“From last week’s session I asked you to write a letter, did you finish it? “
*Pause*
“Yeah”
“do you want me to read it?”
“Can I read it to you?”
“Of course you can…”
Ophelia,
I’m sorry; I can’t find a reason to convince my own shadow to follow me anymore, the shapeshifters under my bed are convincing me that your death was beautiful, and I’m afraid I’m starting to believe it.
I can’t sleep, but I’m stuck in this nightmare and I feel like I can’t wake up, it’s like I’m being pulled against the tide of normality, slowly losing my mind. People will listen but they won’t hear but perhaps that’s because I will speak but I won’t say the truth. Something just makes me hate everything, and I need it all to stop I’m in so much pain but no one understands unless your staggering in a cast, it’s ironic because my demons cling to me but they offer no sense of healing.
It’s the single raincloud that follows me, it could be thundering or in blaring heat but my own raincloud still hangs above me reminding me even though I try my best to block the memory. I’m desperate for you to walk around that corner like you always did, where we would greet each other with pleasant exchanges but now without you I can’t force my lips to open, so much so that they sent a search party to find my voice and when I do speak the words they don’t make sense without you interrupting me about you silly daydreams. You’d tell me that I was Capricorn and you were Virgo, the two that were destined to be friends, my fate from the horoscope may have been true to you but how can I believe my future is written in the stars when this fog lurks in my mind.
I tried to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but perhaps there isn’t any and it’s all just a lie to make us feel hope, because how does humanity survive if there is no hope. My mind is a cold engine suffocated with empty promises, of what you said and what you meant. Just as you passed on, my hands are a burden with an uncontrollable urge – just as the clock pushes me beyond this life, the clock stops and my hands become stiff… time engulf me and takes me for its own. I’m beneath the world and nothing can pull me from your grave. I feel I’ve been bleed dry of breath and worth. I feel so cold I don’t feel at all. I’m tired but I can’t sleep. I’m hungry but I won’t eat my stomach growls with hunger but churns with the idea of living without you.
My head feels like it’s exploding as I’m holding my breath and I refuse to let any oxygen of that reminds me of life without you, hit the inside of me. I’m screaming your name but I know you won’t call back to me. Like a lone wolf howling at the moon, unobtainable. I’m left alone in this world of harsh rules and brutality, telling me how I’m meant to process this unwanted information when all I can really process is that you won’t come bouncing down that corridor, that your hair won’t be free-flowing behind you, and that your eyes no longer glisten with hope or promise. Your smile, now just a memory lingers in the front of my mind steadily waiting to spring me into an emotional wreck, where the sound of the ticking clock reminds me of the time I’ve already spent without you.
I’m supposed to say that things will get better, and everything will be fine but I don’t believe it, I’m drowning in an empty spiral as I try to figure out what’s okay to feel, the air feels like black smoke suffocating my lungs, I can almost feel the tar running through my veins and I’m surprised that no one has caught on but then again no one saw the black ash falling from your footsteps.
Why does therapy feel like a con, deceiving my mind of what it wants to believe, your words carve deep as you tell me the brutal reality that flips my minds out of my wonderland? I believe your death was beautiful and tragic as it stopped your agony, but I’m resentful as I know there was another trail, and no it’s not filled with petals, scattered thorns may lead the way, I wish I was as wise as I am now as we could have held hands and found the light together.
I’m now walking through hell and I wish I could grasp your hand when the devil emerges but instead I’m clutching pails of water to help those still consumed by the flames. I embraced the ground as I shattered face first, now I’m left piecing together what’s left, I’m afraid for when things get better my cracks will still show, but a crumpled piece of paper is still a piece of paper. I’m scared that the higher I climb the further I will fall but there are not only two directions.
I won’t forget Ophelia, but I need to forgive…
The narrative for the short film is something we have struggled with writing, its taken many attempts to get to where we are now. The idea behind our narrative is that she is reading a letter to her therapist, which is why at the start of the short film we hear a brief conversation over lapping the first scene, Aurora constantly reads through the letter thought-out the short film, as through research we have found out that this is a coping mechanism or a way to say goodbye and get closure.
The narrative itself is still very poetic due to our own style or how we like to convey our words, by using poetic words it means we can be more experimental in our short film.
For this narrative we have taken inspiration from Rudy Francisco and his poetry, his poems are not always rhyming and will always tell a story.
Tamsin Rachel Media A2 