He used to believe in cinema
All that was left now was the epilogue.
They looked around at the mess they sat in, the silent jumble of refuse that had only recently been so cacophonous, and as their eyes met; all of the passion left the room.
If this were a movie (and the last week would have made one hell of a motion picture) the camera would be panning out right now, perhaps passing through the window and sweeping up to give a view of the horizon, the sunset throwing the desolate building into sharp perspective. The soundtrack would be soaring, violins sawing out rising tones of glory.
One of the bones in her left leg was fractured, and she’d been shot through the thigh of the same leg.
She kicked the corpse of the man who’d shot her as she trod on the quickly decaying bones of his creations.
If this were a movie, the audience would have been left with the assumption that all of the trials and tribulations they’d faced had bound them together with some permanence, that the animal instincts which had finally ignited two nights back had been the precursor of something deep and meaningful.
He’d broken his right wrist and had a deep gash running across the better length of his back, his vision was starting to blur from blood loss.
He looked at the gore-streaked blade in his left hand, the smoking gun dangling from his right. He looked at her and sighed.
It wasn’t a movie.
She told him she’d drop him off at the hospital and helped him down the stairs into her jeep.
As she drove away, leaving an apartment full of things behind her and heading for the border, she searched for the right song on the radio. But it wasn’t a movie, and the right song wasn’t available.
She thought about going back for at least her music collection, but decided against it and drove on into the night.
- finite
I have no idea where this stuff comes from half the time. This would fit into that half, as opposed to the other.
I don’t even know if I like it, yet!!
This is why I shall put it on the internet.