As often as I can, I spend those futile moments each day, dreaming about some wicked and painful way for a character to die. Don't worry. I enjoy it.
A filmmakers job is never done and this is even more pertinent to the writer, so day dreaming is something I have to do as often as I can. The other day I dreamt up this....
Hern was in a fluster, he couldn't make any sense from the large cryptic tube map mounted before him inside Victoria train station and at 8:45am during the peak of rush hour it was evident that not one of the bleary eyed commuters rushing about were ready to endure his broken English. Hern had no desire to ever visit this country, especially not London, nothing about this hectic city interested him, he couldn't care less for it's history, architecture or sights. First impressions were not good as Victoria station had disorientated Hern so much, that the entrance leading down to the underground looked far too claustrophobic for him to attempt. This place couldn't be any further from the vast open fields back home on his families farm in Southern Spain.
People of all ages barge past Hern, each one tutting or huffing at his inconveniently placed rucksack, garbled instructions blast from an overhead tannoy, which makes little to no sense. Hern tugs down on the shoulder straps to secure the weight of his bag and he decides to exit the station and take his chance on foot. Large looming clouds begin to merge together, diffusing what little sunlight there was and now the morose sky above mirrors the doleful pavement beneath Herns feet. A loud rumble echo's across the city as the heavens begin to open.
The rain beats down whipping him with pellets of water, Hern cannot help but wish he was back home where the air is warm and strangers smile. The downpour forces people to scurry even quicker than before and the atmosphere amongst commuters matches the black sky above. Hern crosses the main road to avoid the rush of people heading towards the station, he darts between parked cars stuck in traffic quickly glancing from side to side to check nothing is coming as he crosses the free flowing bus lane, a thousand break lights glare up and down the road, the traffic isn't going anywhere soon as blue sirens illuminate in the nearby distance. London is everything Hern expected, cold, wet, noisy and miserable. With no traces of nature to be seen anywhere, London is everything he expected it to be, a lonesome concrete cesspit. As Hern makes his way across the road he continues along the busy pavement, he imagines if the rain ever stopped, flames might start to leap from the ground for this is place feels like one vast hellish brimstone.
With the train station now in distance huge Georgian houses now occupy both sides of the road, each one protected by tall black steel railings topped with sharp pointed spikes ending at eye level. Each building that he passes is immaculately well kept, vivid high gloss doors with huge brass fixtures adorn these grandiose houses, yet they appear to be empty. No activity can be seen from within as Hern glances up at each window, inside he see's ornate fireplaces, antique furniture, flamboyant wallpaper and even grand piano's, but no people. Hern struggles to imagine what sort of person would live in such a house, to live that near the station must be quite expensive. The inside of the rooms begin to shimmer a deep sapphire blue from the nearby police cars and ambulance stationed at the road accident. Hern squints his eyes to try and block out the light but the intense strobing lights consume the entire road, commuters are inattentive to the incident in the middle of the road.
As Hern approaches the collision spot, a trail of carnage stops him dead in his tracks, a cyclist has been hit and dragged by an articulated lorry. Strips of florescent yellow material sodden in blood are scattered all along the tarmac, clumps of skin and shards of bone begin to slowly move as the rain forms pockets of puddles on the ground. Police officers are busy trying to contain the traffic as car horns blast and angry drivers jeer at them. The bicycle is completely mangled and crushed into a ball of sheared metal spikes firmly wedged beneath the back wheel. Between the lorry and the police cars is a deep pool of blood that stretches in a 3 meter line, red droplets leap and dance as the rain splashes down. Hern notices that no-one else has stopped to see whats gone, everyone including motorists are oblivious to the bloodbath except for a paramedic who starts to heave into a nearby drain. In front of Hern just a few feet away lays the cyclist helmet fully intact and inside the helmet is the cyclists head with it's mouth parted slightly open. Trailing from the neck are veins, flaps of skin and part of the spinal chord.
A swirl of blood swishes around the corpse-less dead woman's head. Hern is transfixed by her beautiful brown eyes, they still look alive and radiant staring straight at him. All of a sudden her eyes blink twice in rapid succession and Hern's vision begins to blur, Hern squints his eye's to try and re-focus then her eye's blink quickly again. A thousand images flicker in front of Hern, as if the woman's entire life is flashing before his eye's. Images of her playing as a young child, casual dates, first day at school, all the most poignant moments in her life from trips to the dentist to getting her University degree race through his mind, right the way to the moment when she saw the lorry before she was dragged under it's wheels.
A cold sweat runs through Hern and an overwhelming sense of nausea, did the paramedic experience the same thing? Before Hern can make sense of anything he takes a step towards the woman's head her eye's dart to the left then it speaks in a coarse voice 'look out!'.
A high pitched frequency pierces through Herns ears, the sound is so loud it sends Hern spinning round and flat onto his back. He watches as the sky above forms a large black mist all around him, it gets thicker and thicker obscuring the grey skies above. Passers by continue to walk past as if Hern was invisible, then the high pitched frequency finally diminishes as blood begins to seep from Herns ears onto the cold wet pavement.
The hydraulics of a London bus expel air and a shaken driver leaps onto the pavement and rushes over to Hern. Large spots of blood flecked across the drivers window begin to trickle down next to a huge visible dent in the corner of the bus where it caught Hern's head as he stepped onto the road.
With the rain beating down harder than ever, London continues as normal. No-one wants to be late for work, commuters scurry for shelter and even more cars begin to sound their horns to voice their anger at yet another inconvenient delay in their day.
Blood from Hern's head and the woman's neck mix with the rain before flowing slowly towards a nearby drain.