Black and Red

A Screenplay by 7's

sth torn off some entwined lives...taught them the way... a way...way of what? desires? seeing the world rhyming? facing off...facing off themselves? but a light surely shines..

time halts here;
the cold, cold hot may's rain and swift, swirling harsh breeze halts.
''the storm's always frightening, yet stunning,'' i wonder by myself.
Pluvial silence; and my sky's color was getting fainter and smaller and dull, and more and more intense as the time passed by.

the earth was struck with mille of threads of cotton or silk, pure white desires of nature itself were shining as bright as today's glittering sun before the rain, the pattern it made was unclear through the plumy, traversing heaven's canvas, lighter than the wind, darker than the devil; one big old granny handed over the needles and her masterpiece to her baby light.

the trees and thresholds, logs and porches, the thorns and bushes of roses and roses, the streets with smutty aroma that rose from the soil, or the pavements reflecting the girl hiding under the climes- no fear, but her long lost eyes, serene and washed off, were black and her skin that gave up was red- standing as an oak would, holding the oak - unmoved from her place- resisting to move; clean was whatever eyes found, this day.

the hard rocks and the rockies they made up, covered with green grasses, at that cliff where no drop could find its way to the city without jumping off to the streams down below, are a bed this day; indeed, sweetest bed one could find before death; two lovers from suburbs together, with eyes closed, with melody of thunder, holding, quite lifeless, each other's shivering hands, and her head on his chest, quavering with each note, perfect rhythm, muzzy, yet enchanting.

The hidden world grew up denser whence the person who got issues with butterflies found his way to some silent woods through a rocky beach, thanks to the never ending changes in water ways while he was far away from his people and way too close to his love. His head was swollen and bleeding since the black rocks helped him out the tearing water razors.

In all these havoc, a retired misanthrope, again finding it hard to keep up the same way, sat in a dusty countryside at his porch with his mandolin, holding on, always, and still believing, and repeating on the words, ''for me, bliss in a dingle would do, and for me, bliss in a dingle would do,...be you,...keep a bliss in a dingle...that would do,'' tries again, his favorite never written, as he tries each downpour, his glory unsound, and his own fame's failure, to enchant none of his fan, to seduce no one anymore, not out of frustration, no, not this time, but with him, his same old melancholy composition, his never known 'black and red'.

Out of the rest, people and people, all of a sudden, were people or people; few days united them all with a single repeated string of thoughts, nevertheless with their loving comfort, gone was themselves; and in search of comfort, two best friends gasping in satisfaction- unlike the satisfaction like forever to stay- make love for the first time out of the lust they interred far away, after the faint light from drops on window and the window of her bedroom, he kisses on her back, both could see less of each other's naked flesh in the dark room of a cheerful house, although, with a brief nostalgia and fading away grief, they saw all of their bodies, wet, not from the waters, and they slur, this day.

Not everywhere is the same scene, not that everyone would know the same love; a cute little girl yet to be fourteen, walked her way to the alley of real criminals this morning, is sitting at her home, safe and sound, crying with dead eyes, longing for another chance and with pride is ready to face the ghosts from her lover's past- the lover who didn't think twice before breaking up with her in anger, an anger not would have find its way this easy, pierced its way deep inside his heart.

There a same old goodness' angel, the same paint brush, a never changing smile is picturing her eyes on a canvas. She would be glad that the streets would remain quiet for another day and baby light would be photographed- if she would wish the next day. These few days took away many smiles, so it's surely good for her mother to know that she would sleep quiet for another night; she deserves it, the kindest youth with her heels like a lady, with a genuine smile anyone could sink into, with a helping nature and open heart, understanding the most yet remains innocent, always a skylight, with a passion, a frisky seraph, the artist.

Yet, despite this, and these days might be only this artist, some aesthetes once lived in the sky together are today together above the sky. These friends got a birthday girl and her love who travelled to her town just yesterday for her. The guys, flirting and screaming to the clouds and the sun, are going wild shirtless, and the girls, ohh... It's cold at this height except for our birthday girl's best friend; oh this another, always high, crazy, madness herself; it's time for a free fall, and thank god there are smart ones in the group to hold her.

Down below, at another town, it is raining harder. And here a songstress, the guitarist, with red eyes seemed sick today, lives alone, knows a few around, and trusts only her boyfriend who took her to the hospital this noon; he finally realized, she longs for that loving spurious forest, and he himself, for her secret garden's pass.

''not my animes, no mom, go away.'' these are spoken in a fued somewhere nearby the songstress, beween a mother and her school going son. The son has some interesting friends, even he himself is, may be for some. Some in his amusement park like group are of course anime fiends, supersmarts, suaves, total jigsaws, fun making, evil doers, gangsters, lifeless and 'larger than life' buddies. But against those; two of them- in this place where there is a way of rush life and are little less affected by these days- live with the old ways. With an older look and somewhere always loosening eyes, stands a guy obsessed with gaming with a close harsh past he shares with few, best in moving on as seen by others but himself is left back by himself there where with a broken heart and dark secrecy, he waits for his due; he is one but the other one; don't know why lives to mostly himself but do smile the most- cries if he needs, smiles if needed- cheerful but making friends is not something he's hired for; and now, these days, he is avoiding a girl and avoiding waters, and right now, surmising the halo is undone, he, at his house wishing to live the rain.

...