act i

don't remember where starts. where it ends. in a room. in a motel. type of thing. nice place, kind weird. those long houses, each with a room or two. disconnected. a road attaching all of them.

i'm in one of them. am i waiting. are the people there already? i don't know. i have to leave, for some reason. i think i have a change of clothes with me. to clean up the blood? perhaps.

i leave. with the promise to return. i go. i walk. i finally find the bathroom. or perhaps not. find... somewhere. and i change. and i'm walking back down the road... no... down the hallway, feelings of a train, walking down the sleeper car, passing all of the rooms. though if this were a train, it'd be one big-ass train. walking down. i peek into one of the rooms.

people in there.

don't want to go in there.

Try another one. it's good. i sit. Perhaps to rest. perhaps to do something else. don't know. about to leave. go to the door, look out the window.

voices.

three young men, walking down the hall.

i duck back into the room. find a doorway, with a glass window in it, between this room and the next. i go into that room. i wait. the young men have passed and i exit the door of this new room that i'm in.

i end up back where i started. how i got there, i don't know.

at this point, chronology gets a bit weird too.

everyone's asleep. (seth on the floor, sarah on the couch), can't see much else.

or are they dead. no, i don't think so. dead, but breathing. that's fucked up

I walk some more. end up in some guy's room. asian man. has lived here quite a while. japanese i think. no accent. he's wigging out because he really has to leave.

he had put down four rugs for his son's birthday party. the management hadn't wanted him to do that, but the rugs they had were pretty ratty. so he puts the rugs down. first, a nice, dark blue one. then a white one. those, both, almost room sized. then two smaller ones. also blue and white. throw rugs. runner sized.

i help. i start rolling the rugs up. not really sure why.

there's someone there helping me with them. i don't remember who.

i never roll up the biggest carpets. i can't handle it. and for some reason, memories of a fight, with broken glass, hands reaching toward me ...

or perhaps i was the one doing the reaching. some strange transformation. was that why i had to leave in the first place? had i become a monster. remember fights. through broken window frames. broken glass. was i the pursuer?

i don't remember.

don't finish rolling the carpets. we're in the sunroom of this big house. i leave, go outside, and look at the house. a nice, big white victorian-type thing.

i leave.

act ii
(plus some, but i can't remember what was inbetween)

last one. little girl, in a house. people after her. running through house. locks herself in the kitchen. all good for a second, then, smash, something breaks through the door. there's a window in the door to the kitched. lots of little panes of glass. the hand reaches through. she grabs the hand. the face peeks through. she grabs the face. scrapes it back and forth across the glass.

The glass, all i remember is seeing the glass. shattering. spiderwebbing. as the face comes in contact with it, it breaks, it cracks. the neck, the little crease between the neck and the head, getting scraped over the broken shards of glass, tearing, blood. but the ineveitable death does not come. the figure.

keeps.

on.

laughing.

it's dark.

and it's raining. the girl is frightened, yet she keeps just smashing this head through the glass.

blackness.

for quite some time, it's quiet, there's nothing. then the slow pitter-patter of raindrops. lights come up. it's day time. i see the house, from outside. nothing really seems wrong. the sun has just started to rise, and the world's the greyish-blue.

there's a light rain and a mist in the air. everything's quiet.

to inside the house. the girl, lying in a pile of glass in the kitchen in a crumpled mess. she stirrs. she awakens. she stands up, smoothes down her dress. walks over to the kitchen sink, a metal sink, and reaches for the knife rack

the knife rack, one of those wooden things with slots for the knives to go in. like a multi-knife holster.

She grabs a knife. fairly large. a cooking knife of sorts.

She reaches down, and stored in her sock, or somewhere, she produces a small, cloth bag. She reaches in, and produces a little cleaver. very dull. dull finish, dull blade (nicks in the blade in fact), and she places the cleaver in the knife rack. sideways. on top. because it won't fit in any of the slots.

She puts the new knife into the bag, and the bag back into her sock.

walks out of the kitchen, out the front door.

[looking at the front of the house, the front door. were there hedges around the house? no. but the house is a two story (with finished attick) vitorian off-white suburban thing. big front door]

the girl walks out of the house, down the sidewalk.

it's still raining a bit, the mist is heavy.

A car is coming down the street. seeing the girl, the driver slows, the speeds up, then slows. not really knowing what to do seeing a young girl, cut up, walking down the street this early in the morning.

the car, not new, not too shitty. seems like this guy's first car. he's young. mid twenties. where is he going?

he stops as he's turning the corner at the intersection the girl is going to cross. he's nervous. he has a stutter.

"c-c-c-c-c-c-an i g-g-g--g-g-ive you a ride s-s-s-s-s-omewhere? down the street... ummm.... over there?" and he gestures randomly away.

the girl doesn't answer him. just keeps staring blindly.

"a-a-a-a--a-re you sure, i could just t-t--t-t-t-ake you s-s-s-s-omewhere"

she speaks.

"New York please."

her voice. young, innocent. sweet.

"huh" comes the reply.

"n---n-n-n-n-n-o. i just meant..."

she cuts him off

"New York please."

no less sweet or innocent.

"Oh, so is that the way it is? going for some fun and some lovin'?"

she stares at him.

"How much they going to pay you?"

she answers. no change in expression.

"well she said $250, but he said $300"

the young man starts to say something, starts to try to reply.

"but really they told me that $130 would be the most if i'm going to be renting from them."

the young man stares out of the open window at this young girl. he can't seem to argue with logic like this. he looks again.

and opens the door for her.

she gets in. sounds of a door slamming. car driving off as an overhead view of the small, tree lined town is shown.