Participants:
| Scene Title | The Distant Echo of Thunder |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | When the Sybil leaves, Colette finds a trail of breadcrumbs… |
| Date | July 14, 2009 |
Upper West Side, Colette and Nicole's Apartment
It's the sound of her radio alarm-clock radio going off – unexpectedly – at four in the morning that stirs Colette from her sleep, tangled amidst a single blanket. The sudden sounds of a familiar song, and a woman's voice singing it. She exhales a sharp breath, startled awake by the sound, one hand running over her face, sightless eyes staring up at the pattern of light and dark stitched across the ceiling from light filtering through the slats of her bedroom's blinds.
Shame. Such a shame… I think I kind've lost myself again.
Rolling onto her side, a pale arm reaches out across wrinkled blue sheets, thin fingers brushing across smooth cotton to feel the warmth of a recently departed body is imprinted in the mattress. A tired, confused sound erupts from the back of the young girl's throat as sightless eyes reflexively open. The colors and shapes of the bed, distorted as they are, show a clear emptiness where once there was someone beside her.
Day… Yesterday… Really should be leaving but I stay.
She exhales a heavy sigh, eyes closing as her face turns towards her pillow, burying her head in the downy surface before finally pushing herself up onto her elbow, letting a thin comforter roll off of a bare shoulder and down her pale, bare back. Swallowing dryly, Colette runs one hand through her messy hair, swinging pale legs around her side of the bed, padding across the hardwood floor in the lightless dark.
Say… Say my name. Need a little love to ease the pain. Need a little love to ease the pain.
Untangling a wrinkled shirt from a hastily discarded pile of her jeans and undergarments, Colette pulls it up over her head to cover herself at least some. Pale and bare legs are practically bright in the gloom of the room as she passes through the crack of light filtering in through a window from the streetlight outside. She stops in the doorway to the bedroom, looking out across the furniture before resting her forearm against the doorframe, and then her head against her arm. Tamara left in the middle of the night.
It's easy to remember when it came .
When she lifts her head back, something catches her eyes. A glow in the dark sticker that radiates an almost phosphorous green against the card-stock that it is affixed to on the kitchen's counter. Paused in curiosity for only a heartbeat, Colette begins making a direct path into the kitchen, her shadow on the living room wall distortedly enormous from the bright light of a passing car's headlights out on the street.
Cause it feels like I've been – I've been here before. You're not my savior, but I still don't go.
Snatching the card up, Colette's eyes narrow as she looks at the pattern on the front of the card, a crudely scrawled blue and green DNA double helix done in felt-tipped markers. She wrinkles her nose, and flips the card over, where a newspaper clipping has been paper-clipped to the card, showing an article from a months-old copy of the New York Times' Arts & Entertainment section entitled, The Rock Cellar Opens With A Fantastic First Show. She can only read that headline, but the picture – it's a familiar location.
Feels like something that I've done before. I could fake it, but I still want more.
Flipping the article up, childish handwriting is scrawled with considerable difficulty on the other side of the card, written in the same blue and green felt tipped markers that the symbol on the other side of the card was carefully drawn in. "They need your help. Soon." Milky white eyes stare down at the large letters, bringing the card up close to her face to be able to make out the writing, written just big enough for her to be able to read with her unique vision.
Fade, made to fade. Passion's overrated anyway.
She remembers the building, remembers being in Greenwich Village that day in the winter, practicing her ability on the rooftop of the parking garage. She stares down at the card, turning it over again to look at the double-helix symbol on more time, then lays the card down on the counter, her eyes lingering on that glow in the dark star-shaped sticker affixed to it.
Say… Say my name. Need a little love to ease the pain. Need a little love to ease the pain.
Turning around, Colette quickly makes her way back to the bedroom, lingering in the doorway as if waiting for that gentle sound of Tamara's voice to sound out, half-expecting the Sybil to still be around somewhere, lingering in the shadows as she always does. But this time, she's not. Colette understands, she believes, she has faith. Quickly gathering up her discarded clothing, she begins to dress herself again in the dark, searching for her boots – wherever they were flung earlier in the day. They're laced, tight, followed by a quick snatch of an uncharacteristically girly jeweled flower bracelet from her night-stand, fastening it across her wrist carefully before she crosses the hall to Nicole's bedroom.
It's easy to remember when it came.
With her sister gone to Nevada on a work assignment, Colette's clomping footfalls go unnoticed. She proceeds to the closet, sliding the door open as she helps herself through some of her sister's belongings, listening to the soft patter of rain outside. No raincoat, nothing of the sort, but she finds a suitable substitute hanging on a rack in the back – a supple, white leather trench coat with a soft black satin lining.
Cause it feels like I've been – I've been here before. You're not my savior, but I still don't go.
After swinging it around her shoulders, Colette folds up the sleeves just enough, pulling up the lapels to the back of her neck as she moves out of the bedroom, grabbing her messenger bag with one hand, slinging it over her head to rest across one shoulder before grabbing the keys to the apartment on the way to the front door. One last, lingering look is given to her bedroom, a smile lingering just as long on her lips before she opens the front door, stepping out onto the stoop of the brownstone.
Feels like something that I've done before. I could fake it…
The rain falls down heavier than it sounded out here on the street, shining in the yellow glow of the streetlamps. Waiting under the stoop, Colette watches the mostly desolate streets of the dark hours past curfew. Then, as she takes her first steps off of the stoop, the air around her ripples and distorts like a heat mirage, until the light bends entirely around her body, causing her to dissolve like a warped reflection in the disturbed surface of a pond; Invisible.
…but I still want more.
Music by: Massive Attack — Dissolved Girl
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fm6NJC1ljns