8:23
And at 8:23, everything he had would fall apart...
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
7:34
Let us begin. Let us admire this spectacle.
See the dimly-lit room with no windows. See the pack of doctors and nurses, clad in green and blue and disinfectant. See them as they work while the father supports himself against the wall. If you look between the people, you can see the body in the centre; an infant, blue-skinned, feeling more like an ice sculpture than a being made of flesh and blood and bone and the other miracles that form the human body.
Diagnosis: Hypothermia.
Prognosis: Not good.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
7:46
Continue to watch this scene with me. Let us observe these people in their work and wonder how the events will unfold.
Look how the father tortures himself internally. You can see it all over his face. It’s scrawled on every crease, every wrinkle, every little flaw and feature. He’s one of their own, you see. On any other day, he’d be joking with the other people now in the room.
There are still traces of their earlier celebration. One of the nurses’ earrings hang down past her shoulders. Another still has a number of ornaments woven into her hair. One of the doctors has the faint echo of wine on his shirt.
They were at a wedding, you see. The bride’s now in a cold-induced coma. The groom’s crouched in the corner.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
8:01
Watch how they continue to work over the corpse. They keep trying to bring it back from the dead, just to keep their friend happy. He doesn’t want to believe the truth yet. The whole exhibit that you see before you is just a nightmare to him; a miasmic nightmare that will soon pass when he’s standing on the edge of the roof before he jumps and then he’s falling, falling, falling but just when he’s about to hit the ground he’s back to reality.
But you see, my friends, dreams are not made of such stuff. Everything you see is real. Everything you see is true.
Look at the body. It’s expired already after 9 short little months. What could it have dreamed of, do you think? Mummy and daddy? A happy little family? Aww.
Look at where they are now.
Coma, corner, dead. Coma, corner, gone.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
8:19
He won’t let them stop now. He’s the only one forcing them to keep going now.
They’ve asked him three times, they’ve told him there’s no point keeping going.
“No!”
The mother has no idea what’s going on. She’s in her own little world of trippy visions and swirling lights and whatever else you see while you’re out of this world for days. I’d like you, for a moment, just to imagine her face, Sleeping Beauty’s pretty little face, when she finds out her child is dead.
She’s not going to be a happy Beauty, is she?
Aww.
Poor little Beauty.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
8.23
He’s dead.
Finally, he’s dead and gone.
You can see the father wants to scream. He won’t let anybody touch him or comfort him. He wants to scream and scream until his heart explodes and he collapses and dies himself.
Look at how no one knows what to do while he hits his head against the wall repeatedly, as he curses his very existence.
Note the corpse one last time, before we go. The little blue corpse. It would make a good television programme, wouldn’t it? Adventures with the little blue corpse and its pretty mummy and its grieving daddy.
Say goodbye to them.
It’s 8:23.
At 8:23, everything this poor little man has fell apart.
Now, shall we move on?
7:34
Let us begin. Let us admire this spectacle.
See the dimly-lit room with no windows. See the pack of doctors and nurses, clad in green and blue and disinfectant. See them as they work while the father supports himself against the wall. If you look between the people, you can see the body in the centre; an infant, blue-skinned, feeling more like an ice sculpture than a being made of flesh and blood and bone and the other miracles that form the human body.
Diagnosis: Hypothermia.
Prognosis: Not good.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
7:46
Continue to watch this scene with me. Let us observe these people in their work and wonder how the events will unfold.
Look how the father tortures himself internally. You can see it all over his face. It’s scrawled on every crease, every wrinkle, every little flaw and feature. He’s one of their own, you see. On any other day, he’d be joking with the other people now in the room.
There are still traces of their earlier celebration. One of the nurses’ earrings hang down past her shoulders. Another still has a number of ornaments woven into her hair. One of the doctors has the faint echo of wine on his shirt.
They were at a wedding, you see. The bride’s now in a cold-induced coma. The groom’s crouched in the corner.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
8:01
Watch how they continue to work over the corpse. They keep trying to bring it back from the dead, just to keep their friend happy. He doesn’t want to believe the truth yet. The whole exhibit that you see before you is just a nightmare to him; a miasmic nightmare that will soon pass when he’s standing on the edge of the roof before he jumps and then he’s falling, falling, falling but just when he’s about to hit the ground he’s back to reality.
But you see, my friends, dreams are not made of such stuff. Everything you see is real. Everything you see is true.
Look at the body. It’s expired already after 9 short little months. What could it have dreamed of, do you think? Mummy and daddy? A happy little family? Aww.
Look at where they are now.
Coma, corner, dead. Coma, corner, gone.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
8:19
He won’t let them stop now. He’s the only one forcing them to keep going now.
They’ve asked him three times, they’ve told him there’s no point keeping going.
“No!”
The mother has no idea what’s going on. She’s in her own little world of trippy visions and swirling lights and whatever else you see while you’re out of this world for days. I’d like you, for a moment, just to imagine her face, Sleeping Beauty’s pretty little face, when she finds out her child is dead.
She’s not going to be a happy Beauty, is she?
Aww.
Poor little Beauty.
And the seconds are passing, and the minutes are slipping away.
8.23
He’s dead.
Finally, he’s dead and gone.
You can see the father wants to scream. He won’t let anybody touch him or comfort him. He wants to scream and scream until his heart explodes and he collapses and dies himself.
Look at how no one knows what to do while he hits his head against the wall repeatedly, as he curses his very existence.
Note the corpse one last time, before we go. The little blue corpse. It would make a good television programme, wouldn’t it? Adventures with the little blue corpse and its pretty mummy and its grieving daddy.
Say goodbye to them.
It’s 8:23.
At 8:23, everything this poor little man has fell apart.
Now, shall we move on?
♠ ♠ ♠
A little bit of an experimental piece for me. You decide who, or what, your lovely guide was.