I Wrote This When I Was High
Perspective of someone who has just opened their eyes in a park. Probably a famous one like Central Park. But it’s empty. When they step forward, the ground clinks like tile. Everything is very fragile ceramic and such.
They turn - the first other person they see... doesn’t seem to have a body? It’s more or less a walking Sari 🥻 coming towards them. Everything seems just like perfect movement though - like the muscles are there (and quite beautifully sculpted) but they’re invisible.
The figure looks down at their own hands - they seem to be missing, but they are wearing a delicately pressed and surprisingly soft cotton shirt with veins of silver in it.
They two talk. Suit learns that they seem to be dying. Sari leads ahead just by a pace or two. Her voice is comforting. She explains that this is something like purgatory. Or limbo. Or maybe a little more. Falling through will seal your fate - you’re one of the lucky ones.
Suit pauses. We see several cracks in the porcelain world. Pan up. Some cracks are gigantic. Wide yawning canyons like rows of teeth.
Suit turns to Sari. “What made the cracks?”
“You, mostly.” She gestures to one. “Don’t bother looking down though. Some can be worsened.”
Suit pauses in their step, turns back. “Looking down the cracks?”
Sari’s shoulders shrug. “Bad things there. You’ve filled the world with regrets, worries, and even pain. Each crack shows how bad the memory is.”
Suit slowly (ever so carefully) sits down. “Oh... I see. Remembering can make them grow more... like guilt.”
Sari “that’s not inaccurate. Sometimes you fix them though.”
Suit’s shoulders indicate them turning. “How so?”
“Sometimes you live a better life. Or you sacrifice it for someone else. You love, you care, you vouch for someone honorable... Or you create art. Art has always been a redeeming quality of mankind.”
Suit’s arms raise as if to cover their face. “That’s... I feel like that was a compliment, but I just don’t understand.”
“Do you remember the Three Muskateers? You wrote it once.”
Suit bows his head. “All for one, and one for all.”
“Life is sort of like that. You come back a few times. Either until you fix your world, or tear it apart.” Suit skitters away a step, before hearing the scrape of it, and stopping. “I know this is a lot to take in. We have time though...
They talk for some time. Suit loosens up a little. “Well... if that is who I am and who I have been... who are you?”
Sari appears to relax and play with a piece of fabric a moment. “I guess I’m your muse? Maybe I’m just a piece of the universe. Or your conscience maybe? I’ve been here all along and watching.”
“That’s rather embarrassing.”
Sari sighs. “I will be here to take ‘you’ to your next ‘stage.’ That is all.”
“Wait, will be here? You’re here now. Am I not dying?”
“Not... yet. I suppose you move on to the next part now. You usually forget this scene when you come back.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“You move on now. We keep moving on until your world is fixed or dust. You have work to do... You’re having another transition, but it is not your final death.”
“Can anything keep me from going back?”
“I suppose if you are forgotten, yes.”
“Indeed. Sometimes it takes only a few years. Sometimes centuries. But if you are forgotten before you decide to go back... you don’t get to go back.”
“How long can I stay here?”
“As long as you need. You usually go after a day or two. Your record is 73 days. I think others like me end up waiting much longer.”
Suit stands. “Last question. I know I may forget... You said this is purgatory or limbo, but this isn’t the final life. What does that make my... living... life?”
“A different kind of limbo, I suppose.”
Suit crosses their arms, looks down at their flat brown and russet wingtips. They couldn’t remember if they’d put on these shoes or not. These questions didn’t gave comfort or knowledge. It was time to go. “I’m ready.”
“Ah. Record timing on the opposite of the spectrum.
Sari walks closer, and opened their arms. Suit accepts the embrace, and when the camera turns to the opposite side of Sari, her arms are empty.
