Script

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Horizon – Script

© 2013-2014 Artur Mandas. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

Part I: The Right Path

The right path needs at least one wrong

 

Horizon tells a story of an unknown man from nowhere. His goal is to reach the place where horizon is not split in two parallel lines, where it forms one straight line. This is his search for bliss. The man has cruel face, which has the quality of transformation. When emotionally disturbed, it becomes unstable and changes into polygon-like net of broken figments of mirrors – before that state it may seem crumpled, like a squashed piece of paper. The fragments of mirrors may then form a perfect flat mirror for face. When broken it reveals a door into another dimension.

The man starts his journey in the dark. He sees a straight white path of ahead of him and nothing more. As he moves forward, he can see more of the path hanging in the dark, and soon intricate net of intertwining paths unravels. The mood is black and white. Light source diffused completely. The man comes to a place where the path forks in many ways. The environment at this point is cubic. The man can not feel where the new ways lead to – they fade to dark. As he moves, the light gradually unfolds the rest of the scenery. The paths lead to seven identical doors, but are so intertwined he can’t tell which to take from the distance.

He takes the third from the left and moves forward. The path behind him dissolves into disjointed polygons that fly away, but in straight lines – he can’t retreat. As he comes closer to the door, it becomes obvious that he took the only good route – there’s another fork, from which seven straight paths lead directly to the doors. Once again he takes the third from the left, but before that he looks back – the path behind him is dissolved, but only for a short distance – it occurs it rebuilt itself and extended down to black abyss.

He turns around and faces the doors occupying the whole view. And the view is beautiful – the ocean plane facing him. He steps forward and the doors start closing. These are side doors. Cubical ornaments around flood into the door frames, closing them. The man stops. The doors stop closing. He steps back, the door open. Moves ahead, door keep closing again. He nears the door. The ornaments around seem living, like electric circuits with tiny balls of fire inside.

The man inspects the door. From a distance they seemed simple, yet are complex when viewed from close range. These are door made of complex nets of moving cubes, lofted shapes, cubes travelling inside tubes. It is like there is city of cubes living in the door. By pressing the plates the protagonist flattens the surface. When completed, other doors open – but not his. Still shows no emotion, but his face lines electrify for a blink of time. He looks at the path to his right. It is close, but too far to jump to it. He hits the door. The hits resonate onto geometry, broadening the paths and extruding them, fading down to the previous state after the hit.

Resigned, he catches a cubic firefly. The Patterns of curves are carved into each side of the firefly, with a circle occupying their centers. The longer he holds the metallic creature, the more the circle turns into a rectangle. When it is fully rectangular, the decomposition of the cube starts. We see its outer surface collapse and fade away, showing a skeleton of uneven lines which are living. They disassemble and trail away as well, and there is nothing more.

The man catches another firefly and throws at the door. It just started disassembling when held, but recomposed in the fly. It bounces off the door and off the horizon level, which is formed by the black between the paths, and flies away, moving in straight lines. Yet the man cannot see this. He catches many cubic fireflies. He makes a multicube out of them, like a Rubik cube. He throws it at the door, again. The box shatters into fireflies after the crash. The fireflies fly away. They leave trails which resemble electrified lines.

The man is angry and shouts, but there is no sound. Instead, his face dissolves for a second into polygons with trails gluing them to the head frame, keeping them from flying away. As if he were an artificial construct. Resigned, he sits in lotus position, head down. A single firefly teases him. He catches it and squashes and throws away. The firefly blinks with light of a dying apparatus, and falls on the invisible black surface between the paths, and dies to black before the man could see the trickery of light.

The man stands up, spreads arms and shouts light, his face transforming into cruel hell mask. The light enlivens the dead firefly for a moment, and now the man sees it. He is mad at the discovery, his face blurs into sharp shrapnels. Fumes go off the eyes, the pieces of white fall and rise up, filling the paths and making perfect flat white floor from here to everywhere.

The hero approaches the door to the left of the one closed and is to enter it, but moves back to the one closed and slightly touches it. It opens. He enters. All the doors close. They shape shift into the title HORIZON, then shorten their lines and die. We see his profile as he sticks his head out of the door frame, he leans down and camera follows making ninety degrees clockwise turn.

The door behind him hinge down, revealing rectangular plates till horizon for the ground and torn planet under the stormy sea for heaven. The awe on his face seems now explained, as he faces us just before the end of the scene.

 

 

 

 

 

Part II: The True Mirror

The true mirror is always distorted

 

The man sticks his head out of the door. We see him from the side, camera attached to his head. The camera is permanently aligned to the axis of the head, and rotates with it. The man frowns. His face changes into a set of mirror fragments. Those fragments morph into a flat mirror.

It should seem strange, as it is behind the man which evokes awe, not what the man sees. Behind the man is a dead planet, a planet with its parts like shrapnels, remnants of a distant explosion, orbiting around, yet very slowly, almost frozen in time. Ahead of him, in the mirror of his face, is a sun-like planet just before explosion, with cold light shining through, like through the seams.

The man gets out of the door frame, which is in this reality is a hole in the ground. He stands straight, and turns around. There is a flat surface everywhere. The man goes toward a somewhat safer alternative – a dead planet.

As he proceeds, the flat plane indents into matrix of plates, identical. Raw and bare environment gets more and more complex. Straight lined trees and lightnings, lanes in the sky, giant structures frozen in time, looking down on travel routes, odd apparatuses.

The man inspects the ground, this matrix of bare, simple plates. Some plates have handles, like doors, but none will move.

Finally, a central dividing line emerges. This line defines terraces. There is the altitude difference. What is to the left is higher, to the right lower. The line starts winding, but in straight lines. The divider line gets three lines – these are railways. Just after the last turn, on the rails there stands a cubical wagon or a vehicle. This is near the end of the terrain, after which there is black chasm.

The vehicle is simple and retro, hovering on rails. A matrix of cubical dust covers the side facing the approaching man. The man swipes the dust with his hand. He reveals a mirror. The dust crawls his arms up the body and into his mouth, like a parasite. When all inside, his eyes turn the color of the dust, over dense saturation, implode and explode as fumes, while face lines neon up.

The man taps the mirror. The mirror starts disassembling, and returns its parts into the face of a man’s doppelganger. The point of view is then switched to him – we see astonished face of the original man. The original man gets agitated – as if he saw a new kind of animal on display.

The doppelganger man doesn’t seem interested in his counterpart that much – it is like we were watching a dog out the window, running around, from one window to another. This is how original man can be perceived. The doppelganger does his ordinary tasks out of routine – he just watches a man, facing him. He turns head up – we see a concave hemisphere for a ceiling.

 

On this ceiling there are light bulbs, like a field of stars. This field starts sinusoidally hovering, like buoys on an ocean plane – but the effect is subtle, barely noticeable. The doppelganger’s point of view rotates down and we see the original man again – his face glued to the window, flattened, squashed, like a mantle after an accident.

The point of view is switched again – we see what the original man sees, moving back. While stepping back he reveals more of the wagon’s inside. Everything inside contradicts the outside in terms of shape and temperature – outside seems cubic and cold, inside curvy and warm, smooth and fuzzy. The inside of the wagon emanates light outside, which is volumetric.

The interior design is weird retro style – the bulbs’ field, a gramophone seeping whirls of rainbows, mini mirrors, futuristic hourglasses, weird glasses, books smoking letters, swing chairs rocking sideways, and more like that. The original man walks around the wagon, and by each side, a new window shows up, and every time the doppelganger faces the man like they were attached to each other, like he were hiding.

There is something behind his back, with a smirk on his face. The man looks for the entrance – there is none – he scratches at the windows, to no effect. Resigned, he thumps at the wagon, flat hand and sound. The wagon starts moving, toward the chasm, as if propelled by the hit. It passes a stop station at the end of the world. The man walks up to the stop and reads the sign. The sign describes the route. The sign resembles infinity sign.

The infinity sign morphs between circular and rectangular versions of itself. When the hero touches it, it turns into a flat line.

He goes back to the wagon and tries to stop it, because he notices it leads to the edge of the world. His efforts are futile. He then tries to break the window facing chasm with his head – for every hit his counterpart gets his face crumpled, broken, disjointed.

The point of view keeps switching between the two, and a web of cracks appears, indented, concave. That web is temporary, as the glass reconstructs itself. Still, some air manages to whizz out, stealing the smooth curvature of the inside, straightening the angles of the man and objects – just for a moment.

The doppelganger keeps smiling at the man’s actions. It is a sad smile. He reaches for a bulb and twists it off. All light bulbs die out to a piano keys ambient sound, while the doppelganger shakes his head, slowly, and waves goodbye.

The night fills the inside of the wagon. The man does not like it. The wagon goes off the edge of the world. It starts rotating due to the twist of the cut rails which are pointing the chasm. Instead of going down, it goes up, like a balloon. The man keeps screaming soundlessly, giving the light to the bulbs – they are pulsing with it, yet it is too much noise for them – they go off like fireworks, one after another, breaking the bulbs. The glass breaks the windows. The air escapes through the shattered glass. The inside of the wagon turns sharp objects, mimicking the outside. Only then the last light goes off.

The doppelganger now really looks like a clone – a dry version of a warm past self. The last colors of the inside fly out through the window cracks in serpents of rainbows. Dark covers the wagon. It dies, in a way. The wagon floats in space. The man looks down the chasm. He notices many railways, ending sharply over the edge, reaching infinity, both on his left and right. The camera zooms out. We see that the man stands by the wall, under the terrace which split horizon in half.

He turns around and faces the camera. The dead planet behind resembles a metal ball of plates, torn from the inside.

The boiling planet seeps ominous light. It is like the same planet, but just after explosion, in a high slow motion. Its fragments are like shrapnels. They move very slowly, yet they move. Destruction seems eminent. Cut.

 

 

 

 

 

Part III: The Serpent Road

The serpent road has no end

 

The man returns the same way he came from. He goes by the open floor door and peers down – now there are clouds, lots of puffy sweet clouds, neither black nor white. As if he were dragging drama on his back – and when he is not there, the good returns. The clouds greet him with soft shining lights, passing the invitation.

The man’s face tears in conflict – parts of his face start to trail away into the world beyond, getting the more humane the closer they are to that dimension. The man feels uneasy, fighting with his arms the gravity of the pull. He stands straight, shuts the door with his foot. He covers it with sand using his other foot. The sand wasn’t there before. It was blown all over when he was staring down the hole. The man makes a few turns, just to forget the coordinates, walks here and there, opens his eyes and continues his journey.

There is more and more sand, the dunes appear, sharp and polygonal. The land is like an ocean, and it moves so, yet very slowly. There is a huge wavelike hill in a distance, and something shines at the apex, like a tip of a melting blade. The man walks up towards the object. It appears to be the door in the floor. It cannot be opened. The man sighs and looks over the hill.

There is a whole field of doors in a lane of a valley. They all float like on an ocean plane. Swirls of sand look like bursts on the sun. As they fly up, the sand turns to dust. The dust turns to fire. Fire to cloud. Cloud to water.

The man can open some of the doors, but there is always sand underneath. He walks to a place, where there is a gap infinite, from left to right, and no bridge. There is a cross-lane in the sky, but floating. No stairs to it. An ocean for heaven.

The lane is solid and opaque. The doors beneath the sky lane are all locked but one. There is only sand behind the door. The man checks them all.

There’s a transparent part of the lane resembling lens, moving along the lane, and what is beneath is burnt to ashes.

The man lifts his brow. He turns his back to the danger and lifts another one.

The doors that were in the sand are now mostly on the ocean plane. They fell against gravity as the man progressed and the last of them does so, pulling trails of sand behind. These trails melt to glass, like tears. The man lies down on his belly and rolls on his back. We see from his point of view.

It seems now that the ocean is at the bottom, like it normally would be. Last doors go from sand to the ocean. The pillar of fire behind the man gets closer and closer. The man approaches the door under the sky lane, opens it and leaves the dangerous area. After this area is burnt, he returns there and inspects the door.

 

What was sand now is a glass mirror, seeping polygonal fumes into the atmosphere. The man takes some of the sand and crushes it into a solid rock. He drops it drops it into the boiling glass. The glass devours it, and it goes down through the ocean. The man lifts his head too late to witness it – the gravity of the ocean took it back.

The man tries another stone, but now the glass is non-liquid, almost solid. He drops sand on the salient features of his reflected face, as if marking something. He takes a deep breath and jumps inside.

The mirror breaks, huge pointy fragments rotate, making something of a crown of edges around the man. They turn into liquid state the more the deeper the man is in the hole. The man disappears inside. He shows up falling down the ocean plane. The waters attract him back into their deeps, but his weight is greater than that of the stone, and so he falls a longer distance before their gravity reach him, being able to grasp the edge of the skylane.

The hero lifts his body up, yet seems upside down, since the skylane is closer to the ocean than it is to the desert, and its gravity stronger. Now he is standing straight and walks away, crossing the chasm. The camera banks by 180 degrees, switching the top with the bottom. It does so slowly, with the pace the man goes away.

Under the man, in the gap between two lands, there are two walls facing each other, like sides of opposite buildings. There are many levels on each side, and every second level is full of doors. There are nets of paths connecting the walls, but they are on the levels that have no doors. It forms a kind of a layer cake of mistakes.

 

 

 

 

 

Part IV: The Spyglass Window

The spyglass window hides many keyholes

 

The lane in the sky turns into something of a landing lane – there appear bands of walking neon lights, like for signaling planes, on each side of the lane. In the middle of the lane appears a line of light posts going to infinity. They are double-eyed, living with light the more the closer the man is to them, and turning their faces to face him.

As the man progresses, a mist encompasses everything. The man walks. Time passes. A wagon emerges from the mist. It is on the right side of the lane, on tracks, wires above. On the left side there are benches, facing outside, not towards the tracks, like they normally would.

The man is to inspect the wagon, but turns away to camera, as if to walk back.

There is nothing to get back to. There is no mist in the area passed, but the lane is not the same. With distance it becomes more transparent, wireframe, twisted and chaotic. The lanterns are bent and tired. They look down with despair, closing their eyes one after another, while the night steps in. The closest one looks back at its counterpart – these are double lanterns – then looks at the man, then straight ahead, pulls head down, then dies.

The man enters the wagon. The wagon starts moving. The mist devours the vehicle. It dissipates a bit. The rails go ahead into what seems eternity, accompanied by electric wires above.

The environment all around evokes a great expectation at what is awaiting the passenger – these are small elongated cubes seen from great heights, with abstract forms growing off, like trees. The mist returns and goes back. Now on both sides there are other wagons.

Doppelgangers in there don’t look at the protagonist. They look straight ahead in the direction of the ride, still in awe at what they see. One to the left has his face glued to the window, arms broad at the wall. The one on the right side prepares and does the same.

The man blows his lips in a dry astonishment. The mist returns and vanishes again. There is a whole complex of twisted tracks set in space, which intertwine each other, and the wagons on them are moving very fast. The space between the tracks is not filled with cosmic void – it is full of abstract shapes, weird rainbows. All evoking living colors.

When the wagons near the man, the time slows, and we see something very off. People inside are fighting to stop their wagons, in different ways. The man doesn’t understand that. He frowns.

The mist returns and dissipates. The doppelgangers at the sides are back. They do the same. They look in awe, but now in the direction opposite to the ride. As if they just left the area that was so full of awe and inspiration. The man goes to the side the doppelgangers are at. Now he does what they do. He reconstructs their movements with a delay. Time passes and the moves get synchronized. We realize they are just the protagonist’s reflections, shifted in time.

 

The mist returns and goes away, and we see a new kind of scenery. The lanes are intertwining on different levels and are generally a part of a larger tree – like a self-growing construct – but not in a cosmic space, yet in a milky, soft, misty and dense region of clouds.

The buildings are full of straight lines. There are rows of windows. The style is a combination of art deco, brutalism, bauhaus and futurism. The buildings are steaming solid colors and are connected with wires, which are intertwined, scrambled. Cyclically, an ocean plane goes down through the clouds. Its gravity pulls the buildings up. We can see they are all anchored to the ground. The higher they are, the larger the gaps between consecutive levels. The more of their skeletons we can see. The skeletons are immobile.

Serpents of sands go off the roofs. Fragments of debris detach from the walls and roofs, and fly up, held be wires. They go back when the ocean plane disappears. It seems the structures are breathing with their shatters walls, in and out.

The buildings are situated on planes that from the top view look like layered, toppled domino blocks lying on uneven angles. There are movements of geometric shapes. The lane becomes sole – the other branched off into white. It leads to the mainland.

There are people in the windows. They all smile and look at the man. They all stay at windows which resemble doors – and have such handles. They are on each floor.

There are no people outside. It seems all windows are full. The camera cuts from one piece of building to another, getting closer to each consecutive window. All persons have hair with trails of smoke. All smile. The last window occupies the whole view. That window is empty. Cut.

 

 

 

 

Part V: The Empty Door

The empty door is full of space

 

The man inspects his surroundings as he nears the building with the empty window. This building is his goal. He tries to get inside any of the building, but there is no entrance on the ground level to any of the edifices.

Lanterns observe him behind his back, bending their necks and peering over a corner when he takes one. The buildings watch his every step, and seem to be somehow dependent on the protagonist. They blink windows when he blinks his eyes. The volumetric lights from the windows look at the man as he travels.

The ground level has neither doors nor windows. Now the hero wants to enter only one building. The building in which there is one free window on the top level – the only such structure in the area. As if it were waiting for the man to fill it, to fill the gap.

Resigned, he sits. Evening comes with soft pastel colors under his belt. As if out of sympathy, the buildings hover down and settle on the ground. When the man hides his face in his hands, they dim their lights and bend over him. He cannot see that.

Light, projected volumetrically from a nearby block of flats, falls on the building with the empty window.

The face of the man brightens up. He uses the projection to get inside. He gets to the top floor. There is a row of men seen from their sides, like poles blurring with distance. They face windows.

The room is long and resembles a corridor. There are paintings on the wall behind their backs. The paintings are the shadows of the people – they are living, their outlines are serpented with tentacles, the particles making them are cubical.

The faces of the people are living with particles. They are a mosaic of sharp, small shapes. And so their facial features are undetermined, at least for the man. He cannot tell their feelings at all.

The man walks along the room, looking at the windows. In the windows there is a view contradicting the environment seen from the outside – from the inside it looks like other scenery, warmer, better.

There are people outside the windows, while there were none when seen from the outside, in the exact same place.

The man puts his hand on one man’s shoulder, triggering his vision. He repeats this process for each and every person in the room. These visions reconstruct different scenes from the life of the protagonist, one per chapter. These visions are stylized, simplified. Like frescos. Some of the chapters past, some of the coming.

They are only visible when the man puts his hand on men’s shoulders, as if he were linking through touch with them. They are the same, yet they are not – the events are the same, yet from the perspective of the mosaic men they seem livelier and there are finally colors. Shapes are more inviting and forgiving. As if they saw everything without the fog of cold, just as it were from a broad, multiple perspective.

There is a scene from part I, where the man tries to get the door opened – and there is full floor this time, fireflies are wispy, glueiy and soft. It feels an ordinary room enlived by flies, a room of a child. The child is too afraid to go out and his mind is his enemy.

There’s a scene from part II, where the man sees his reflection in the mirror, it is trio mirror, and there are light bulbs on the band above – the mirror is broken, probably destroyed by the man.

There is the scene from chapter III, where the man sees the field of doors on the sand plane – now they are the audience, uneasy, slightly going up their chairs and down, as if to see better.

There’s a scene from part IV – the people in the windows are the audience on different levels in a theatre.

There are also scenes from the future, among them one with the man trying to crash his head on a plain field, against the ground, and other with the man standing straight in a vicinity of apocalypse with his arms spread.

All these can be seen only when the man has his hand on any man’s shoulder, as he walks by. Other than that, their visions are continuous, yet they do not reflect the world outside – it is a shared delusion. The difference is they see colors and softness and richness. The man seems unhappy with that and tries to disturb their vision by obscuring the windows with his body.

Something strange happens – the emotions shine through, making the man more humane. He frowns. He tries to swipe visions from windows, like the mosaic, and make it for a moment, but they come back, like dense fluids in a tank. The man discovers that swiping the windows stirs the features of the faces of the mosaic people. By reverse engineering the process he discovers another thing – by stirring the faces of the people, the pictures in the windows also get stirred.

The hero frowns. He steps up to the empty window. As if it were waiting for him, there’s this feeling. But nothing happens when the man stands there, empty faced.

There are people outside his windows as well, but the view is quite different. Their interactions and placement is very wrong. Two men are on a seesaw, with their backs facing one another. There is a car where the back passenger seats are facing the rear of the car. There are numerous scenes and signs that show the lack of interpersonal communication.

The man goes out in a hurry, but the outside is empty again. It is full only in the windows. He goes back to his window, when he can see the outside people again. Their feelings he can tell.

He looks at the others – the camera is switched to a wider view – other faces are living with emotions he cannot tell, but not his. There is not even dismay on his face.

The man shapes his face by his hand – like he were shaping clay. He tries every emotion, and each looks odd, and each fades into still face of indifference. He keeps trying and manages to enliven his face, like a pendulum pushed strong enough. The vision starts rolling like a movie in a theatre, and we see its reflection on his face and his emotions. The man gets lost in it, mesmerized.

Years go by, he gets older, late thirties. Face very raw and rough, yet mosaic the more, the more color reflected on his face. We cannot see his vision at all, only its reflection and the feelings of the hero.

The man would have died there of an old age, yet something wakes him up. It burns the side of his face, this presence that was there. It vanishes, this serpent of rainbowy fire, leaving the room pulsing with colors. The man wants to follow the trail, but spots the shine out the window. Him and others. It is the thing that must have been there inside, shining outside. It’s a pure chaos of serpents, particles and soft shapes, and is the essence of life through colors.

 

 

 

 

 

Part VI: The Dust Phantom

The dust phantom covers the rear mirror

 

The man gets out of the building and nears the phenomenon.

Now there are other people outside, as if the view from the window brought them back, finally. Yet still their interactions are wrong, in the same way as seen through the window.

The creature is the hero’s analog, only through the opposites. The aura of the man by default makes local area look sharper and colder, while the area around the creature gets softer and fuzzier with the color and warmth of shapes. The closer the man is to the creature, the more his environment resembles that of the creature, and he becomes more humane and complete.

The process works the other way around as well – it affects the creature, making it more sharp, consistent and decisive. The common area around the two associates with normality and harmony. When he is close we see that the creature is a beautiful woman. Some of her colors get to the man’s heart. These colors radiate out to the tips of his limbs, making him shinier. Fumes billow out the eyes on the rainbows of colors.

The transformation is so abrupt and profound that his body parts start twitching and trailing away, held on strands. Not only the mask trails off for a moment, but also a metal substructure – and for a brief moment we see the man what he really is. A real man, hidden under a fake man. This true human is hidden under the intermediary cyborg layer, on which there is an outer skin layer, humanoid yet odd, off.

The environment responds properly to the transformation, as if his body was mapped on the world outside, from here to infinity. When his cheek disassembles, parts of the desert are torn away and levitate similarly. The man calms down. So does the world, but the creature is fleeing already. Not at the world being temporarily torn apart. At the connection through their eyes.

The man chases the creature through time and space, as the world around changes, rearranges, dissolves and dies to black. We see different sceneries scrolling through. A maze of stairs, winding and intertwining on different levels. A rectangular well of paths like webs. These are all epic sceneries. Skeletal monuments-buildings, waving on winds. Architectural curiosities, partly associating with brutalism.

The chase leads from cube-like areas to those of soft angles and rich colors, as if the creature is leading the protagonist to her domain. At some point there is this tower – there are this door at the base, slowly shutting, luring the man, but he passes on it, as he has the creature to follow. The tower is edgy, sharp and monumental with every single shape it has.

The chase is almost complete – the man is touch away from the creature. The closer he is, the more of his domain we see, it dominates. He almost puts his hand on her shoulder, but she manages to get out through the door frame on a wall. He cannot follow her, since there is this invisible barrier. The barrier which appeared right after she went through the door frame. It faded into a wired glass, and then the wires disappeared.

The man thumps his hand against it. The barrier starts bending, like something made from glued cubes, disfiguring the woman, seen from behind, like a curved circus mirror. The face of the man resonates with deeper and deeper, creepier and creepier, deformations. At last he breaks the glass, but gets broken too. He freezes still in a pose of a broken, disfigured toy.

Now he could go through, he would go through, but is almost immobilized, can only move his left arm. He reaches out, his finger touches what he takes for the woman’s shoulder, but it turns out a shard of glass. This piece of glass that held her image topples down, off the rest of the object. We see that behind there is nothing, no woman, as if she weren’t there, now or ever. She left, she never stopped. The image on the glass was only the moment frozen in time, a painting and a window.

A volumetric light shines through, and a sarcastic laugh gets through as well. Other pieces follow, and now the man is a mess, almost a heap of fragments. He manages to gradually rebuild the window, not standing but on the ground, and thus repairs himself. He puts the window in the door frame.

He wipes the woman off the glass, as if it were a dust phantom. Now it is a plain glass. By accident he wipes it again, just a little bit. A piece of another world is revealed. He completes this painting into another dimension. He wipes the whole glass again. A new world comes from below the previous one. And again. A new one. And another one. Worlds keep scrolling around and the camera frame gets tighter and tighter.

The man stops at one dimension, the reality completely different from the one he is in. He lifts the glass and keeps rotating with it, peering into another dimension, watching it like through a handheld window. He puts the glass into the door frame and wipes it into another dimension until he finds the one he is in. The catalogue of worlds made full circle and there was no woman in any of them.

He cannot step into this world – breaking the glass means breaking himself, again. He tries to climb over the door to another dimension, but when standing still on the top of the door frame, he sees that that doesn’t work – what’s over the top is the same what is through the empty door frame – which is a wall with path on top, ending sharply in a distance. There is another one on the left, and one upside down, all coming to a common center point. While he stands there he cannot see that he is reflected in the door upside down, and that the world in the door is therefore upside down.

When on top of the door frame, we see thanks to the point of view that illusion of path continuum – in the glass it exists, right next to it, it is torn.

The man jumps down on the other side of the path. In the mirror there is now the back of the woman. The hero moves up the path. His face is different now – it is like a solid mask of indifference. He cannot see that the woman left the glass that trapped her and is moving down the path.

The door frame turns to dust. The dust goes away.

The man reaches the top of the path where it simply ends, and the other two go the common center point. One is to the left, going along the horizon; the other is upside down and lies along the same line as the path the man is on. One the path to the left his doppelganger appears – his movement is exact copy of the man’s, but timeshifted, postponed. Then on the path upside down the same situation happens – but now he moves backwards, exactly time-reversed.

It seems that reality, life as a whole, comes to a stop. What was moving in the environment, gradually slows down, then goes still. As if the man reached a place representing the range of options available to him. A complete deadlock. He must reverse his thinking to find his way out.

In a way he does. He turns around. The closer doppelganger, the one upside down, does the same. Now he is facing us, just like the protagonist. The doppelganger in the far also replays the turn, with a proper delay.

The man raises his arms. The closer doppelganger grabs his hands and pulls him to his path. He retreats out of view, towards the sun, or a planet before explosion. Now it is hard to tell. Both persons face us, and seem reflected along the axis running through their joined hands. The man looks like a creature on a hook, trailed away. Gradually he gets into the pull of inverted gravity and goes down on the inverted path, like an acrobat, who was standing on his hands, erected by another acrobat. Both the man and the doppelganger go away, the first mimicking the moves of the latter, like a ghost. Yet he moves quicker, and soon blends with his duplicate. They become one.

The same scene is being replayed by the clone in the far. From a distance it looks quite different. The far doppelganger kneels and helps the climber reach the top, then takes by hand and guides to the left, off the screen.

All three path-walls start elongating, like puzzle blocks shifting into their right positions, completely obscuring the view, no empty space. Cut.

 

 

 

 

Part VII: The Hollow Suns

The hollow suns shine black

 

We see the man. He is facing us, yet he doesn’t look at us. He looks through us. He seems to be up to something. The camera switches to his point of view.

We see buildings, the same buildings the man inspected before. The people in the windows are smiling, same as before.

The man starts undressing. He is standing in a kind of a center of mass for the buildings.

The smile of the people wears off, gets replaced by an “antismile”, a new kind of emotion there really isn’t there.

The man is naked. He stands still, arms spread. He presents himself to the world. His eyes shine full spectrum of emotions, bleeding colors everywhere.

Lights of colors permeate him.

People from the windows react in various ways, like receivers set to different frequencies of feelings. They show a full range of emotions as well.

The man takes a deep breath, and while he does so, he closes his eyes. The buildings close their eyes too, but when the man opens his, they do not reopen. They fade to walls, now forming uniform cubes. The man releases his breath and looks sharp ahead, as if in expectation.

We see that the people from the windows now are forming a circle around the man. They are tall, elongated. They are like long reflections on the water, like long shadows on the sand. Cubical particles creep over their bodies, covering emotions, intentions. The man’s breath pulls them out and away. With distance they become sharp spears that decompose the buildings, which rot and turn to dust, and get swiped away, like a phantom memory. Now we can see the people clearly. Their faces keep scrolling emotions, as if the man was still fuming feelings through his eyes. The man covers his heart, where the flame burns, ignited by the woman. The flame is hidden now.

Nothing holds the people around the man. They disassemble, but their power goes out, and they slow down and freeze, and so do their faces, keeping the last emotion that appeared, stuck to their faces. They are like humanoid sculptures, scattered around. Like light rays emitted from a hollow sun, frozen in time.

The man comes to every one of them and tries his mimics against theirs. He keeps switching mimics at blind until the other side of the dialog gets unfrozen. At first the man doesn’t know it, but it is an emotion quiz – he has to guess the feeling and reflect it to enliven the frozen people. He does so with everyone, and so he learns a somewhat limited, but still, catalogue of emotions. He gets better with every attempt.

The last case is the easiest. It is the man with a blank face, just like his is, by default, at the beginning.

When he is finished, the people gather and move away. They keep the man with a blank face at a distance.

The protagonist sees that. A tear goes down his face. Now he is ready. Cut.

We see the man leading the group of tired people. They must have been travelling for quite long.

The group enters a forest of pillars, their top dying in the fog above, mixing with clouds. The pillars are monumental and seem scattered around to eternity. The man leaves the group and climbs an adjacent hill. From the hill top he sees that these are not pillars, yet giant door frames. He returns to his people and cross the forest.

The scenery changes. It is drearier, sharp, final. The group nears the end of the world. The other end of the world, opposite to the one the man was at the beginning.

We see the man stop at the view of something ahead. Others follow suit. The man faces his final choice, but doesn’t know that yet.

We see what he sees. It is a pair of doors. The doors are simple and ordinary, and take the center of the frame. They stand one next to the other, with a short gap between. What is around the doors is the end of the world – no point in further journey then, this is the goal. The ground is barren and cut. The sky is like a thin veil, behind which there is a void. It is full of stars. Most of the sky is taken by a planet frozen during the start of an explosion. It is a strange entity – looks like a planet, but feels like a sun. The horizon is uneven – the line to the left is higher than the line to the right of the doors.

The view in the doors is quite different. The sky is full of warmth and charming blur.  Wisps of clouds are like painter’s stroke. The part of the torn planet that is obscured by the door is not torn here – it is a sun, full and not dying. Alive. Beautiful. The horizon is not split, not uneven. It is continuous and flat. It is the man’s destination.

In the doors to the left, the sun-planet looks like a full moon, and there is this atmosphere of bright night. In the doors to the right, it is a full sun shining fine rays of colors, and the mood is that of a soft midday.

In the very center there is a woman. Her back is turned to us. She is looking over her shoulder, at the man. She wears beautiful dress that melts into the ground in curvy strokes. The light outlines her shapes. She is waiting.

We see desire in the man’s face and eyes, which spark fumes of rainbows that stroke his hair.

He proceeds towards the door, straight and dignified. As he walks the people merge with him. As if they were his ghost clones, scattered in space and time, who regained their synchronicity and became one with their host.

The closer the man to the doors, the more transparent the reality they display. The closer the door to each other, then start overlapping.

The man loses confidence for the first time, for a brief moment when we see hesitation in his pace. He keeps walking up to the door, stops by the door frame and puts his hand on it.

Now the door overlapped completely and become one. There is no other world peering through them anymore, other than that outside.

The man sighs. He closes his eyes.

The reality displayed by the doors comes back at once. It is the reality of these two doors, blended together. It disappears quickly, when he opens his eyes back. The man cannot see that.

The man is about to enter the door anyway, but retreats, looking at the door all the time.

The door start dividing, the inner reality fades into the two views they open.

The man sits in a lotus position. He hides his face in his hands. The people behind him keep standing. Their shut their ears to his gesture.

The doors disappear.

The man squints his left eye. Doors to the right become narrower. That the man can see. When he closes his eye the door fades out completely. He tries the trick with the other eye. The other door vanishes.

The people enter man’s view. They move backwards, all of them. They all look at what is behind the protagonist, and there is awe to their faces.

The man stands up and looks back.

The destruction of the target sun, foreshadowed by the fractured planet from the beginning of the journey, speeds up greatly. It seems to have resumed the normal rate of decay. Now pieces of the planet pierce the land almost like missiles, leaving geometric shapes and trails. All these collisions seem to have ignited the decay of the mainland. Pieces of land tear off and float away, and keep dissipating into smaller pieces until lightweight dust is left, and at last even that disappears.

The wave of destruction nears the man and his tribe. The man has his back turned to it, and waits with his arms spread. This is his final choice.

The wave of destruction hits the man, yet does no harm to him or to the area behind. It slows down to a full stop. As if it were a continuation, the destruction of the man follows. The polygonal crust goes off, then the human skin, the flesh. What is behind is a skeleton. It is an anatomical human skeleton, but it doesn’t feel human. It feels a frame for an artificial construct. An algorithmic structure. That frame collapses, turns to dust, gets swiped away. Like a cover of a dream.

What is left is the man, who feels real, human for the first time.  Ahead of him, there is only one door. The door with the blended view behind and the woman. A straight path of white leads to the door through the dark.

We see the man from the side, the path starting under his feet, reaching down to infinity and right to the door. The frame is wide, the time is slow.

The man starts walking. The door frame begins to dissolve. The view from the door opens up and widens. It flows outside, paints the world with broad strokes.

 

THE END

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