Mugabe Victor
One can only hide a fire for so long before the moths begin to gather around its glow. Last week, I went on and on about the opening scene of my film Dear Darling, so I decided it was only fair to offer you, my dear readers, a small gift: the first page. Of course, it still remains subject to change before the film’s release, but for now, here it is; a little glimpse into the world I’ve been building. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.
INT. DISGUSTING STUDIO APARTMENT: KITCHEN, EVENING
ARCHIE, a 35 year old, musician lies on a messy kitchen floor. He is slim, shabby, dead eyed. His body? Twisted, depicting the reversed position of the hanged man. There are traces of dried tears on his face. Broken utensils, empty medicine blister packs and pills all over the floor. His stomach growls.
Suddenly a song starts playing. It’s his phone, ringing from an arms reach away. It vibrates, getting closer to the edge.
Just as it is about to fall, he grabs it.
INT. DISGUSTING STUDIO APARTMENT: KITCHEN, LATER
Archie breaks into a dance to the sound of the music. He cleans up the room, his motion stiff and mechanical. His face, stoic. He drops items in a bin, filling it to the brim. On top of the pile of rubbish lies lots of medicine boxes and capsules. On the walls, defaced pictures of him and a woman.
INT. DISGUSTING STUDIO APARTMENT: KITCHEN, LATER
He sets a fold-able table for two, getting it ready for a dinner date. Flowers, candles and wine, the whole thing. The phone stops ringing, over 50 missed calls. In the corner of the room, we see a dusty guitar, unmoved, even after tidying.
INT. STUDIO APARTMENT: LATER
The table is set and so is the mood. Archie walks into the room with a female mannequin at his side. She is dressed for the date, however, poorly put together. He sets her up as the sound of water droplets gets louder.
His phone vibrates; pulling him out of the trance. He fills his wine glass and raises it in the direction of the mannequin. Right behind it is the wall with the defaced pictures.
He takes a sip and the moment he lowers his glass, we notice a beautiful young lady at his side. She is kneeling, her head rested on the table as she watches Archie. DARLING, an embodiment of the femme fatale. She appears to be in her late 20s. Dressed in a classy yet sexy dress, she looks stunning in comparison to the mannequin. She giggles, grabbing Archie’s attention.
DARLING: Its sad
Archie freezes.
DARLING: Oh, go on. Do not mind me.
She gets up, slowly stroking the mannequin.
DARLING: She’s not very talkative, is she? She lacks the… I don’t know, life?
She bends over such that their eyes are locked.
DARLING: Does she sing? I guess you would be the only one who would know.
Darling glances at him, her eyes teasing and expectant.
ARCHIE: Darling
She giggles, skipping over to the wall, studying the defaced pictures. Archie’s phone starts ringing. She hums the melody from his phone. Archie cancels the call.
“This article is part of a series exploring the themes behind my upcoming short film, Dear Darling.”
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