my eyes from the window, but just sat there curiously watching. Daddy helped, realising the boy's intentions and they joked and giggled together, he only added with the boy's specific permission. For a few minutes, sat there in that seat, my disappointment left me and my delicate body laced with love. I felt a huge lump forming deep in my throat. It took five minutes or so before their bodies unveiled the masterpiece. Together they had drawn a little girl beside them. A small girl with bunches in her hair and ribbons, wearing what I imagined to be just the prettiest dress. 'Noushka', the boy had said as he joined their hands together. The man's hand ran through the boy's fluffy hair before he pressed the bell, and they departed at the gates beside the river. I listened to the patter of their feet down the stairs and as they reached the bottom I pulled my body up to get off a few stops early, to catch one last glimpse of the love that I had been missing. But my body stuck like glue to the seat. I realised I'd always be missing something; something I could not describe, but so longed to be part of. Disappointment snapped at my body the way ice does against bare skin. I felt my eyes well and tears run down my face, as their little girl wept with me and slowly began to fade. I sat there and I prayed.

Friday, 8 August 2008

The afternoon of August 8th 2008

My house belongs to the shortest row of a pretty L-shaped terrace. Three or four houses along there's an opening down a yard which the people from the long row use to access their houses. Our garden, the almost-an-acre of land in between, is shared by myself, my father, my brother and my elderly granny who lives in the fifth, maybe sixth house down the long row. Once upon a time ago, at the entrance of the yard, there was a towering old post that glittered; a beautiful, sparkling yellow light. People gathered there at Christmas time. Their hearts were cheery, alive and warm. The frost was cold, but couldn't bite. They stood all around in their winter coats and scarves, singing carols in the snow. But as time went by the lamppost disappeared. And a little while later, the people did too.