Participants:
| Scene Title | A Storm of Change |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Eve sees a trail of blood. |
| Date | April 1, 2018 |
A mirror-still sea of red spreads out as far as the eye can see.
Drip
A single droplet of blood falls into the pool, sending ripples expanding out to distant shores.
Drip
Muffled screams, so many of them, echo across that rippling surface. Their voices join into a cacophony of screams and cries in myriad languages.
Drip
A face rises from the surface of the blood, made to look skeletal by the way high cheekbones and deeply-set eyes allow the blood to flow off of pale skin. Blonde hair is tinged pink, rivulets of watery blood run down across a creaseless brow. Blue eyes slowly open, then shift to rings of searing gold like an eclipse.
Drip
I travel as much as any man can, I've seen a good lot of the world.
A dimly lit ranch house is stacked with newspapers five and in some places six feet high. The dingy brown blinds are pulled closed around windows bursting with sunlight. A ceiling fan spins slowly, a dark brown carpet is darker still where it is wet in the shape of bootprints.
You're on your own now, friend. I have a feelin' that we all are.
A television turned to the news is muted, though the talking head on the screen is emphatically enunciating every word. A pip over his shoulder shows news about an earthquake in the PSW Dead Zone sparking new wildfires. Aerial video of flames rolling over forested hills dominate the screen.
I'm sure that sets into motion some need for revenge. I understand that, I think it's a tad unfair since I could have killed you too. There should be some consideration for that, but… When did good deeds go unpunished?
A ratty old couch faces the television, stained in many places with dark red. The quilted brown and orange fabric is in myriad rust shades. It masks the blood, in some ways, until one considers the corpse laying on it, face covered by a sheet so as to have some measure of dignity. Unused yellow shipping packages are scattered around on the floor, along with a fresh package of black Sharpie markers.
I always told you to look towards the big picture, where are you in it?
A heat-warped VHS cassette sits on the coffee table, spattered with blood, next to a hand written note in crudely scrawled handwriting. It's illegible, here, in a place where words have less meaning than symbols.
We all have to be survivors now, because a great storm is coming…
A symbol painted in blood on the wall behind the sofa. The symbol of Takezo Kensei, half the symbol of the Pinehearst Company, the Haitian's necklace, Jessica's tattoo, scrawled on Else's music notes, everywhere.
…a storm of change.
Eve jolts upright, sweat clinging to her body.
Adam.