The City has once again found itself to be the host of an overstaying monsoon in the month of November. Its past midnight and the rain still pours, neither heavily nor poorly enough to deter its denizens from the feasts of the night that the city has in store for its children. None of them were really free.
The rain starts to pick up its pace, small bullets being rained down, spattered against windows and slowly inching themselves into the cement and concrete upon which everything and everyone stands.
Potholes started to pool with a reinvigorated fervour, and the traffic’s cacophony started to pool in with the monotone of the rain, seemingly drowning this entire city out of life, the neon flicker in and out of sea that seemed to be ready, devours all that is known.
Scene 2
A man stumbles out of a bar. His curly hair matted against his dome in a matter of seconds.
His eyes blinded by the shards of water that seemed to be determined to turn his evening from bad to worse. A broken tile almost sends him to the ground, but a stumble of the legs in the right direction sends his momentum upwards and away from the wet floor. He pauses in the rain in an effort to collect his thoughts but like a fisherman trying to cast a net in the storm against an ocean whose defiance knows no bounds, he stands there in the rain.
Scene 3
Blood dissipated into a puddle of murk as it drips and drips into a cracked concrete sprawl from a broken lip. A little boy. Running through the rain with only the soles of his bare feet to count on. The youth of a vision that he hopes won’t be deterred by the torrent that seems to be getting the best of this entire city.
His arms coddling the necessities, trying to get them where they’re needed not where they’re going to be spent. The “dogs” are after him. Teeth bear with greed rather than hunger. He’s running.
The entire world nothing but splashes of neon and grey in a seemingly endless flux. His heart racing. His feet steady with the rhythm of the rain. He feels elation, hope even, till a broken tile catches his foot.
A stroke of pain shoots through his side as he is sent rolling to the side of the road. Pain, Pain which he didn’t care for much, not when the adrenaline pumping through his veins was able to replace every sensation with a need to escape. So, when he got back up on that slippery slope, he ran. He ran just as fast as he did. Into the rain, never to be seen again.
Scene 4
A woman runs out of a restaurant almost catching a fall on the steps, slick with the rain which doesn’t seem to show any sign of taking a break but that doesn’t seem to matter for the woman, for in the rain it won’t seem like she is crying.
Looks as if though she was screaming yet not entirely screaming, for those struck with grief don’t make a sound that one hears often. Sorrow doesn’t look like sorrow, not in a passing glance at least. Not in a narrow frame of thought at least. You’ll never know what sorrow, that deep seethed, skin curling, heart breaking kind of sorrow is until you feel it for yourself, and for the woman that’s what going on through her mind right now. A pain that choked the literal life out of her, tightening her muscles, her clumped organs create a sense of claustrophobia within her. As if the very air you breathe is closing in on itself, around you from all sides.
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Mixed and Mastered by Ashrey Goel
Angad Berar - Composer, Guitar, Bass, Keys, Fx
Wulfbiscuits - Words
Catla Freshwater - Narration
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