Post by M A J E S T Y on Jun 9, 2021 11:01:41 GMT -5
We find ourselves inside a dusty, dirty attic. Moonlight shines through a port window at the far end of the attic, casting a light through several layers of cobwebs and insects. Lightning and thunder crash outside the window, lighting up the entire attic in a wave of bright light. Yellowed old sheets cover various pieces of furniture and an old queen-sized bed. Spiders scurry away off to their dark corners, but we, the viewers, felt compelled and drawn towards one particular place. In the very far back corner, just underneath the window, there's an old dresser. As we get closer and closer to that dresser, something pulls at our hearts. It's as if your chest contains a magnet inside it, and this dresser is pulling you closer and closer towards it... except, as we get closer, it's not the dresser causing this pull. It's the little music box that sits on top of it.
The lid of the music box gently creaks open, as if being pried open by an unknown force. Inside, dust plumes out from underneath the lid, revealing a porcelain ballerina that slowly begins spinning as a haunting chime rings out.
The song drones on, drawing us in, closer and closer and closer until all we can see is the life-sized figure of this porcelain ballerina. Our sense of scale and perspective is warped -- we at once feel entirely too small, while everything around is feels impossibly large, subliminally and hopelessly gargantuan. The ballerina spins and continues her circular waltz, rotating in place, but soon after, we hear:
Mmmmmmmm hehehehehhhhh....
A low, rumbling chuckle pierces the air, undercutting the chime of the music box. As the ballerina spins around again, we notice their face has changed, and their eyes seem to be staring directly into us.
You'll forgive me the ceremony, won't you? After all, I certainly didn't want it to get this way.
After another spin, the ballerina kicks one leg free with a jagged and jarring motion, as if a robot had tried to move its joints after years of rust. They take a step down from their rotating pedestal. The eerie gray porcelain figure now fully alive runs their arms behind their back to stretch them out. That face turns back to us, with those porcelain eyes staring deep into us.
I've always had an appreciation for the finer things. Why, on this planet alone, there is so much to enjoy. Tchaikovsky's Symphony Number Six, for instance. His magnum opus... and also, his suicide note. Fascinating, and beautiful, and tragic. The pop surrealist and lowbrow art movement, creating haunting images critiquing modern culture in ways only thought to be seen in nightmares. I even appreciate your Christmas traditions, with the fat man in a suit, and the wonderfully electric trees, and the music! There are so many things to enjoy here.
The ballerina strolls over to the edge of the music box just beneath the window and looks up into the night's sky above, starlight twinkling. They sigh.
Upon my arrival to Fireside, I wanted to indulge in these things. I thought... perhaps the most powerful force, after all, could be joy. Perhaps... perhaps joy could be the emotion that sustains me. How nice it would be, after all, to feast upon laughter and happiness for once. But, quite quickly, I was shown that was not going to be possible. Jonnie Valentine rejected my baked treats, after all, and I had to sadly put him down.
There's a slight giggle afterwards. The ballerina begins walked towards us... looking at us... looking into you... and they take a giant, long-legged step forward over the edge of the music box. Our sense of scale and perspective seems to warp with them as they grow in size, landing with a foot all the way on the floor from the top of the dresser. Now, they fill the room at a normal size, but are still made completely of porcelain.
Upon losing to Misha, I was made readily aware that these emotions... joy, happiness, serenity, peace... these feelings... well, at least here, in this realm, on this planet... they were weak. Nothing. Humans, it appears, were incapable of feeling these things as strongly as I needed them to. Such a shame. But if you just take a look at the world around you... it's so obvious.
The figure does a pirouette, spinning with one foot raised to their knee, and points towards the side of the attic. Underneath one of the sheets, static hums to life, and the glow of a television set can be seen underneath. As we float towards the television, the sheet is pulled from the top of it, revealing a vintage 1970's antique television set with large channel dials on the side. The white and black static on the screen starts to form into a clear picture as the giant dial begins to turn on its own, flipping through channels. First, we catch a glimpse of a pile of skulls in Cambodia under Pol Pot's regime. Static. Next, a photo of a stack of bodies in Rwanda during the massive genocide. Static. Next, black and white images of the great Titanic ship sinking. Static. Next, riots in the streets at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968. More static. Clear HD video footage of insurrectionists attempting to take over the US Capitol on January 6th. More static.
You humans are surrounded by such wonderful things and yet... the course of human history is dotted not by joy or peace, but by tragedy, death, violence, and apathy. Time after time, great advancements in technology, awe-inspiring works of art are ignored. Left by the wayside. Look at you all now, with a whole galaxy's worth of knowledge at your fingertips on those marvelous little phones, and yet most of you use them to send hurtful messages to people you don't like. You could CHOOSE life! You could CHOOSE art, music, food. Instead, you hook a news feed into your veins, mainlining the worst that your planet has to offer. Wars and riots and murders. {No Means No}. Injustice. Piers Morgan.
The ballerina clicks their tongue in shame as the TV's dial begins to rapidly rotate at a blazing speed, now cycling through even more images of death and decay. Dead bodies, soldiers missing limbs, The Real Housewives, Donald J Trump, Big Bang Theory. The images sweep through, faster and faster and fasterandfasterandfasterandfasterandfasterandfasterandfaster until suddenly the dial flies off of the TV and it sparks and hisses. An electrical smoke rises from the back of the old TV set as it fizzles out and goes dark. We turn back towards the window, but the ballerina is gone. Instead, a disembodied voice echoes throughout the attic.
There are no emotions more powerful for you all than negative emotions. Sadness! Fear! Apathy! Greed! Anger! You seek it out! You FEED on it! Evolution gave your species a choice, and you CHOSE WRONG. Out of all the civilizations I've seen, throughout all of everything, you had the most potential, and yet--
AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
The window shatters open, letting in the cold night air. As if a door on an airplane has been opened, the night sky begins to suck everything in the room towards the window, at first just pulling in small debris, but the force begins to strengthen over time.
SUCH.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
The music box is sucked out into the night. The sheets covering the furniture in the attic begin to whip around and out the broken window as well.
MY MISTAKE WAS IN OVERESTIMATING YOU ALL.
BUT WORRY NOT, ESMUR. I'VE CORRECTED MY MISTAKE.
BUT WORRY NOT, ESMUR. I'VE CORRECTED MY MISTAKE.
The vacuum-like power of the wind reaches its ultimate strength, now lifting furniture off the ground. A bedpost flies through the window and smashes into the wood around it, opening up the hole even more, allowing larger pieces of furniture and debris to fly out.
I KNOW WHERE MY POWER MUST COME FROM.
SO LET.
US.
FEEEEEEEAST!
SO LET.
US.
FEEEEEEEAST!
We are picked up by the violent winds and drawn into the night sky as well. We float for a moment. The sky is dark.
Cut to black.