Scene Ideas #59 - #77
#59 “the gods live in the hills” - maybe could be a fun lovecraftian / brain-fucky / SCP style sorta horror setting to play around with
#60 as the raven wails out to the ashen sky, her feathers begin to fall to the ground - departing from her like leaves from a tree - each, sinking slowly into the soil below, plucked one by one from her by merely the wind, pain shocking through her body as she continues to lose more of herself, grasping for her feathers but unable to ever reattach them again - she is shaken, tears streaming through the holes of her mask - even her body is leaving her.
#61 a grinning silhouette approaches a gentle sunflower standing brilliantly amongst their neighbors of grass; who, then, proceeds to pluck the flower, toss it to the ground, and take out a firearm and begin shooting the poor flower. Again, again, again, bullets piercing through its petals, ripping its flesh apart. Why would someone do such a thing? Go to such measures to kill the plant? But the figure doesn’t stop here. They take out a match, and light the plant, stomp out the flames, crushing it in the process, just to light the petals once more. Again, again, again; until all that is left is ember. If the grass could speak, perhaps they would mourn the death of the sun, but no such words were spoken, as the shadow walks away from the grave.
#62 She stares coldly into the glass; nothing but fog on the other side. She sits in a fiercely-illuminated, blank, white room. The room has more than a few dozen doors; all unlocked, but none have been opened. And so, she remains, staring, staring into the abyss on the other side of the glass.
#63 A person lays on their back on a bed positioned atop a center stage, surrounded by crowds and crowds of onlookers. Time is frozen; the faces of the onlookers, some ecstatic, some despondent, some furious, some indifferent. The person on the bed breathes slowly, facing upwards towards the clouds, on the sunny day. Breathe. Breathe.
#64 shooting out from every star in the sky, a single bright beam of light spikes through the earth - a person is struck by multiple, suspended in their agony, held up by the spikes of lights - the ends of the spikes begin flowing, turning in on themselves, spinning, creating ribbons, tying themselves, circling around the person, some piercing through multiple times - the light shines brighter and brighter until the light consumes the view, a white screen
#65
“It all worked out in the end, didn’t it Skye? Skye? [Transitions to a different memory, speaker/voice] Sky.”
“What’s that sweetie?”
“When I grow up and get my own wings, I want to soar through the sky and fly all around the world!”
“That’s beautiful sweetie, I’m sure you’d be a natural.”
“Yeah!… hey mama, what ever happened to your wings?”
“They were… [clipped] They were just all broken up one day, that’s all, no more flying for mama”
“Well that’s no fair!”
“That’s just life sometimes, kiddo-“
“Why don’t you just grow some new ones?”
“Huh?”
“Grow new ones!”
“Well, sweetie I just don’t think-“
“I’ll help you! You can borrow my wings whenever you want too!”
“I-… I don’t think it works like that darling, but I appreciate the offer. Maybe someday we can both go flying if I ever do grow some new ones.”
“Yeah?!”
“You betcha.”
The raven begins to dance in a void, with splashes of color, ribbons of color flowing from their finger tips, tears paint the 3d canvas; suspended in the air from where they were shed
[“Maybe somewhere, in some new sky, we can fly together; a sky where everyone can fly, even the birds who once broke their wings, angels who had their wings clipped, who can choose to fly anywhere they want and as high as they wish to go.”]
“She’s flying somewhere else now, far above the clouds.”
#66 “I love you eternally, even if it is no longer returned.”
#67 Holding her hand, it’s gone cold now… what gives? She just keeps looking out, won’t turn to look at me while we’re walking though the mall; what’s on her mind?
#68 A spirit burning in the form of a candle within a lantern, humming a soft tune, singing comforting words - the words showing in the shadows, dancing around the lantern, leaking light all throughout the room
“Doo doo doo doo- doo doo doo doo.”
#69 Running quickly down the corridor, the AHSRA is trying to get the other to safety - PsyTube is after them, their agents swiftly in pursuit - the two dash quickly behind cover down a side alley, the agents run past - but surprisingly, the other with the AHSRA decides to leave cover and try to run after the agents out of anger - what did they do to them? The AHSRA grabs them by the arm, looks them into the eye, and both silently agree to what they know is the smarter option - the other goes for a hug, tears streaming down their face, but without making a sound, they embrace in shadow
#70 “Oooo, you’ve got one too! What’s your number mean?”
Looking at the tag on their chest, the number keeps rolling and changing as if a gambling machine going off - but only from the perspective of the person asking the question, no one else even sees a number there, it’s just the person’s work name tag
“What? A Number….. ?”
“Right heeeeeeeere” (points with excessive exaggeration, and quite strangely)
“My name? Waye?”
“Huh? No, the number!”
“…”
“Forget it, yours is spinning like all the other ones anyways. Could you maybe tell me when yours stops? Give me a call?”
“………..Here’s your receipt”
“…Thanks..”
Exits
#71 “EEVVVVVEERRRYYYONNEEEE!!!! GOOOO AAAHHEEEAAAADDD AND PUUUUT EMMM UPPPPP!!” HAHAHAAAA!!!”
(A feminine, over-the-top character is standing on a table with one foot positioned higher up than the other)
Rest of the cafeteria - characters of all kind and some aliens - is frozen in confusion, staring at the character with interest, and concern
#72 i am my wings; wind as my blood
#73 To some, stars bursting into supernovae, black holes ripping celestial bodies to shreds, the Big Bang itself, may seem violent due to the amount of forces at play; but perhaps, what if this is merely another way for the universe to show passion, drive, love in its craft? In its creation of something new? Are we any different, when we go on to feel every emotion, teeming with life and energy, love and hate and beyond the two vices, to create something stemming from ourselves, reflecting ourselves, sharing ourselves?
#74 the elegance in my little ballet of heartache; my spirit’s serenade, emotion and paints of all color.
The null’s dance, the magic of wordless poems; sharing the bliss of paint beyond any structuring
#76 “[[There. is. A. cloud. above your head.]],” the AHSRA says
“Oh- why, yes, there is… how about that?”
(Above the psykhe, dressed in a long brown trench coat, a tiny little rain cloud sprinkling a light shower - less than a mist - follows them about)
“[[I think. They are. Normal. In this zone. of N.R.]],” replies the automata.
“Hey, wait a second; you’ve got a little one following you too!”
“[[WH. AT? NO. I CANNOT. HAVE MY CIR. CUITS DRENCHED. AG. AIN.]]”
(The automata begins to furiously swat away at the tiny little cloud beginning to form above their head, the trenchcoat psykhe cackles, laughing at the hilarious sight)
(The cloud only grows in size, pauses its little rain shower for a moment - the automata sighs a mechanical sigh of relief, before the cloud grows and becomes a dark gray - the cloud starts pouring a whole monsoon onto the AHSRA, whilst they now are in full sprint trying to run away from the cloud - trenchcoat now rolling on the floor in laughter as the bot is running away from the baby storm cloud in terror and desperation)
#77 in her hand, an origami crane. The ends of her dress, ribbons flying with the wind, as she kneels against the black rocks along the cliffside, the ocean behind roaring and crashing waves up the rocks - the water rushes up and forms spikes, and slowly fall back down and are pulled back to the sea, before crashing again - she looks worryingly to the camera; what if the crane gets drenched, and their form ruined?