SCRIPT & WRITTEN SCENE (tw: verbal abuse, descriptions of fear, and hallucinations)
SCRIPT:
VOICE: You died that day, didn’t you?
VOICE: As your home went up in flames, it felt as if you died there.
VOICE: (mocking) And look, flowers bloom where your home once stood.
BAILEE: You should have died miserable.
VOICE: How cruel. How beautiful.
BAILEE: (coldly) Go away, you’re dead now.
WRITTEN SCENE:
The dry heat of the California sun feels as though it will cause her to melt away as she hikes through the woods, doing her best to ignore her surroundings and the shadow movements among the trees. Once upon a time, she had been familiar with this path, wasn’t as afraid as she is today.
The closer she gets, the more she can smell the smoke, feel the lick of flames on her skin -- and Bailee feels as though she is an eleven year old girl again, trying to pull her twin brother’s unconscious body out of the house. She remembers, too well, how hard it was to breathe -- how she begged to the air for someone to help them.
She swallows and chokes. Bailee learned to hate fire that day, she learned the smell of burning flesh and the taste of fear. And she never wanted to go through that again, whatever it took.
A woman is following her, hollow and gaunted. Her feet barely touch the ground.
“You died that day, didn’t you?” She whispers hoarsely, and Bailee hurries her pace up. She’s hallucinating. She’s not there. She can still clearly see burning wood. The woman’s breath is cold on her skin and she shudders. “As your home went up in flames, it felt as though you died there.” The woman is going as fast as she is, with no issue whatsoever.
Bailee knows that she can’t outrun the Dead. She has tried.
“You begged that Archangel, didn’t you? Screamed and begged for anyone to save you! Why? Did you think anyone would have cared about you?” Bailee covers her ears and squeezes her eyes shut as she stops walking. “What did you get out of it, Bailee?”
“Freedom,” Bailee hisses out. “I got freedom from you.” Her mother hadn’t been home that night, no, she’d been out with some male friends -- uncles as her and Isaac had to call them. Monsters as they were. If Lucija were to see her, quaking in fear, she would lose interest -- and she has to continue. She has to make sure that house is gone. She has to make sure it’s all real.
As she comes into the clearing, she stops dead.
“And look,” The woman says, in a mocking tone. “Flowers bloom where your house once stood.” Bailee would have never thought anything could grow where Death lingered. But the white and blue flowers sprout from the ground, budding as though eleven years ago, Hell did not come to the surface.
“You should have died, miserable,” Is all Bailee can say as she surveys the scene. She can see outlines of figures, those who lingered after death -- lost and confused, residual and nearly cursed from the suddenness of their fate.
“How cruel,” The cold mocking doesn’t seem to bother Bailee anymore. “How beautiful.” Her bone fingers reach out to touch Bailee’s hair but she jerks away, spinning around to stare at her mother’s dead figure. She got to die comfortably, she got to die before Bailee and Isaac were able to get any sort of closure.
“Go away,” Her tone is cold and low. She can no longer feel anger at the woman who made her childhood hell, there is no hate there. Just defeat and sadness. “You’re dead now.”
Her mother’s bony hand grabs at her upper arm and Bailee shudders as her body chills. “So let me go, Bailee,” Her eyes are as gray as Bailee’s, wide and brows furrowed. “You keep me here, Bailee. I’m dead, Bailee. But you keep me here!”
And just like that -- her mother was gone, but the shrill of her voice echoes.
YOU GUYS I AM SO EXCITED! THIS SHOULD BE MY LAST DAY OF WORK (MAYBE I’LL HAVE A LITTTTTTLLLEEEEEE TO DO TOMORROW BUT THIS IS REALLY ALL THE MAJOR STUFF!!!) :D :D :D
And for those of you who are wondering -- NO I’M STILL NOT OVER LAST NIGHT’S ORPHAN BLACK JESUS CHRIST!
