Post by The Walkers on Apr 27, 2023 23:19:51 GMT
As the theme dies out, we’re met with the familiar sight of 8241 Primrose Lane. A slow, glitching zoom forward is met with audibly warped nature. Soon, the suburban aesthetic is replaced with a more traditional and barebones cabin. The front door flings open, as if yanked by a vacuum. Dark gives way to light and we see Alice standing front and center.
APPLAUSE
Alice: Windy today.
Abby: Ugggggggh..
Alice: Still, I think we all deserved a little getaway, don’t we?
Abby: Ugggggghhh..
LAUGHTER
On the couch behind her, Abby has herself planted down face first, sprawled out as if half the bones in her body no longer existed.
Alice: Don’t tell me you’re gonna sit there and groan all day. We’re surrounded by nature!
Abby: UGGGGGH!
Alice: Oh, come on! Your father and your brother are out on the hunt. The least you could do is pretend to be excited about a little girl’s time.
Abby: Do we have to?
LAUGHTER
Alice: Oh, move over.
Abby reluctantly sits up long enough for Alice to sit next to her before plopping back down to rest her head against her mothers leg and stare up at the cabin ceiling and as she does, a voice barks up from the distance.
?: MORE APPRECIATIVE! LESS ATTITUDE! THE WOMAN GAVE YOU LIFE!
LAUGHTER
Panned cackling carries on with suffocating pressure while Alice’s eyes go wide and her jaw opens to a near serpent-like angle, allowing a stream of muddied gore to pool out like a fondue fountain onto her kin.
LAUGHTER
APPLAUSE
NEXT!
NEXT!
NEXT! NEXT!
NEXT! NEXT!
NEXT!
NEXT!
The words echoed through the man’s head, bouncing around as antagonistic reminders of what had become a never ending line of harsh rejections shoved down his gullet. Not only were they hard to swallow, but felt bulky and jagged enough to where if they did manage to maneuver their way down his throat, they’d surely come bursting out of his midsection and (hopefully) put him out of his misery.
?: Next….next? Not even a fair shot..
Hollywood had been taking its toll with the list of options already being looted down to a dead end and a looming question mark over his head as if contained to a floating thought bubble. With a heart turned hopeless and a mind gone aimless, he pushed his way in through the nearest and most appropriate way to drown himself: A kitschy little cafe serving as the face of a modest bookstore. The sound of the overhead bell that announces his arrival is cut off with an eager voice.
Barista: Hello, welcome to lksdjfdslkfjsdlsapeoruiewbs
The rest of the obligatory greeting drifts through his ears, a weight of depression pulling his top eyelids down as alertness is something he can’t be bothered with.
Barista: No problem! Can I get a name?
He stares down at the twenty something, no change in expression.
He saunters away towards a table for one and slouches down into a red stool. He lets out a groan and runs his forehead down his fingertips and into his palms, shame oozing out of his every pore to the point of tainting the air around him. One deep exhale later with fingers interlocked just behind his neck, the man leans over to take a curious look towards an older and more disheveled bookcase.
He pushes up from his seat and makes his way towards the row of tattered spines. He combs a curious finger over a row of barely legible titles before coming to a stop with his index pressed against a thick, black cover. With a persistent tug, the book comes loose and is turned over to its front.
Kitab al-Azif
Barista: Black coffee.
The lone worker’s tone grows more impatient as the man turns towards the counter and speaks up.
Barista: What is it?
?: Arabic.
Barista: Those have been there awhile. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind clearing some of them out at this point.
He offers up a half smile and digs into his pocket for a wad of crumpled bills and drops them on the counter before tucking the book under his pit and securing the cup in his right hand.
Barista: Have a good-
The door opens and swings back shut.
You cannot say.
I did not warn you.
I told Mr. English how this would go down, told all of YOU how this would go down. With a microphone shoved in my face, I let the world know that the circus was about to go up in flames and boy did the big top burn bright. Looking on like a proud parent as our family turned everything those carnies spent year one building into ash *snap* just like that..who could’ve seen it coming? Who could’ve ever predicted that the standard bearers would walk away not just licking their wounds, but literally plugging them up to avoid a fate worse than a loss of gold?
I did.
That’s what betting on yourself looks like. I put trust into our family, did everything I could to give them the platform that they needed in order to shine and the results were blinding. Through the great sacrifice that was made, the outlook of the Lethal Trials has been changed forever and if I do say so myself, for the better. We came and provided for each other and the result has been a product with more bulging eyes and nervous armchair soldiers sitting up and paying ATTENTION. This niche world is now a must see product. I was told our family’s arrival would be met with crickets and now, this audience can’t look away from it.
It’s not a choice.
This is magnetic.
Although the result that you see before you may have occurred in record time, though history was made that night in Granby..the road to resetting the standard was not an easy one. Prior to March the 27th, our path was lined with heartache. Traffic was at a standstill and a river of equal parts blood, sweat, and tears had run over onto that highway. I remember what it felt like..to be drowning. That feeling of treading water where you start to lose hope of ever seeing dry land again, I wouldn’t wish that feeling on my worst enemy.
I wouldn’t wish that on any of the four of you.
I advise that you duck.
I don’t want to see one smile or hear even a single chuckle, because this is no laughing matter. The path that has brought us to prosperity is no LAUGHING…matter. Beyond yourselves, there’s a lineup full of nervous gaps, because those who sign on that dotted line are shaking in their boots at the very thought of facing my family, of having to subject themselves to the same fate that the carnies were made to endure. This world sees now what must be done to provide for ourselves, what we must do to prosper in this arena.
To provide all of you wholesome content..
..We must do things that are not.
It will go beyond tossing a few bodies into an open grave plot and covering them in topsoil. That’s old news and circumstance that we’ve seen the likes of YOU..recover from before. Clearly, it was shallow enough for you to fight another day. You were allowed a chance at freedom, allowed to contemplate and let the scar tissue build up over the mental anguish. You were given an option and boy…did you pick the wrong door. The carnies gave you an out and instead of taking it, you picked up the phone on the call back. You assumed that this time, things might be different, that you could change the story and shift a narrative. The two of you thought that you could find something to gain in the house that my family rebuilt.
The thing is, I’m not a bad guy. I’m not over here praying for your downfall. I’m simply telling you that your behemoth sized mistake is one that has brought you far past the point of backing out. The tape from March was as fair of a warning as anyone could’ve ever given you and that’s why I can’t feel sorry. I can’t take pity on men and women sticking forks into a socket when they know the outcome to follow. There’s no coddling the four of you and even if I wanted something less punitive, to spare you what we’ve gone through ourselves..
You’re stillborns.
Dead on arrival.
This is it.
This was always it.
BAM!
The sound of a shell vaulting out of a rifle barrel and into the air shatters the near silent wilderness surrounding camera view. The shot pans down, spiraling in a tight circular radius before landing on a prideful looking Will Walker.
APPLAUSE
The piped in reaction struggles for auditory real estate with the shot still ringing through the collective ears of the viewers.
Robert: That’s my boy! You’re a natural!
Will: Runs in the family, doesn’t it?
Robert: I prefer a light jog if you wouldn’t mind, especially after the lunch we just had.
LAUGHTER
Robert: How many is that now?
Will: I mean, I don’t want to brag.
Robert: Oh, come on now. Nothing wrong with taking a little pride in your work.
Will: Well..
The shot cuts away, flashing through the wooded area and giving us a more complete sense of Will’s success with a firearm as seemingly every inch of green surrounding them is covered in avian cadavers.
LAUGHTER
Will: Do you think we have enough?
Robert: Is there really such a thing?
LAUGHTER
A pained and primal sound slithers out from the fleshy sea around Will and Robert, coming across as panicked and desperate for any form of escape from its current state. The two turn in sync towards the sound and Will cocks his head, a look of sorrow strung over his face. His mouth shifts back and forth which appears more mocking than sympathetic.
Robert: A bullseye isn’t a bullseye if that’s all you hit, son.
He puts a reassuring hand on Will’s shoulder and holds out the other to request the rifle.
AWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Will: Thanks, dad.
Robert: Nothing wrong with lending a hand now.
Robert takes a measured few steps toward the death screeching pheasant, the camera moving almost in slow motion as it tracks his feet from heel to toe and the sound of leaves under his boots creating a sharp and sustained crunching noise. He hovers over the spot where the bird is flailing weekly in search of its out.
Robert: I want you to promise me that you’ll never lose site of this.
Will: Come on, pops. I thought we were past all the sappy stuff.
LAUGHTER
Robert: Never feel bad about being a provider. I want you to promise me that?
Will: I promise.
Robert: After all, there’s only one other outcome here.
Will: What’s that?
Robert: Being the thing that is provided.
Robert pivots back towards the pheasant and swings the barrel around, lining up eye to eye and pulling the trigger.
BAM!
Feathers and blood splatter float upward.
BAM!
BAM!
BAMBAMBAM!
Robert hands the firearm back to Will and reaches down to retrieve the kill. He clutches the mangled result of a few too many shells and lifts it proudly into the air.
Robert: I hope everyone’s hungry.
LAUGHTER
APPLAUSE
CREDITS ROLLING
