DERYNS BLOG: Loss Script/Storyboard

This is basically a visual runthrough of the film I plan on making this summer - entitled Loss:

LOSS

I slide back into consciousness and stare at the ceiling for a few seconds.

It’s just another day.

I glance across. She isn’t there. Perhaps she’s already up. Perhaps she’s in the bathroom. *touches the bed beside him* She must have been gone a long time, her side of the bed is cold.

And once again it hits me…Her side of the bed is cold. It has been for the last 24 months.*sigh* Just another day.

“The whole conviction of my life now rests upon the belief that loneliness, far from being a rare and curious phenomenon, peculiar to myself and to a few other solitary men, is the central and inevitable fact of human existence.”

~ Thomas Wolfe

*Taking tablets at the sink* There’s a hole in my chest where my heart used to be. And for each day that passes without her, that hole grows bigger and colder. There was once a time when I craved love and compassion, now my withered heart merely beats for its daily dose of Fluoxetine and cheap vodka.

After living like this for so long, things begin to lose their colour. Even the brightest sunrise burns a lifeless grey. Clouds loom above like obscure shadows. Even the most beautiful of summer days are too bleak to put into words, because without her they are nothing. I miss her.

The world is a quieter place now, I drink ‘til my head goes numb and my ears start to ring, then I drink some more. That way I only have echoes of my own thoughts for company – it helps me get through the day.

She used to love this park. It’s where we first met. Nowadays I come here in a morning to draw some breaths of pointless fresh air before I go in to get my prescription.

I'm not 'weak'! I can't just 'pull myself together!'

At home is the worst place. It’s where I think about her most. Everything in this house reminds me of her. Every object houses a memory.

The sounds.

The smells.

Even being here are enough to send flashbacks racing through my mind...

...At times I even think I can see her. Hear her. Feel her.

Perhaps I’m crazy.

How things used to be.

I can’t bear to live here, yet can’t bring myself to leave. It’s unbearable. Yet somehow I feel obliged to put up with it.

It has been two years since her death and still I find myself trampled to the ground by my own conscience, unable to get back up. The guilt eats me alive as the disease did her.

I had let her down at a time she needed me most. Turned my back and walked away, leaving her to die alone. I should have suffered with her; instead I blanked it out of my mind… too scared to face reality…. I should have suffered with her. And now I’m paying for my selfishness. In full.

They say that every kind of pain is good for you in small doses. But when you’re whole life is pain, and every day is a small dose. After two years of it you’d be willing to do almost anything to make it go away.