Woman in Close Up

Silver night rises from the steam of disappearing fuel. A light wash of thin water colour: a classical, silver haze, blurred at the edges and wavering lightly in the wind, forming the loose page of an open book.

Close up, I am silent in my shaking frame, a single microscopic being in the midst of the chaotic 6pm rush through the city. Blurring amongst the cement and glass, my quietude unbalances its scales within me. The frozen composure I had arrested and tried to displace from my soul stirs madly within, dropping my mouth open.

Why does my silence echo so loudly? I should check the acoustic levels of my internal amplifier.

The book pages flicker wildly, tossing my unspoken words and hanging them loosely, clinging to the cliff face of my soul for dear life. Words I dare not express, yet wish to. The raw exposure of those words burn furiously within my soul and I grasp the handle of my umbrella tightly.

It is a city soul screen play really: a close up of a young woman, standing on a street corner, sheltering herself under the burden of teeming rain. A woman who appears focused, yet if I stare at myself a little longer, zooming into an extreme close up shot, I see the smudges of black mascara and feel the erratic breath that surrounds me presently in its staccato.

My dark words, they stamp themselves out in scenic direction across the city scape. Hanging they are, metallic studs of betrayal, anchoring themselves to the unpredictable gusts of wind that zap by.

What a strange pan shot. The sky has fallen so low. Its silver sheen is thickening now, bleeding into a dark grey that settles deep within my soul. I am harvesting the storm that still brews beyond me in the sky: my dark, unleashed clouds awaiting the moment that they can expel.

The ambience builds to a bass tempo. I am framed in remnant life: the echo of metallic streets, raw edged with the grit of our forged footsteps across the canvases of our time. The dodging of the colour-spotted crowd is blurred with unnamed faces and ...

Cross Fade between the city and ... the cold absence of your hand that drifted from mine, leaving me stranded at the red light.

A close up: the scull of whiskey from my silver flask takes the edge away. I push rogue strands away from my intense gaze and attune myself to the sound that permeates the space. Its the perfect audio accompaniment.

That bass acoustic, it revs with the dark rhythms of my heart, which pulsate with an untamed bravery. There is a part of me, deep inside, who wants to throw my head back and release the primal words that hang there in the air, as they poke so violently within me.

If this is the momentary scene that I exist in with betrayal, then it needs to propel past me, unleashing my silent emotions across the grit of those city streets.

I am in a pan shot now: a familiar replay of the moment I swung your car's passenger door open, as I came to meet you.

Lighting transition: I am confronted by the darkness of the replay, lit by the glowing etches of you both, entangled under the passing neon headlights. There you are, wrapped in a new universe: your head buried in her strong perfume, tight leather skins and moaning grip. Your eyes, agleam with desire as you catch my shocked gaze.

The scenic memory needs no words. Just the lashing sounds of betrayal, edging its way across the striking of street grates and the slamming of doors which thunder deep within my burning quietude. This crowd that passes me, they expel the rhythm that I seek as they confront night's darkened lure.

Close up me, trapped in the aftermath of eve's back draft: your car reversing, exhaust fumes lashing their heavy burdens directly into my lungs. The staccato beats of me, coughing wildly as I tried to expel your toxins.

Watching you both depart my common, expectant routine.

You are smeared into the darkened grey ... transitioning to a black out ...
Your car recedes backwards, until ...

Just stay right there, beneath the crackling light of that high voltage lamp, boiling with the rageful heat that I have built up inside.

A perfect scenic anchor point. Your betrayal flickers and is afire within me, under that dangerous lamp. It is a zone that is dodged by worried pedestrians, leaving the spot marked a no man's land.

Your face, your body, your words, they are wrenched and expelled from my being. I dissolve them into the surrounding smoke of pollution, that protrudes the air.

Outside, in the aggressive city air, you hang, suspended somewhere between the ground and the sky. I can twist, bend and warp you, anyway I like.

Lighting your car with the deep, scarlet red of betrayal. Capturing it in an extreme close up and panning away from it ... until it shrinks into a small dot.

Spreading out my arms wide, I allow the rain to completely drench me. Zooming into a close up, I exhale, releasing my deeply buried words, which shoot like rays across the darkened sky.