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[Action/Video]
[Justin, unaffected by the cold induced by sitting near the fountain that the City had seen fit to drop him into during winter, finally tires of waiting for what he’s convinced what must be a trick of the mind to dissipate and resolve itself into the nothingness of death. For a lack of any other distractions, he fumbles with the device he had found in his pocket earlier.
He doesn’t fully understand why he would bother hallucinating what resembles a camcorder. The brain is truly a strange and unfathomable thing.]
Am I dead yet?
[It’s a ridiculous question. He still exists enough to imagine things; the answer is clearly no.]
If not--if not, I hope this doesn't last long.
He doesn’t fully understand why he would bother hallucinating what resembles a camcorder. The brain is truly a strange and unfathomable thing.]
Am I dead yet?
[It’s a ridiculous question. He still exists enough to imagine things; the answer is clearly no.]
If not--if not, I hope this doesn't last long.
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I didn't--I wasn't implying that you should test it.
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Oh, yeah, sure. Wouldn't dream of it.
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[She tilts her head, humor dark and mocking.]
So, hypothetically, how would you like to die?
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Right here, maybe?
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[This seems like an odd conversation to have with a complete stranger. Interesting, but not the way of things.]
May I ask your name?
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[She's amused that he would have a preference as to which side his brain got blown out from.]
Why the temple?
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[Carla reminds him a little of Richard--the same dark amusement. He's not sure if that's a good thing.]
It's the shape--the hollow. Not the most reliable way unless the angle's right, but there's a beauty to it... to the way the barrel fits there.
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That's fucked up, Justin.
[She understands though.]
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[If nothing else, Carla is interesting. She seems to understand things that very few people understand.]
What would your preference be?
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My lover. I want him to kill me.
[Her mood hasn't really changed, a wry detachment from the conversation, an antagonistic smile. It's difficult to tell whether she's being tasteless, or just honest.
She's all bad news.]
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That's... intimate. Some think that murder is the truest expression of intimacy.
[Justin thought so, anyway. He's uncertain now, but there's still something romantic about the notion--not that he would want to surrender his fate to someone else. Not by choice.]
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It would mean I was finally more important than him.
[So maybe Justin was right. Maybe that was the most sincere thing that would ever pass between them. She props up an elbow in the window frame, looking back at the camera.]
And you love yourself most of all.
[Maybe she's a little envious. She had always striven for that kind of self-sufficiency, but it had been snatched out of her hands by a selfish artist who wouldn't let her go.]
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[The last gets a humorless smile.]
I hate myself most of all. Killing myself would have been an act of free will, a perversion of the justice system, and a final assertion of power... no intimacy, no love. Just ideologies.
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Do you feel trapped, little rabbit?
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Yes.
Do you?
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[Trapped inside her own corpse. An animal intent to chew off its own leg, just to escape.]
And it won't be over soon.
[A very sweet reminder. Every moment was a century.]
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[Barbet wasn't here. The shreds of her life that she had gathered back up were not here. She has no work, she has no focus, no control.]
But here I am.
[What that would mean in the long run, she didn't know.]
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[That's depressing.]
Great.
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What are you going to do?
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[Carla did.]
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