Eliza Barron — Written by Andrew Shepherd

She stands in the doorway, frozen in the moment, enjoying the dappled sunlight that warms her pale skin, the light breeze that gently caresses and moves her long, dark hair.

Eyes open, unable to look away, unable to take the first step up the bunker stairs and onto the green grass beyond, freshly cut and filling the air with a warm, moist, organic smell that seems strangely familiar somehow.

The concrete steps and walls of the stairway seem welcoming, almost approving, lit by the same sun that gently washes her face, grey concrete glowing yellow in the light except for the shape of his shadow on one wall.

He stands before her on the steps, tanned face creased with smile lines around his eyes, eyes that have seen so much more of the world than hers.

They look into each other’s eyes, the beckoning taste of the world beyond waiting, gradually growing more impatient in both their minds.

One of them would have to take the first step, break the silence, break the spell being woven by the choir of birds and bees thrumming in the background, the breeze nuzzling in both of their necks, ………but neither do.

They just stand facing each other, frozen by the enormity of the situation.

A wasp quietly hovers in towards them and lands on his outstretched arm, crawling slowly towards the hand resting gently atop the concrete wall of the steps

He doesn’t notice, or at least he doesn’t move to wave it away.

His attention is entirely on her, on the moment.

A drip falls silently, landing on the concrete at her feet. It’s spherical form smashing violently to oblivion by the impact with the same silence in which it lived it’s short, perfect existence.

Her eyes hold his gaze, understanding passing between them.

Both their lives will be different from this point on, nothing will ever be he same again.

The soft rumble of a starting lawn mower drifts gently to her ears.

It must the gardener’s working on the large lawn on the opposite side of the house.

She knows the sound, knows the smell. She’s seen them through the window on a few occasions when he’s lifted her up to peer out at the world. So close, just 40m and a pane of glass seperating them, yet so far away, unable to open the doors to free them.

Would they have even if they’d seen her?

Her hand shakes slightly, clenching in excitement and adrenaline.

The corner of his mouth curves up gently, the edges of a grin creasing it’s cruel way through the stubble on his cheek.

The breeze pulses, shifting branches in the trees. A single golden arm of sunlight reaches for her through the leaves, it’s long fingers caressing her face with a warmth she remembers only from her dreams.

The angelic whisper of the leaves reassuring her tired mind,

just a few more steps.

They’ve played out the hardest part of this dance already, all that is left is to break the spell and move.

Another drip throws itself toward the concrete at her feet, ending it’s short lived freedom in the same brutal fashion as it’s partner.

She has to get him to move. Both of them must move, she knows it, he knows it but they both remain frozen, searching each other’s eyes.

Still neither of them move. She looks into his eyes, not daring to accept reality.

He seems like he has grown roots into the step under his feet…..grounded, solid, immovable. Like he has become part of the structure.

Two drips this time, falling swiftly to their silent end, dancing in duet all the way down, desperate to live as much in the short time they have together before being dashed onto the ground next to his boot.

“He knows”, she says steadily and quietly inside her mind.

“I know, he knows.

And he knows that I know.

For all the time left in the world he will know, and he will know that I know”

Their moment has come, they are living it’s beautiful short existence.

A few seconds, stretching on for an eternity.

Each actor finally knows their lines, the blocking in this scene is minimal, it’s all about the subtext, the history, the character development.

Years spent gazing out of the bunker windows at the green, warm, sunlit world beyond.

They had both known it was being written, they both had their hand in it’s creation.

They knew it would largely be improvised, that it could never be planned or storyboarded, that would never work with this genre.

Dialog is unnecessary and the movement only comes at the very start………and the very end.

Every important part is played out in the space between their eyes, the heavenly warm smells and sounds of the world that contrast so drastically against the cold, grey walls and steps of the bunker.

The beautiful tragedy of their art continues it’s serenely violent silence, she holds her nerves in check, not allowing them to rush her.

Timing is everything here and they are into the final piece. The final dance in this scene’s inevitable climax.

It was always going to come to this, the culmination of years spent building their relationship, each player understanding their place.

Three drips this time, each following the one before it, racing frantically toward oblivion.

The red flush in his cheeks pales, the edge of his grin dropping as the spell finally breaks.

She holds his gaze defiantly but they both know the magic is over.

His eyes drop down to view the result of each drip’s violent demise.

Their crimson shadows slowly staining into the concrete’s porous surface.

She holds the Shiv tightly, it’s jaggered improvised handle cutting into her palm as it’s long, mirrored length glistens with the red fluid now falling freely from the wound in his side.

His eyes glaze over as they come to rest on her shaking hand and the dripping shard held tightly within it.

“He knows” she thinks again “…and he knows I know that he knows.

For all the time left in his world… he will always know”

She sees his shoulders slump, weight shifting more onto the arm still on the concrete wall.

Her hand relaxes, letting the Shiv fall, it’s short, impactful, life changing existence ending in a scattering of reflections, each one reviewing their scene with shining, shattering applause, like a cheering box office audience.

The first step is the hardest.

It takes every piece of self control to will herself to move but once she does her legs take over, planting her foot onto the first step, silently climbing the cold, grey, blank ladder to freedom.

He doesn’t move, though his glassy eyes follow her as she makes herself small to pass beside him, keeping tight to the wall so as not to allow them to touch.

The birds overhead cheer her on, their beautifully melodic voices preaching to her of the freedom she has longed for, almost in her grasp.

She climbs the steps, one by one, back against the wall and keeping one eye on his unmoving figure, not quite daring to believe.

At the top she looks out over the small lawn, to the trees at the edge of the property and beyond, to the small town and sanctuary.

She looks back at him as her small, grimy, bare foot finally feels the grass beneath it, seeing him finally slump down to the step, the pool of red spreading out underneath him, his chest movement slowing until it finally ceases all together.

Her eyes drift from the steps towards the open doorway into the bunker….she’ll have to leave James here.

“He won’t mind, his sleep can’t be disturbed anymore, there’s no more that he can be forced to endure and no one left to force him” she thinks, looking again towards the form slumped on the cold concrete steps.

She turns her back to the bunker and looks out, one foot being lovingly embraced by the friendly grass the other feeling the cold, concrete that had been her home, her cage, her prison for the last 12 years.

“The first step is always the hardest” she says, out loud this time, talking to the trees, the birds, the flies, the wind, the sun, the wasps…..all of which reply with their busy voices, celebrating along as her right foot lifts up, leaving the concrete behind forever.