sing, sing: keep sinking (xdieblueskiesx) wrote,
sing, sing: keep sinking

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thank you, pbr!

don't read this unless you like writing that isn't good

:it's kinda brick out. [between blasts of cold, verbal air]
:serio [pensive pause. to be expected] why'd you want to bring me out here?
[knowing full well the reason, advice that break ups, already unfair in nature, are best delivered at neutral sites, {} withholds this information]
:look...we need...i neeed to say something to you rather [collection] i never want to be dishonest with you...or anyone at that.
:i don't think this is working out.
:[shock sinks:mafia leaks]
:[aria launch!] listen, i don't want to ever be at the point where i'd be lying to you, and if we keep going, i feel like i would be. i want to stop before it gets to that point.
:well i'm going back out west for a while...maybe we can take a break.
:i don't think that'll work.
:[pre-empting the inevitable list of questions: "why'd we try again in the first place?", "have you been faking it?", "do you still love me?"]
:[the feeble list of attempted answers: "it felt right at the time", "no", and "yes"]...that came out wrong. [switch into damage control mode] i still care about you. eight months is a long time to spend with anyone, and i still want to salvage what's left, you know? [wondering if any of this has hit home, i haven't heard any detonation, regardless of the distance of the trebuchet shot]

off the bridge, there is a harbor, and atop the port of the harbor stand three smoke stacks, locally known as "the sentinels". at this point, townie #1 launches himself towards the sentinels, gaudy jewlery aflutter, sweatslicked face basking in bolero-timed glow of the scalding seaward message. there is no water broken here.

:i don't know what you want me to say
:[you never knew what to say. you never know what to say.] anything, say fucking anything.
:you couldn't have picked a worse time for one.
:[shit, her grandmother's memorial service]

townie #2 launches herself towards the sentinels, belly up to the clouds, clutching her handbag and rum & coke without the coke. there is no water broken here.

:listen, this is a unilateral decision i didn't expect you to be happy about, but i felt like i couldn't keep putting it off. i tried, i really did try to see if it would be easier [better? more comfortable? less strange?] this time around, but i couldn't keep putting it off.

townie #3 launches herself sentinelward, sans one high heel, the product of a truly successful drunken eve. there is no water broken here.

in their rhythmic signaling, the first sentinel relays glee; his guilty excitement of new prospects, options, freedom, at the expense of perhaps the first tangible experience of fragility, superiority (gained yet unwanted), and supremacy (never to be achieved again). at what fucking cost?

:[ahh...the airstrike has done yet another messy yet effective job. time for the infantry] so where do we go from here?
:[resist? veto? employ diplomacy? she insists on silence, the most potent of quagmire tactics, a la litigation] i don't know what you want me to say.
:[again, find some fucking words!] say what you want to say.
:it's hard. it's hard, okay? being around you and not with you. falling asleep and waking up alone. everything that does and will remind me of you. [a series of troops have crossed enemy lines and bonded over a common disgust for this bloody mess]
:it'll be hard for me too. you gotta know that.

townies #4 and 5 throw themselves to the sea, both with cold faces. his of terror, hers of malice. she wasn't lying. she went down and she took him with her. there is no water broken here.

the second sentinel beams with replys, reproach, regret, time not yet lost, not yet regained. he was ready to make eight months forever. she was ready to make eight months forever.

:you can have this back [she removes the key ring she took from him from her ring finger. she clasps his hands to hide what she gave back] i'll give you the rest of your stuff back later [ride on, little lady, ride on]

townie #6 walks under the bridge and into the waiting harbor waters, content yet crushed, terrified of herself all the while.

the third sentinel brother brims with tenses: past, present, future, imperfect, screaming time from its calculated gaze.

:[he spins relieved/jetlagged. he opens his hand to reveal the metal ring. the crimean manuever. fuck]

shock is the slow speed. shock is the smell. shock is the sense that everything has turned on its axis without you. shock is the sight, the space between you and the trio of sentinels staring down the scopes of their shooters as you turn to leave. shock is the sound of the gunshots.

:[he retires]

end act i

confusing, i know, but the dialouge moves alright if you think about it. this was for mckenna, because i kept telling her i had this, but never got around to giving it a new format. here, i did it. can't guarantee it's any good though. it's been months since i used this thing. i'm not dead, but clearly i don't have anything to show for my absence in the way of writing haha. goodnight
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