To Expectorate At This Rate: A Witch's Divinatory Record Entry #3

September 11, 2019

It's been awhile, right? But I dont force, exaggerate or bluff with Divination. Since my last Divinatory Record, I have learned to consort with The Sun, My Truest of Loves, Daddy. While praising ourselves by praising one another, fatally, The Universe spoke for the first time in quite awhile. Knowing, now, for a certainty, that The Fire God, "The Destroyer God", The God of Business and War, The Lusty Pandemic is My True Consort, he has decided on a serial basis for my benefit. The latest of decisions is the continuation of our byproduct. With My Lord, My Spokesperson, My Secret Weakeness, My Heart, I will conceive someone very similar to their predecessor. Only this time, He/She will be gruesome.

BOOM! Mommy does it again! Lamate Alafi!

If someone were to disrupt his peace unutterable, He will wage war the way only He can and keep at it. Ashe Daddy, Ashe, Ashe, Ashe!

My Tongue! My Gun! Gwere Gwere mi agogo! Lamate!

Truly,

The Wife of Satan, Hell's Queen, God's Bride

#proud #brave #successful #342

The Tales of Diaspora - Chapter 1 - Discordant Affections, Part 3

The car door slams behind me as I head for the front door. In a tiff, Victor jumps out of the driver's seat, leaving the door open behind him and pursues me with an unfamiliar tone. For a man who cant leave his wife for a nineteen o.tyear, he has an awfully possessive disposition to my breaking up with him. We spent the ride home debating the definition of the words whore and girlfriend. Insisting that I was not nor had ever been his girlfriend, he became dedicated to the preservation of our relationship in the most unprecedented of ways. He recalled all that he had ever done for me, failed at grabbing the plastic shopping bag out of my "ungrateful" hands and began to spout Christian doctrine of how special and precious women are to be treated in "God's earthly organization" and reminded me of how he regarded me as the weaker vessel. Amidst he's discourse, he was unaware I had no intentions of threatening his status in the congregation and therefore didn't need to try so hard. He can safely lose his "girlfriend".




"Dia!", he shouts, now grabbing my arm. I jerk it away thinking it was a second attempt at a forced refund.


"I don't want your toys, girl. I want you."


Now clasping my toys, I refrain from eye contact and inform him that I will have my mother change my phone number.


"I need to focus on myself now Victor. We've dated long enough." Emboldened by my womanly declaration, I finally look him in the eye. "And you don't have to worry about seeing me at the meetings anymore. I've learned enough." he stares at me with his mouth slightly parted, confused. As I begin to walk away, the front door opens and a very sleepy and most likely intoxicated voice softly utters my name as my mother wipes sleep from her eyes. "Dia?"


Scorned for what I determined would be the last time, I inform Victor that I now have more important things to do. I brush passed my mother, leaving Victor at the walkway. She defensively addresses Victor. "It's ten o'clock Brother Jones. What are you doing here?" I leave my ex boyfriend to my mother and nonchalantly ascend the staircase. Without turning back, "Sheparding call", I inform her pleasantly.


Three months later.


"Diaspora", pronounced correctly, Jake calls to me sarcastically. I open one eye and roll me head over to look at him. I wanted to swear and hiss but I'm drunk, high and half naked on his couch. We have Algebra II together. He's always impressed by my ability to test out of Algebra I but wont respect the pronunciation of my name. He's an Information Science major and a racist who likes to screw black women for notches in his bachelor's belt. "Don't be an asshole", deciding instead that swearing was appropriate. He approaches the sofa, I scoot upward so that he can sit and he gives his usual douchebag chuckle. When life is handed to you, I guess everything is funny. "Why aren't you high yet?", I ask fuzzily. he smiles, climbs on top of me and sucks my nipple. "I will be", he replies charmingly.


Jake and I continued for several more hours. Coke, brown liquor, joke-insult-joke sandwiches and awkward silent while he fiddled with hardware and programming software. My phone rings now for a third time since I left class. "Jake...", I grumbled. "I gotta go, Mom's looking for me." He never took his eyes off the monitor and grunted a nonchalant okay as I grabbed my things and stumbled to his apartment door. I collect myself in the hallway and call an Uber.


"I'll keep better track of my time Mom", a slurred plan to neutralize and pacify. All reasoning and justification escaped me when anticipating my mother's response to my recent recklessness. Since I've broken up with Victor, I've openly denounced our Christian faith to her and the public, endured ex-communication, and picked up both a boyfriend and recreational habit. His being my age didn't compensate for either new development, though my former relationship was the straw that broke that camel's back with her personal ties with Christianity.  I am aware though that my new lifestyle is abusive to my mother who doesn't want nor needs to live alone. I remain cold to her newfound grounds for revoking my residency in her home with us both knowing that it would more emotional harm than good. My saving grace is that my schoolwork hasn't suffered. Surprisingly enough, my new pharmacist of a boyfriend rides me consistently on both my grades and attendance. "Nothing's free Diaspora", pronounced correctly, is his motto.


I stare for about ten seconds too long at the notification that my ride is eight minutes away and laugh at myself. I balance the weight of a book bag, and over packed purse, shoes and my jacket. All poorly arranged in my arms as I hobble to the walkup's staircase. "Slowly Diaspora, slowly", I coach myself. "One step at a time", I chuckle melodically. "One, two, thr...", I miss a step and had no means of grabbing the banister. I tumble quickly down the flight and I smash forehead first into the banister support beam at flight's end.


Beep... Beep...Beep...

The tyrant sits powerless in a small room of the Intensive Care Unit staring at the display for my heart's monitor. Feeding and oxygen tubes are accompanied by doctors and nurses consoling my mother for her daughter's condition and dim prognosis. Needless to say that the rule of tyranny could not stomach the need for a miracle. As the doctor leaves, my mother wiped tears from her eyes. My father, the one also responsible for bearing this tragic load, continued in his three year long pattern of being missing in action, incommunicado. My mother prayed.


"Oh Heavenly Father, Sovereign Lord, I approach your throne begging for you to overlook the spiritual rebellion of both my daughter and I. Please God, spare her life. She is all I have, Dear God, please." She repeated. "She is all I have." My mother's returned Christian zeal was inaudible as I laid in a coma. It was one o'clock in the morning and The Taylor Residence was dwindling down to an occupancy of one.

Pastors of Perversion

With all the openness of the occult, I am disappointed by adolescent adventures of the playful perverted pastors of today's hermetic societies. Google them if you will for horror stories of molestation and other forms of bothering a woman or her aspirant and they all pale in comparison to the childish challenges of those seeking competence despite being labeled a Master. Much like the boyhood they claimed to have graduated from, you offer love, they want prostitution. You offer prostitution, they want love. Or, you offer Agape, they want hatred, you offer hatred, they want Agape; or should I say, a petty means of inflating their ego because they are the same social outcasts and misfits they were growing up. Much like the pimple faced, braces wearing geek in high school who all the girls teased who because a well off tech genius or the sort, the attaining magician of today's society wants to tease, beat and neglect The Pretty Woman as some disillusioned revenge against her kind from twenty or thirty years ago. My apologies Master, since you're so hellbent or bound on receiving one, I didnt know Becky or Veronica hurt you so badly that you must treat every ordeal triumphing, quick on her feet female magician as ugly, weak, passive aggressive, victim written, melancholy and worrisome. I won't be your Mommy, Master. I am your Sister after once being your Guest. You aren't half the beast you want our male colleagues to think you are and you wouldn't last as long as I have on my Path. I dont need your acceptance of my Way. To hell with you. I hit hard and low. And despite your efforts there is nothing about me that you can mistake for slow. Still to your giggly whores that want fantasy and association instead our reason for establishment. Give them the respect you denied me, give them the pardon you refused me, give them my honor that you ignore. It serves you right consoler. I've done Had enough. Bitch, He'll kill you.

The Trap: A Haunted Story of Gentrification Entry #3

INTERIOR- AUDITORIUM - AFTERNOON

CUT TO AERIAL VIEW AUDITORIUM ON SCREEN An African American male ballet dancer is visible before a large auditorium of scattered students and university faculty. Classical music plays.

CUT to MALE DANCER ON SCREEN With ballet's standard physique and chiseled facial features, he finished his routine with focus, grace and artistic precision. He bows.

SOUND EFFECT APPLAUSE


CUT to AUDIENCE ON SCREEN Their applause continues. There is a panel placed before the audience where the Head of Ballet is seated.

CUT to CU of H.O.B. ON SCREEN She speaks into the microphone.

HEAD OF BALLET

Very nice, thank you.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She sits quietly looking only at the stage.

CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN

HEAD OF BALLET

Next, for Performance Based Placement, Susan Bateman.



CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She stands.

CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN She looks at Susan, who walks across screen.

CUT to CU H.O.B. ON SCREEN

HEAD OF BALLET

Susan, your selection is ready.

CUT to CU SUSAN ON SCREEN She stares emotionless into the crowd. She breathes deeply.

CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN There is brief silence as she looks at Susan.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN

S.E. CLASSICAL/BALLET MUSIC PLAYS

Susan begins her routine.

VARIOUS CUTS/ANGLES (approx. 10-15) CLIMATIC ROUTINE - DURATION APPROX. 60 SECONDS

Susan delivers a flawless performance. At the end of her routine/selection, she stands facing the audience, breathing heavily and stern in demeanor.

S.E. APPLAUSE

Susan smiles and bows appropriately.

CUT to H.O.B. ON SCREEN She smiles and nods approvingly.

HEAD OF BALLET

Very well, Susan. Thank you very much.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She nods in acceptance of her praise. As she begins to leave the stage, something in the distance catches her attention.

CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN He stands at the auditorium entrance. He smiles at Susan and claps again silently.

FADE OUT

INTERIOR- KITCHEN -  EARLY EVENING

CUT to MR. BATEMAN ON SCREEN He sits at the kitchen dinette reading a journal.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN She preps dinner at the kitchen counter.

CUT to MR. BATEMAN ON SCREEN Without looking up from the journal, he addresses his wife.

MR. BATEMAN

Our daughter hasn't come out of her room this evening.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN

MRS. BATEMAN

She said she's worried about placement and has reading to do.

CUT to MR. BATEMAN ON SCREEN He looks up from his reading.

MR. BATEMAN

I'm sure that she placed just fine Marianne.

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN She stops food prep, sighs and turns to her husband with her hand on her hip.

MARIANNE

Well what do you suppose I do William?

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN He puts down the journal.

WILLIAM

Perhaps, you could use a hand with dinner.

He slowly returns to his journal while eyeing Marianne.

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN She chuckles sarcastically in defeat as she continues prepping dinner.

INTERIOR - DINING ROOM - EVENING
CUT to BATEMAN FAMILY ON SCREEN They sit at the dining room table, quietly eating dinner. The light in the dining room is dim. The kitchen beside the dining room it pitch black.

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN She sips a glass of wine, looks towards Susan and then her husband.

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN He sips as well. He looks at Marianne, places down his glass and then addresses Susan.

WILLIAM

Susie...

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She looks up from playing with her meal.

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN

WILLIAM

How was your day?

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She returns to playing in her food.

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN

WILLIAM

I hear who had your placement audition.  

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN

SUSAN

My performance was fine, thank you.

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN She looks to neutralize the tension between the two.

MARIANNE

And I'm glad. I have high hopes for you Susie.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She places down her fork.

SUSAN

But why would the three of us need to move to Philadelphia, if you two wouldn't be there?

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN He pats his mouth with a cloth napkin.

WILLIAM

We would have,

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN She nods in agreement to both.

CUT to WILLIAMS ON SCREEN

WILLIAM

but we both had to work and you know why you couldn't live on campus Susan.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN

WILLIAM

So you didn't have to have another abort....

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN She looks to save face.

MARIANNE

William, performance went well. I am very proud.

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN He returns to his meal.

WILLIAM

You can't embarrass your mother and I if you focus on your grades and ballet.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN Reluctantly, but solemnly, she agrees.

SUSAN

I have been irresponsible.

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN

WILLIAM



That's correct and...



S.E. THREE (3) KNOCKS FROM KITCHEN

William looks over to the kitchen startled.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She does the same.

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN Same.

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN He stands and heads towards the kitchen.

WILLIAM

I'll be right back...

CUT to MARIANNE ON SCREEN

MARIANNE

Do you want me to go with you William?

CUT to CU WILLIAM ON SCREEN He walks into the dark kitchen.

WILLIAM

Uh uh, stay with Susan. 

CUT to KITCHEN ON SCREEN (darkness and silence)

CUT to MARIANNA ON SCREEN She peers into the darkness.

MARIANNE

William?

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She looks into the darkness.

SUSAN

Dad?

CUT to KITCHEN ON SCREEN The light cuts on and William stands at the back door staring out of the window.

CUT to WILLIAM ON SCREEN He stares quietly through the small window curtain.

WILLIAM

Hm.

He turns and ad libs to the women of the house, diverting from the situation at hand.

FADE OUT

the full screenplay is in composition and available upon request...

           

Occult Observations: The Shame of Descent - A Review of Charlie Chaplin's "City Lights"

The silent comedy opens with the star, Charlie Chaplin, sleeping on a monument that had not yet been revealed to the city. Once revealed, the eighty-six minutes of controversial adult comedy, inspiring more occult shock than laughter, takes off. The monument that The Tramp rests on consisted of three subjects or statues. The Tramp preferred to and succeeded in the pursuit of disregarding what was intended to be charitable and honorable for the people in order to rest in the lap of the throned woman; an indication of sexual preference and loyalty to his origin, maternal energy. He was successful in the endeavor by waiting until nightfall when neither the people or the city could witness the violation. The comedic and simple-desired criminal mastermind’s timing reveals that the hierarchy of the sexes is, in fact, the reverse. Notice the sword of the reclining male philosopher or paternal deity is pointed to The Mother's abdomen. Oh Mother, the pleasurable pain of division, how we fell!

Furthermore, The Tramp, achieving the child's rest on the mother's lap is later educated on the way of the world by receiving a foreign paternal point in the rear end. This adds credence to the philosophy that our art progresses as our society does. Such a painful consequence for evading the responsibility of rising to the attainment of philosopher as every true adult should. While there is no glory in his pursuit of the mother over the woman, those observing the film must admire and be amused by his ability to turn the tables on the shame of his descent from his prolonged stay on the mother's lap. He proclaimed to the world silently. I should have lived as a man with a woman on my lap and now the point has ruined my pants as my discipline from the elders from my gender related cult. But know this, before I resume tramping I will mock those disciplining me! To hell with you Sir, I sit on your face! Oh, I smell you intelligent and curious gentleman, acceptable, but I must stay on course. So, I'll sit on your hand. Look, it’s humorous to the people. They love it! Then he proudly moves on and finds the woman. Mr. Forty Year Old Tramp, welcome to manhood!

Another impressive aspect of this contextual theme is response from those In attendance of the monumental revelation. The mayor's wife and the other ladies in attendance were utterly mortified. How dare he ruin our moment? Didn't he see our Mrs. Mayor’s pull the ribbon so perfectly? Did he not notice how important we are? No, no he did not. The mayor and other officials were deeply engrossed even slightly amused. Then joined the military in outrage when the commotion was noticed. But overall, Mr. Forty Year Old Tramp had a great turnout for his performance and seamless getaway. With a camera positioned far from the scene, realistic portrayals and long scenes reducing the number of cuts, there is no wonder how such a perversely charged artist could avoid prison. Is one not surprised that a man afraid of swimming’s perfect match is a blind girl?

The Trap: A Story of Haunted Gentrification Entry #2

INTERIOR -  COLLEGE CLASSROOM - NOON

CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN He lectures before the class, speaking with artistic gusto.

PROFESSOR

In The Black Cat, the motif of murder

CUT to PROFESSOR POV ON SCREEN The room of young adults has mixed attention.

PROFESSOR

                                                       (dramatically)

and or

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She sits in the back of the class in the middle. She looks down, doodling with a pen in a notebook.

PROFESSOR

death 

CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN 

PROFESSOR

that follows Poe,

CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN Caucasian male, looks at the professor pretentiously, humored by the performance.

PROFESSOR

stalking him in fact

CUT to COLLEGE STUDENT #1 ON SCREEN Caucasian redhead female, she is unenthused.

PROFESSOR

reveals the artist's personal connection with

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She is as before.

PROFESSOR

The Ancient Fire God.

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN She draws stars in the right margin of her notebook. 

PROFESSOR

With the black cat as the representative of the protagonist

As she draws, Susan's hand slows involuntarily, almost to a complete stop.

SOUND EFFECT PROFESSOR VOICE PROGRESSIVE DISTORTION

PROFESSOR

What is to be said of the feline's screeching informing the policemen? 

CUT to CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN She is horrified as possession sets in.

SOUND EFFECT MUFFLED DISCUSSION STUDENT AND PROFESSOR

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN Her hand slowly moves to the left and begins to quickly make illegible markings, scratches, over her notes. 

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN Her fear transitions to deranged fixation on what's being written. It is apparent Susan is no longer "present" in class.

PROFESSOR

                                                    (cheerful gusto)

Susan!

With her head still down towards the notebook, mouth slightly opened, she slowly looks up at the professor. Her hand still moves but more slowly.

CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN He is oblivious to the change in her presence.

PROFESSOR

You seem deeply engaged.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She is silent as she stares at the professor.

CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN 

PROFESSOR

What are your thoughts on wives catering to their husbands' perversions?

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She continues to stare unresponsively while her writing has ceased.

CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN Still cockily amused, he looks back and forth between the professor and Susan. He chuckles while looking at the professor.

LUCAS

I don't think Susan is concerned with your perversions.

The class chuckles in unison. 

CUT to PROFESSOR ON SCREEN Embarrassed, he quickly regroups and diverts with his rehearsed enthusiasm. 

PROFESSOR

Very well then, moving along!

CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN He looks back at Susan.

PROFESSOR

The Premature Burial!

CUT to LUCAS POV ON SCREEN Remaining lifeless in the happenings, Susan's eyes have cut over to Lucas.

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN Through his amusement, he shows concern for Susan. He nods to encourage a confirmation that she is indeed okay.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN Ignoring Lucas, her eyes are now back on the professor, she then cuts her attention back to her notebook.

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN A scribbly letter "J" is amidst the illegible markings.

CUT to CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN She stares at the markings.

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN 

PROFESSOR

                                                 (loud outburst)

Class dismissed!

CUT to (possible CU) SUSAN ON SCREEN The loud sudden announcement, causes Susan to snap out of her engagement; blinking quickly. She tears.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN (?) There is movement around her as the classroom empties. She quickly wipes her tears, runs her hands through her hair; gathering her composure and her belongings.

CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN He stands, putting on his book bag. Noticing Susan's tears, he takes a more serious disposition.

LUCAS

Hey Susan, you okay?

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She stands, leaving the class without any regard to Lucas.

CUT to LUCAS ON SCREEN He is offended even irritated by her brush off. 


FADE OUT

to be continued...

The Dog Whisper: Law #1

Law #1: Every man wants to know that He's a good boy...

I'll elaborate. When you're in your bedroom at night, you're dressing for bed and he, your husband, fiancee, or live in significant other, is watching television and he happens to notice that you're a little colder than usual, he'll ask: "Babe, what's wrong?" You sigh and continue to lotion your body and begin to pour out your heart. "Well..."

I promise you, front that point forward, he won't understand a word you say. Dogs understand very little English. Throughout your moment of truth, regardless of how polite, respectful, calm and patient, it will translate to your canine bestfriend as "Wah, wah, wah, wah, pussy. Wah, wah, wah, wah car. Wah, wah, wah, money.  Wah, wah, wah, wah, wallet. Wah, wah, wah, wah, gas money."

After juggling the television program, a sports game or what have you, which is aired in English by the way, and adding up his five keywords he heard when listening to the Master, he comes to the conclusion that your mad about gas money and then replies, "But I always give you gas money?" The following look of shock and horror as you begin to cry and shout at him for no reason, on one of your little crazy rants, is because he missed that fact that you always give him pussy, even when we're in the car, yet he's spending his money elsewhere so you dont have any and you know why and you can't rely on your husband anymore, not even for gas money. 

Experiment #1: Once he gives the "I dont know where that shit just came from" face, when you respond by losing your shit, smile the best you can, give him a kiss, be it the forehead, cheek or lips, and say "I love you Baby" and see that the horror doesn't immediately leave his face, you are no longer crazy and he can happily watch the game because Mommy said he was a good boy.

PS: Wah, wah, wah, wah, separate spending account. Wah, wah, wah, wah, prepaid cell phone. Wah, wah, wah, wah, don't skip a beat. Wah, wah, wah, wah, save. Wah, wah, wah, wah, his and his. Wah, wah, wah, wah, "Sorry, I ain't sorry."

The Tales of Diaspora: Chapter 1 - Discordant Affections, Part 2

A steady drum pounded in my head as I laid across my bed. I figured if I looked as if I were sleeping, The Tyrant wouldn't be inclined to initiate an argument. The kitchen is clean. We're supposed to do leftovers. I cleaned up behind myself after my shower. I'm good. But as the tunes for inducing a Native American shamanic journey climaxed, I hated myself for having ADHD.

"I should be in a trance right now and I'm worried about whether or not the house is clean", I grumbled in melodrama.

"You need to be worried about me telling the elders about you inducing a trance in my house", I heard over the ethnic drumming.

"Or about your fits of anger, it's very un-Christlike of you mother", I turned up the volume on my phone. I couldn't entertain her calling my father's house hers for a second time. When I became aware of my audacious arrogance, I peeked out of my left eye to see if she were about to swing. To my surprise, I was left to my shamanic journeying. After the drumming repeated for a second time and I was no closer to traveling the astral plane, I removed my headphones and started a Google search for shamans. How do I report a site as fraudulent?




As I jumped site to site filtering through the charlatans, I thought of my father. Marcus Taylor never attained appointment in our global Christian brotherhood. Neither was he the emotional Christian moved to tears at the thought of all the hope that God provides in exchange for exclusive devotion and observance of his high moral principles. While he ensured that I knew the scriptures, he would never brow beat me with the "Word of God", as his wife would.

One day in the car, on our way home from our Christian ministry, he spoke to me on our religious doctrine pertaining to divination and spirit mediumship. I always noticed that when my father confided in me, especially on weightier matters, his voice would deepen in a very distinctive authoritative tone. After the voice of spiritual integrity faded, he paused as I gazed out the window, still disengaged from the preceding topic. 


"You know, Dia, there is life after death. Here, on Earth, as we know it now", he said softly, solemnly. I looked over at my father who had not removed his eyes from the road. I was unaccustomed to my father ever speaking against our doctrine and doing so nonchalantly and plainly as if his statement hadn't questioned my entire upbringing. 


"Since I was a child", he continued, "I've seen things, spirits, you know? I hear things, them, sometimes too". He paused. "Your grandmother is in the living room by her pictures and candles. There is a reason why I told your mother to put the candles by the family pictures." He paused again and sighed as he searched for his words. "But she'd never admit that to you. So don't bring it up to her. I'd never hear the end of it."

Looking at my dad, I couldn't formulate an appropriate response. So I turned my attention back to our urban scenery. 

"Neither would I", I finally added.

So with my natural desire to pursue true spirituality coupled with my father's confidential confession, I had no inhibitions about seeking spiritual guidance of the nontraditional sort. With Yoruba priesthood ruled out for being better performing artists than proxies to the powers, covens being next to nonexistent in my area and shamans not having as large of an online presence, I threw the phone down to the bed and stared at the ceiling. I began to rear myself. 

"Your SPE 101 paper isnt't going to write itself young lady. What did you learn from this semester's student teaching with Autistic middle schoolers?", melodrama continued.

I rolled my oh so overwhelmed and burdened mind over to look at the conjoining back driveways through my backroom window.

"That the mildly and severely Autistic need to be educated separately. It isn't fair to the more capable of the two. But their all inclusive, disorder designated classrooms, with students aging from nine to fourteen is most likely a contingency of having to raise your special needs child in a low income neighborhood", I sighed, "public schools".

Pulling my head over to once again to view the ceiling, "Now write in down". Instead I disobeyed myself, picked up the phone and called Victor. 

"He broke up with you Dia..." I said sarcastically, bitterly. But I couldn't fight that nagging inclination that the relationship wasn't over. The phone rang. 

"Welp, at least he hasn't blocked my number y..."

"Hello?"

Holy shit, he answered. "Victor?"

"Hey, D, can I come get you?"

I sat up as the pressure from anticipation tightened my chest. I looked over at my closet, planning an outfit before responding. "Let me throw some clothes on."

Thirty minutes later, we were in the back seat of his Honda CR-V. It had only been a few days since his "I'm a married man" speech and his body felt heavier than it did the day before he delivered it. When he finished and peeled his sweaty body from atop mine, he sat, caught his breath and caressed my thigh.

"Missed you...", he said very casually. 

"Victor, after your big speech, I sent you twenty text messages."

"And they aren't in my phone anymore Sister Taylor."

"What?"

He reclined his seat, closed his eyes and muffled as he began to nap.

"We're both dedicated and baptized Christians, Diaspora. And there's a pretty little thing running around with my last name. I can't keep any of your messages or phone calls and haven't for a minute." 

He adjusted his weight in the chair. I sat up and began to dress myself.  "I'm not in a rush", he quickly added with one eye now open. 

"Lucky me", I hissed. He pats my butt.

"Hey, you were sixteen when this shit started. Your dad left and I thought you and your mom would eventually stop coming to the meetings and all of this would have gone away."

"Well, now I'm nineteen, Vick."

Now, with both eyes intently on me, "And we still haven't gone away."

"Gone away? Like I've ever been a problem. It's only a problem, Vick, if you make it a problem."

He stared. "What do you want me to do Dia? I can't leave my wife for a nineteen year old."

I finished dressing, sat back next to him and passed him his clothing.

"There's a store in Lancaster."

"That's like an hour away", he complained.

"And you aren't in a rush Brother Jones."

 He nods, "Okay."

"And, I'm hungry."


On the road, we ate Wendy's and pretended as if nothing were wrong. We listened to popular music: hip hop, funk and a little jazz. We cracked jokes and watched the GPS. 

"So where exactly are we going?"

"You'll see. I'd rather just go and let you be surprised than to tell you now and be told no."

"You're funny", he chuckled.

I shoved French fries in my mouth and looked out the window. After several sips, I decided that I'd rather have his lemonade than my coke. We exited the highway and a few minutes later I could see the store's sign posted on the road. It stood out plainly between two other storefronts and abundant farmland. Madam Vessant's Occult Shop. We pulled into the empty parking lot. If it weren't for the flashing neon TAROT READING sign and the crone rocking in chair out front, I would have presumed the shop closed. 

"You wanted to go to an occult shop?", he asked confusedly.

"Mhmm, you coming in?"

"And give you my card again?"

"You didn't give me a budget last time, not my fault. Come on."

I jumped out of the car and addressed the crone. "Are you Madame Vessant?"

"Only when I'm here sweetie. What can I do for you?", she croaked. Victor watched as we conversed, surprised at what he thought my newest venture. 

"Umm, I wanted a tarot reading, a deck of my own and maybe a dream catcher, if you have any. Do you have any books on shamanic journeying?"

"The reading is fifty dollars", gave her aged voice. From her sun tan and heavily wrinkled skin, I couldn't place her ethnicity but her accent was American. 

"Dia..", Victor exaggerated, complaining of the price. I ignore the Christian elder who couldn't leave his wife for a nineteen year old. Madame Vessant glared sternly at Victor, even squinting an eye.

"Alright, the girl gets her first reading free, but your young mistress wants a deck of cards, a book and quality dream catcher." He bypassed the woman's comment and the fact that he wears his wedding band so seldomly that he doesn't carry an imprint.

"Dia, you want me to go with you?"

"She should do this alone", Vessant added firmly. Victor cut his eyes over at the woman and then back at me. "D...?"

"I'm okay, I'll do it alone."

In the back of the whimsical store, behind closed purple curtains, Madame Vessant and I sat in a small room with ethnic statues, masks and clothing on the wall and other knick knacks of various religious backgrounds. There was a tall vertical metal file cabinet that I assumed was full of witchcraft supplies. Candles and incense were lit and the Rootworker began her shuffle. Six cards were laid in the pattern of the solar plexus. She remained silent as she reviewed the cards. 

"Is it separation or divorce", she looks up at me above her thin spectacles, "with your parents?"

"Separation", I admitted shamefully, "or abandonment, which ever works."

"Your mother will not handle this well overtime. Her future is very dark, now that she is without your father. I'd be more concerned with her emotional well being over my own for at least awhile."

"You don't know a damn thing about us, lady. I can't focus on my moth..." Without disrupting her further review of the cards, she interrupted my sass. 

"Your journey will be successful. The Universe will provide what you have been seeking but Mister out front playing with my wind chimes is an evitable hurdle along the way. But only if you are willing to remove him. Now get your deck of cards, wild little girl, your dream catcher and get out of my store." And without a bat of an eye, I was dismissed from my reading.

I don't think I've ever been more confused in my life. I picked up my bag and went out into the main store. Through the storefront windows, I saw Victor outside playing with the wind chimes that barely made a sound. How the hell? I turned around in astonishment of Madam Vessant as she went behind the cash register. She ignored my shock and pointing to the manifestation of her revelation and continued to bark orders. "Shop!", she demanded, "Tell you boyfriend to pay me my money."

There was no book, but I found an Afro-Brazilian tarot deck and a royal purple dream catcher and then, Victor. The bells on the store's door rang as I tagged him into my consumer experience. "Hey, I'm ready."

On our way out, I looked back over my shoulder at Madame Vessant. Her frank shortness unassuaged me. She lacked the friendliness of any merchant and the conventional professionalism of the average businessman. In the car, Victor immediately asked the details of the reading. I genuinely considered heeding her advice of leaving Victor, so I refused to inform him.

"A bunch of little things, nothing heavy. It was free anyhow, you know? Wanna see my cards?"

"Yeah..."

Back in the shop, Madame Vessant watched Diaspora and Victor drive off. 

"Wild one, isn't she?", she asked softly. "You'll get your journey alright diaspora, oh, Dia-spora, I mean, humph." She pulled the shop keys from her house dress pockets. She shuffled her fuzzy slippered feet over to the front door, locked it and turned off her neon sign. She turned out the store's lights and continued her shuffle to her back room. She opened the metal cabinet and kneeled. At its floor were five pillar candles, offering bowls of food and a goblet of wine. The articles of worship surrounded the base of the statue of her God. She lit the used pillar candles and looked up to her horned Lord. 

"My Lord of the Wilderness, our last client is bound to cross your path. She seeks a journey of enlightenment and growth. If it be your will, allow her to journey to you and gain wisdom in your hidden knowledge. That is, before she foolishly finds herself pregnant by her mischievous pervert Mister. Lord..."

Madam Vessant rose and went to bed. The cabinet remained open and the candles burned all night.

to be continued...

The Rogue Angel (Entry #4)

Deity pounded on her chamber door as she heard her coven sisters crying , murmuring, running and brooming through the corridors. She knew Terra had overstepped a boundary with her revelation but couldn't fathom her frightened sisters' claim to execution. She could hear Governess Maria, The Air Witch, calming the young witches of Earth.

"Children, ladies, children! Please, silence. Be still, listen."

Deity pressed her ear to the chamber door.

"We have all studied Karma", Maria continued, "we all know well that It compensates in full. So if the word being spread has any validity then..."

"But she's our Governess. There isn't a more competent Earth Witch in Vulcan or Diana!" Deity heard. From the rasp in her sister's voice, she could tell the cry originated from Laura. But Laura was currently in Fire Mastery but she is known to frequent the Earth wing. The young witches of Vulcan tend to wander to the wing of their elemental moon, their original mastery. The same stands  for the young wizards of Diana and their elemental sun. Both House Vulcan and House Diana have identical architecture. Each House forms a pentagram castle of the five wings, with The Coven Parents in the center. Each wing is heavily decorated and enchanted with the elements of assignment. Where the man power for décor and engineering falls short, magick supplements.

The Water wing has running water substituting glass windows. The baseboards of the rooms and corridors are the same to foster practice and peace with the element. The spell on the Air wing leaves it subject to tornadoes in the hall, a byproduct of frequent spell casting gone awry. But, we've learned their patterns and now use them for practice and therefore mastery tasks, and fun, when conceit sets into a young magician. The Fire wing, the darkest and seediest wing of the castles, is void of electricity and is prone to visits from The Underworld by means of the candle and torch flames that illuminate it. The Ether wing is more simple than one might think. It is possessed to the point that each chamber as twice the occupancy of any other wing. We practice embracing our true selves when we cycle to Ether for interaction with those possessing the wing. But Laura's lunar home has bedroom floors of green grass and living, breathing, speaking plant life. Every witch that cycles to the Earth wing is magickally responsible for the upkeep of their plant life.

There are nine chambers in each of the five wings. Seven are dormitory with elemental features and every student magicians of Vulcan and Diana has a pagan roommate. One chamber for the solitude of the Governor or Governess who monitors the students' progression and behavior throughout their five year mastery of the element. And each wing has one chamber of isolation. This particular dungeon of penance is void of the comforting homeliness and magick provided by elemental features. That would be the chamber of Deity and the like. It is only subject to magick when its repenting occupant suffers further sentencing.







As deity chaffed and paced in her chamber of isolation, she hated herself for her curiosity and wandering that resulted in her occupying the ninth chamber. Two ago, only one year into her Earth Mastery and bonding with Terra, she was sentenced to "no recreation for a twenty one days" for practicing Water Magick against Governess Hestia. The Fire Witch Governess and Professor of Manipulation of Stones and Metals (MNP103) was saturated in her only weakness after a showy display of authority against Deity when Deity became testy regarding the mandate that she only learn but not practice the ways of Fire. 

"The binding placed on me in Fire classes and in your wing is for your safety and coddling as mortals. I wont just sit and listen and test on paper", Deity proclaimed that day. Hestia would not "tolerate her lip" and struck Deity with flames. To the Fire Witch's dismay, Deity gave a proud rebuttal that mandated Hestia dry out for a week before reigniting. Out of fear of further sentencing, Deity fled the perimeter of the two Houses and retreated deep into the surrounding woods, the same woods of her discovery as a newborn.

Cold and ill-equipped for survival in the wild, Deity slept under a large pile of leaves. In the middle of the night, she was awakened in terror by a snake slithering across her leg. When she screamed and threw the serpent from her, it regrouped and spoke.

"I know you child. Calm yourself. You are The Abandoned One", announced the legless entity.

"Abandoned by whom?" Deity asked, no less shaken than she was before he spoke.

Excited with anticipation, he slithered closer to her and raised his limbless body erect, now eye level with the kneeling rebel.

"Instead inquire of whom awaits you child." The serpent hissed softly and swayed from side to side, reading the spirit in Deity's eyes. "Have you learned of The Fallen Angels of Heaven in that coven of yours, Witch?"

"We study them but working and battling them is prohibited outside of the Ether Mastery cycle."

The serpent put distance between them.

"And I suppose", he began, "it would be the same for The Rising Angels of The Underworld."

Before Deity could confirm his suspicion, he leaped and buried himself into the ground. The Earth trembled and the very spot of his burial began to lift and form a whirlwind funnel. After several crackles and sparks inside the earthy twister, it combusted into flames. A large masculine angelic entity appeared in the swirling heat. With a strong flap of his wings, the fire was extinguished and the earth settled. He hovered over the young witch, raised his left arm and pointed to her.

"Deity our Abandoned One, you were left alone to demonstrate your purpose, a trial not so uncommon. Remember, Hell hath no fury without She born of it." He then outstretched his palm and struck Deity with a heat that knocked her back into the leafy heap and into a deep sleep. He blanketed her as she was before and watched her rest. He confessed.

"My daughter, your mother and I will not be there for you're return. We must expire for the sake of your reign. But you will never learn mastery until you leave that cage we've reluctantly given you as a home. When you do leave, Deity, you will be alone. He will come for you. And you two will return to The Underworld together. Stay fervent, my beloved demon daughter. Remain furious, oh rebellious one, Hell's future Queen. We love you." Her father then left her.

At dawn, she was awakened by the roaring of her coven brothers of House Diana on foot, brooms and horseback. They collected their rogue sister who had awakened in excruciating pain. Twenty four hours from the point that The Rising Angel of The Underworld rendered her unconscious, she was laying on her belly in the infirmary of House Vulcan. In one hand she held a letter explaining that the remainder of her experience as a student at House Vulcan would be spent magickless isolation. In the other, a mirror that revealed a fate she considered to be far worse. She had two large humps on her shoulder blades, from which she was sprouting wings.









Deity refused to be excluded from the commotion of Terra's fate any longer. She glared at the chamber door, determined to break the spell of isolation. She hovered above the ground, forsaking the use of the wand, opting instead to conduct her power organically, as she had recently been instructed. She raised her left hand, stretched out her palm, sought destruction and put her Latin to the test.

"Veritatem revelare. Ego sum qui ego sum. Deus tuus ego sum. Arcum mihi!"

Deity waved her hand and the door and its wall opposing her crumbled. When her freedom was granted her by her own power, she saw her coven sisters running toward the exit. 

"They've found her!" They hollered. "Diana has found Terra!"

In the distance, she could hear Governess Maria, announcing the event. 

"Now, now, we must all convene outside for a dual coven convention for the execution of The Traitor."

Deity's stomach turned. Terra's revelation of Deity's birthright as The Lofty Chosen of Darkness and subsequent fleeing warranted public execution. No doubt, The Earth Witch with fall to her only weakness and burn at the stake. In the heat of the moment, Deity disregarded the insecurities of her very human, yet blessed, siblings and parents and flew over head to the entrance of House Vulcan. As she flew passed her sisters, she ignored their cries and pleas.

"Deity, please, return to your isolation, for your own sake!"

"Deity, please, why won't you use a broom?" Deity had it set in her heart to do neither. She refused her cage and the use of antiquated tools that do not move as quickly as her wings allowed. 

Terra had broken a pact of secrecy for Deity's deserved awareness. She would repay her governess with the same rebellion. The glory of this defiance was undeniable to Deity. As she navigated the halls of Vulcan, she looked down at her sisters and dodged those brooming, having the nagging inkling that this would be her final goodbye. As her flight led her to the entrance of her coven, she opted for a less showy display of power, closed her eyes, retracted her wings and exited through the window. 

Outside witches and wizards from The Houses poured into the front courtyard. The stake and lumber were prepped as The Executioner tied Terra to her fate. Deity could see sparks and bolts of green energy shooting from Terra's body as she struggled to use Earth magick for her freedom. As the truth took hold of Deity, her heart sank. Her generation of witches and wizards had only heard cautionary tales of executions. They has never witnessed one. Deity was mortified at the amount of magicians excited, proud and advocating Terra's death. Terra had declined from being a beloved and venerated authority figure of Earth in both the sibling Houses to being detested, name cursed and spit upon.

Deity looked over and saw both sets of coven parents next to the stake as Terra's face flooded and shivered in fear. The four coven parents seemed to ignore Deity's presence and broomless flight. The four parents spoke in unison.

"Self-perpetuating, may Vulcan and Diana live forever!"

The Executioner of The Houses, a demonic ward of The Underworld, then  spat his unholy flame and lit the lumber. Terra screamed at the top of her lungs. Deity couldn't bring herself to take action. In her inexperience, she was stunned. Terra's terror and horror resounded into the woods that the hidden witches and wizards had made their home three hundred years ago. As the flames grew to Terra's waist, Terra began to choke and cough up blood. For the last time, Terra and Deity made eye contact. Mourning the torture of her governess, Deity broke her composure at the sight of the weakening of the Earth magick leaving Terra's pentagram. Her shrill of agony echoed. Terra gasped twice and screamed out to Deity from what little was left of the magickal soul possessing her body.

"Run, Deity! Run!"

From her third word, the flames instantaneously engulfed Terra. The crowd cheered. The Coven Father of House Vulcan, the only father that Deity knew, raised his hand and immediately silenced the celebration. With the mixed houses' attention on the Coven Father and his hand, they followed its direction to look up or over at Deity. With their energy fixed on their rogue sister, Gustav spoke masterfully.

"Magicians, fire."

With the grace of magick, two hundred witched and wizards pulled their wands from their inner pockets of the cloaks and fired their elemental magick of preference. Deity made evasive maneuvers from their energy and brooms. As several of her brothers of Diana began to enclose, her youth and inexperience with betrayal lead to her demise. She lost her angelic control and began to fall. As she descended towards her grounded siblings, she felt pressure on her brain as the Greek Lord of The Underworld spoke.

"Higher!" He shouted.

Through the frighten tears in her eyes, she looked up and saw the brooms of her brothers vanish into thin air. As they began to crash land, some saved by magick and others crossing over, Deity took to the clouds. At every moment of doubt she heard the Lord speak again.

"Higher!"
"Higher!"
"Higher!"

Once outside of the dual covens' range, Deity heard the voice of Hades once more.

"Leave. Forever."

Out of harm's way and void of further doubt, Deity flew.  In to the night, away from the fear of those lesser than she, away from regular persecution and sentencing, away from the demands to be anything other than her Self, she flew.

to be continued...

The Trap: A Story of Haunted Gentrification Entry #1

The following screenplay was inspired by the comedy of actor, comedian and writer, Mike Epps...


BLACK SCREEN

SUPERIMPOSITION: "1979" white, Arabic Typesetting

SUPERIMPOSITION FADE OUT

FADE IN



EXTERIOR - ROW HOME - 11PM
STILL SHOT NORTH PHILADELPHIA ROW HOME

The windows and front door are boarded. The home is completely dilapidated and declared abandoned by the city.



INTERIOR - BACK BEDROOM - SAME
CUT to PROSTITUTE ON SCREEN High and naked, an African American woman lays sprawled across a dirty, ruined mattress. Her head rolls back and forth with the dips and spins of her high. Smoke fills the air.



CUT to DRUG DEALER AND BUYER ON SCREEN An African American male seated at an old wooden table with only two chairs, the dealer passes a vile to his customer, who throws his money down on the table. The table is dirty and covered in paraphernalia, food remnants and trash, ashtrays and malt liquor cans. The African American consumer stands before the dealer.



CUT to DEALER ON SCREEN High himself, he coughs and looks up at the customer.

DEALER

Disrespectful bitch, you couldn't put that shit in my hand?

CUT to BUYER ON SCREEN Dressed in dirty tattered clothing, and jittery. He side steps back and forth, his jaw jumps. He looks back over his shoulder and then back at the dealer, reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a smaller revolver.

BUYER

Bitch!

He fires twice into the dealer's chest.

CUT to PROSTITUTE ON SCREEN She sits up and screams.

CUT to BUYER ON SCREEN He cleans the bleeding and hyperventilating dealer's pockets of money and drugs and takes off.

INTERIOR - DOWNSTAIRS- SAME
CUT to BUYER ON SCREEN  He runs through the living room/dining room, into the kitchen and climbs throughboarded back door.

INTERIOR - BACK BEDROOM - SAME

CUT to DEALER ON SCREEN He lays lifelessly in the chair at the table, bled out entirely.  The prostitute runs passed holding her clothes. Still screaming.

PROSTITUTE (V.O.)

June Bug dead!

ZOOM IN

CU OF JUNE BUG

FADE TO BLACK SCREEN

SUPERIMPOSITION: "2000" white, Arabic Typesetting

FADE IN

INTERIOR - LIVING ROOM- 2PM
CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN A well dressed and perky Caucasian woman shows the newly renovated home to a middle aged Caucasian couple, who follows behind her into the living room.

R.E. AGENT

The three bedroom, two and a half bath features brand new cherry hardwood flooring...

CUT to COUPLE ON SCREEN They look around the room and then separate while browsing.

R.E. AGENT

The home was completely gutted and soundproofing installed throughout.

CUT to WIFE ON SCREEN Now standing between the dining room and kitchen.

WIFE

Are these stainless steal appliances?

CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN

R.E. AGENT

Why yes and brand new tile flooring.

CUT to HUSBAND ON SCREEN He steps beside his wife and places his hand on the small of her back.

HUSBAND

How's the neighborhood? Our daughter will be attending Temple's Fine Arts program in the fall and we're hoping that we can move into an area that is dedicated to their students' housing.

CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN She approaches the couple.

R.E. AGENT

Yes, Mr. Bateman. Both of the surrounding homes are Temple University housing.

CUT to BATEMAN COUPLE ON SCREEN They look at one another.

CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT

R.E. AGENT

and this listing would have been as well, if you weren't making such an attractive offer. But no worries, it is still a quite and safe neighborhood.

CUT to BATEMAN COUPLE ON SCREEN They look at one another again, weighing their options.

CUT to REAL ESTATE AGENT ON SCREEN She gives a rehearsed smile of friendly professionalism.

INTERIOR - BACK BEDROOM - DAY TIME

CUT to FF VIEW of SUSAN ON SCREEN She hangs a poster on her new bedroom wall. The room is visible behind her.

CUT to REAR VIEW of SUSAN She stands, hands on hips, and reviews the poster of a ballerina.

SUPERIMPOSITION LOWER RIGHT SCREEN  "3 weeks later..."

Mrs. Bateman enters the room. BLACK BLUR

SUPERIMPOSITION FADE OUT

MRS. BATEMAN

Susan?

CUT to XCU of SUSAN ON SCREEN She turns around.

SUSAN

Yeah, Mom...

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN She stands by the doorway and far wall. While large furniture is in place, there is a wall of boxes.

MRS. BATEMAN

Sweetheart, I know you wanted to stay on campus but...

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN

SUSAN

I know Mom, you want to keep me safe and on task. I'm not wayward you know.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN Now red in the face, she approaches her daughter. Her hands are outstretched to grasps her daughter's.

MRS. BATEMAN

Oh, sweetie, I know. But try convincing your father of that.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN AND SUSAN ON SCREEN She holds her daughter's hands.

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN

MRS. BATEMAN

Ugh, eighteen already and just...

She holds her daughters face.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN POV ON SCREEN Completely unenthused, Susan receives her mother's affection.

MRS. BATEMAN

...so beautiful.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN She let's go of Susan's face and backs up and looks at the room.

MRS. BATEMAN

Do you want some help unpacking?

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She does the same.

SUSAN

Uh, no. I'm okay. I'll do what I can but

(sarcastically)

classes start tomorrow. So the last minute move will have to take a backseat to my education.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN Still emotional. She places her hand over her heart.

MRS. BATEMAN

That's correct and your dancing.

She heads towards the door.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She watches her mother, exasperated.

CUT to MRS. BATMAN ON SCREEN She stops at the doorway of the large room and turns back to look at her daughter.

MRS. BATEMAN

You know, I just want to be there as you pursue ballet, the way I did. I just want to be there for my baby.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN

SUSAN

And now you will be, Mommy.

CUT to MRS. BATEMAN ON SCREEN She chuckles and sighs, leaving the room.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She looks around the room and looks at the sunlight coming through her window. She approaches the window.

CUT to FF VIEW of SUSAN She sternly pulls the curtains shut.

FADE TO BLACK SCREEN

BURST LAMP LIGHT

SOUND EFFECT CLASSICAL MUSIC

FF CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN She reviews her frame in the mirror.

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN Dressed in her nude leotard, she begins practicing her craft. She runs through her positions, plies, etendres, relevers, glissers.

ALTERNATE VARIOUS VIEWS THROUGHOUT

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN And when she begins to sauter, in the mirror she notices her closet door slowly opening. She stops and looks to her desk.

CUT to DESK ON SCREEN Her CD player/boom box sits on the desk. She presses pause.

CUT to SUSAN ON SCREEN She approaches the closet.

CUT to SUSAN POV ON SCREEN She looks inside the closet.

CUT to LOWERED FF VIEW of SUSAN ON SCREEN She looks down into the dark closet. The tops of her shoes can be seen. She closes the door.

CUT to CU of SUSAN ON SCREEN  She turns around to head back to her desk.

 SUSAN

Hm.

FADE OUT

BLACK SCREEN

to be continued...