This is a reworked story penned by my good friend Andrew T Cross. He sent it to me back in 2008, its content has drip fed into my life since. I will animate this story into the prelude of my new film.
This is possibly obviously a dream scene. I don’t know where I heard it, but someone once said that “there’s nothing more dull than other peoples dreams” – Too true. So where am I going with this? Only here dear reader.. sometimes the depths of a friends imagination, however frittering in their moment of conception, penetrates and rattles anothers soul.
Part 1 hence forth…
In answer to your question –
“He talks like the newspapers to an empty headed space”.
As his fingers stroke lightly across the rough wall his eyes drift lazily out and across the empty confines of his room, and at that moment he is transported to someone else’s day; the absent minded infants hand extending out from pushchair and dancing finger tips across fir tree branches with it’s acidic vibrant green perfumes all about him, the prickles tickle the hairs on his neck and he is smiling again.
The reverie bursts as the room inhales nothing more than a chair that belonged to a hat collapsing into a cot sized bed lurching up against a corner, as if trying to evade the small picture window above it exhaling a day so bright that no view is available, just a framed picture of white blindness.
Standing up and crossing the room he collects hat from chair and exits through door. Nothing hits him, no blast of fresh air that should relieve the dead space nor any kind of difference at all.
He steps out of his room into a seemingly large unknown space. the brightness shakes him to his core (sliced apple pips) as it has done everyday and throughout the practice of his daily ritual.
It is found amongst the cautious twentieth or fragile thirtieth nervous foot step before his eyes distinguishing anything from within and beyond the white light he walks out from.
– to be continued.