Scout E.S. in the Shadows

“I’m not sure.” The words echoed in my mind well after they were spoken, free from the clutter that gave weight or value to my thoughts. I hadn’t heard the question, but I knew the answer was buried somewhere, shoved in a closet with my dirty clothes, begging to be remembered. My knowledge became dormant and stiff, stinking the conscience so easily drowned by a perfect appearance. “Are you listening to me? What’s the answer?” The curved lines of a surprisingly perfect drawing connected as I glanced up at the teacher. At least a dozen people were raising their hands, but she had chosen me. After all, one silent person is more significant than a thousand laughs to a comedian. The demand for perfection and absolute attention controls even those so far in their life and careers; I can’t dare be the one to question that impartiality. What is identity? the board read. How dare she ask a question she doesn’t have the answer for? I watch her pretend to be content every class, preten...

  His absent eyes scanned the room, flinching at the soft lights of the lamps. The smell of expensive cologne draped a humorous blanket over the reek of alcohol and his disoriented demeanor. I watched him sit on the couch, familiar with the comfort of its sinking nature. “Is it cozy? The couch?” I asked quietly, avoiding his gaze. He nodded.   My father never drank or took drugs, but the weight of a 16-hour workday had a similar effect on his mental awareness. I would see his shadow on late nights when we both should have been asleep, and he would be waiting for my silhouette in the hallway. The outlandish stories that we both knew I didn’t believe were solace from the parallel lives we had in the day. We traveled in lines so similar but never overlapping, struggling on the same spectrum of different universes. “I was at the mine today, Lyra,” he would say under his breath. “Really?” I would whisper back with a slight giggle. I knew that collared shirts weren’t...

               A deer with two strong antlers that lead before its eyes, seeing with distance and never close enough to touch with its own fur. Headstrong, chosen not from strength, but fear. What is soft enough to feel its true skin is not worthy of hatred, yet too close for friendship. It runs free from the challenges of wilderness, into roads, and through forest trails. When the night comes, it remembers the mellow colors of the night. The dark blues and gray sky rest the antlers from defense and the eyes take control. What can the antlers see of the beauty of the moon, it asks itself. Nothing, for the shine of the crescent over this world, can only be seen through the two eyes so little used. And as they look to the sky, the wonder of the day leaves from the comfort of the night’s beauty. Its hooves relax and it walks down the rough gravel roads, unaware of its placement in the world it must share. The moon and the stars yell for it to admir...

         Mercy wasn’t an emotion I enjoyed feeling. Why did others deserve something that was never given to me? But alas, I found myself making the same mistake as I had done years ago, allowing someone to live past the time they deserve. The morning rain came and washed the houses and the windows that I had stood in. New York’s showers gave me a sense that the blood spilled was gone, dripping away into the sewers, even for only a day. Yet this rainy day wouldn’t be bright as the others, and I would be as sour as all the other pedestrians trudging to their offices. Pools of contaminated water reflected my dry demeanor, the sidewalks questioning the shift of my attitude. I owe you nothing, I thought, as the cold puddles soaked my socks. Maybe they needed at least one person to appreciate their efforts, missing the gratitude of the forests and plants they shed sustenance on far away. The rain was the only thing that reminded city-dwellers of nature’s strength, an...

       The Ritz showered mercy on me today. The clouded window my transparent complexion peered into did not boast a couple or a family. The ragged clothes and wearing couch held an air of restlessness, evidence of many that visit and none who stay. I could sympathize with the dweller of this room, but I must only observe their final night. It neared midnight, but a person will work tirelessly, unbeknownst how close the end may be and how pointless their toil is. They never enjoy themselves before their souls rise; chasing a dream is more valuable than enjoying a nightmare. Yet whether I peered into a Manhattan penthouse or the many tenants of this creaking apartment complex, no one would be content with what they have. The chase is so surreal; it pleases you past what you receive from it. The idea of improvement is not for happiness, but rather self-importance.             The creaking red wooden door peeling ...

Int. BLACK BOX - Night We open to a dark and untidy black box, and we can hear LIGHT TAPPING slowly getting louder. We pan over to a SITTING GIRL staring at a BROKEN MIRROR. JENINE’S EYES are unsettled, waiting for something to distract her. The door CREAKS QUIETLY and JENINE turns abruptly. KISA  (closes door) Its ok , Jenine its only me. I brought the script so you can read it over again, just in case.  JENINE (FLIPS MORROR OVER) Oh, thank you.. We can see KISA walking closer to JENINE from behind the MIRROR. KISA Why can’t you get rid of that spoiled mirror? Its broken on one side anyways. JENINE NO! I mean- no. It’s- still half good.You would still use a half bad lemon. KiSA No, why would I?It’d just be more  sour. KISA pauses and we can see her through JENINE’S MIRROR, that is now tinted YELLOW. KISA(O.S.) Hey, I have to make sure everyone’s in place on set, just read it over and finish touching up your makeup. Your co-star will  come in after a bit to- um - reh...

Sat in this room I stare into the eyes of empty souls Outside of my vision, they are but holes The chair melts into the curves of my bones And I can feel myself drown in their groans Whispers shatter my ears and screams repair them I understand nothing, not even where I came from Couldn’t they see that I am so numb Rise out of the cramped air of these 4 walls The first command I can’t follow as the smoke drowns their calls Hear this, see this, feel this, love this The words may lift from my notebook Yet they are still scored in the gradebook I will pretend they matter as I pretend I care The pressure of their expectation as engrained as the roots of my hair