The deeper I cut, the happier I get. But when the blood ceases to drip, my smile doesn’t retain. Tell me, does your felicity erupt from the wounds of human flesh? Does it stream down the skin of an innocent man? Does warm crimson fill your heart with content? Mine does, everything I said is true, but only to me. Thirst, it’s amusing, don’t you think? It cracks me up every time. “Cut, cut, CUT! You worthless sack of human garbage! Don’t just read the lines, and show something in your fucking face you pathetic little shit.” I listen to these words every moment I don’t sleep, and that director doesn’t care enough to point out my errors. That man needs a life - all he cares about, is the movie. Well, news to him, there’s no movie without actors and I just happen to be the lead. Must I confront him or maybe just let this play out. I’ll give this another shot, till I become ultimate. I play the role I wish for and become the character up to the last lineament. When I see the star stricken expression on his face, I would quit. Perfect ending.
I begin to practice all night, for weeks on end. I wake through the night for a role I am to portray, yet I feel no fatigue in my body. Every morning I feel stronger than the one that had passed and I worry for his approval the same. The crew, the help, the admirers seem truly amazed. More people flock towards the film as weeks pass but the expression on his face sees no switch. I have been pouring my heart into this role, I have given everything for this to prove my worth, and he calls me an imbecile. Does he really dare to, I have reached my point of fracture, far too much to keep hidden. All hell breaks loose in my mind, no control over my senses, I’m just so tired and fatigue takes over, ZZZZZZZ.
I cut deep, exploring the depths of your human flesh, and such adrenaline flows when I do. I become a different man, a complete man, as I punch a hole in your skin. The smell of fresh oozing blood and the taste in the air. You might never realise the likes of a man who gets his soul food from the cries of another. I’m always thirsty for more. Look at my smile before you look at the light - I let out these words on set and I see people around me, terrified. Admirers scared shitless and on his disgraceful face I see nothing, not a flinch. He leaves his seat without a care. I fall on my knees and start crying - I’m still so tired. He comes up to my buried head and says, “Oh grow up you pansy.” I stop and I say, “Fuck you, you fucking lunatic, I wish you have a slow, miserable and gnawing death for all mankind.” Unless I kill him first, just rip the band aid off; I had a misplaced thought inside.
I hear a gasp, a loud one. My face rises slowly and on my hands, I see blood, warm and crimson as ever. I was exceedingly confused. To whom does this blood belong? To me? The low life director? I haven’t a clue. Oh dear, I am responsible for this, this is my doing and some passerby has a knife sticking out his skull. I yell out. I know how this looks, but it was not me, although I knew otherwise because I wasn’t convinced of my actions. Too late to go back now. I turn into somebody else, someone new. I shout a heave of complacency like this had been my dream all along. Blood gushes out of the man’s ear as I pull the knife out. Merciless, insanity lurked in my intentions and I cracked up beautifully. I am just a spectator inside the body of a killer, which is also me. A victim of this role, a helper is grabbed by the arm. I shoves the knife into his stomach and the other me says to me, “I’m so thirsty.” Tell me, is this weird? Because I don’t feel weird, I feel good, better than I have in years. I was scared, yet I couldn’t move a muscle because it was exquisite. I just lay inside him, watching. Stabbing over and over till his whole face was painted red, and his body too. He jumps onto the closest man, he slides backwards on his bottom as quick as he could but unfortunately for him, he was a bit too late.
He cleans the knife on his cheek and then he cuts the cheek and keeps going till he reaches the right end of his throat. The man pleads mercy and I reply, “This is mercy.” In one go he rips his throat open. Then the director says..
He couldn’t say anything. He was star-struck, although terrified. Barely even able to speak he says, “That’s a wrap.”
Photography By: Kislaya Sinha