Chunk.

day12

Overheard conversations and foreshadowing…

 

Chunk.

The audience is prompted in gooey noises of sentiment as she talks about her incessant will to love him. A studio light sparks and a less rehearsed reaction sounds across the space. It flickers amidst raining fire as the crew run to its aid and plummet the room into darkness.

Mere moments pass and the set is saturated with white light. As the pupils of the audience constrict, her face is poured with unforgiving illumination. Her eyelids are painted with thick turquoise, the powder spreads unevenly from her eyelashes to her brows. Through bulbous lips she chatters of a lifelong search. Painted in a clashing shade of scarlet, they sit shiny and gloopy atop of three chins, they jabber of finally finding the one. The audience coos. We are expected to ingest this, the greatest of loves. Her nails are gnawed with remnants of red. She could have washed her hair on account of the TV appearance.

The other woman struts onto stage ready for a face-off. Like hyenas they scrap for his infatuation. They reveal adulterous moments, back-alley liaisons, untold truths. Their painted faces start to fall as they wrestle to be his only.

Behind a marbled screen his gormless mug is indulged in the moment. His mouth sits open in horror but his eyes are fed by the deed. He feeds on a gluttonous diet of their misery.

Monday Muse. The Following Takes Place Between 6:00 P.M and 7.00 P.M

Mondaymuse4

When I was younger I used to be told I had a heart of stone. I would sit in front of a weepy film seemingly unaffected whilst the rest of my family whimpered into their Kleenex.

Perhaps this is why I am excessively empathetic as an adult.

Take the American drama, 24 for example. I would put a spoiler alert here but I don’t believe that there is anyone as archaic as me when it comes to catching up with Jack Bauer’s latest exploits. I am still just ploughing my way through series six.

Mid way through series five I was presented with a heart wrenching moment whereby the loveable chubby office geek -one who provoked the sympathetic head tilt every time he opened his mouth and uttered a mumbled sentence- met his premature end. He realised his demise just moments before it happened, his podgy little face uttering his best friend’s name as he collapsed on the floor amid a pile of brown polyester. My heart bled for this moment, I could not get over it. The image of his face would disrupt my thoughts for the next 24 hours and I would be relentlessly reminded as to how horrible this unreality actually was.

I seem to be plagued with taking fictional moments into my heart and letting them pluck at my strings until they snap. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t have it restrung.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/moved-to-tears-2/