A Bust of Marianne

[Laurels]

"Man, can you believe this shit? I mean, how the hell are we going to find all these props?"

"I dunno, Dom. These prop storerooms are basically the fucking Raiders of the Lost Ark warehouse. Either way, its our internship on the line."

"Yeah, fine. Oh, there. That looks like the kind of vase they were looking for. Grab it."

Kris reached over and grabbed the ornate vase sitting on the shelf. As he touched its elaborate gold leaf design and cupped his hands around its shape, he could see that it was actually made of plastic. It looked real enough, but then again, that was the nature of cinema. Even he could believe that it was an expensive vase that came right out of the French Rococo or something. He placed it on the flatbed he and Dom were pushing around the prop storage room.

Kris had been working at this internship for a few weeks now. UCLA had various programs for its film students to work at studios around Los Angeles in various capacities. For the most part, it had been a lot of coffee runs and message passing, but today, he was asked to do some work for the art department of a period drama that was being filmed on location. He and Dom, another student from school, were given a list from one of the set designers for some props they needed for a parlor scene. They'd be filming the next day, so they had to find everything from the list provided by one of the set designers as soon as possible. For the most part, the flatbed was full of vases, end tables, some china, and other minor objects. They'd be running back and forth making sure everything was correct.

"Man, I've never been lost in such a place," Dom said again. "It's kinda cool."

"Yeah, I gotta admit it is," Kris replied.

Dom looked over the list again, content to let Kris push the flatbed around. As they moved down the rows, Kris noticed someone else passing by in the labyrinth and stopped. Dom nearly walked forward right into the person. The other person stepped aside and muttered a quick "excuse me" as she sidestepped Dom. Dom merely lurched back and let out a passing yelp. The girl didn't really stick around. She looked like she also had some stuff to find and disappeared.

"Jeez, they just come out of nowhere in here," Dom said.

"Yeah, keep an eye out for any minotaurs," Kris snarked. "Hey, is that the table?"

"Oh yeah, shit."

Dom looked over the table. It was the large, round table the characters were supposed to play cards on for the scene."

"We're going to have to rearrange everything," Kris said.

"Dammit," Dom replied. "Okay, fine. Let's start."

Kris and Dom got to their knees and began to move the items they had already placed on the flatbed on the ground. They really should have had a better system in play for this, but considering the nature of the prop room, they just had to grab things when they saw it or else they'd forget where it was.

"So what's new with you, Kris? Anything fun going on?"

"Not really," Kris said. "I've been spending most of my free time on my screenplay for my next short film."

"Yeah, that's a good use of time. I've barely eked out a single scene since this internship began."

"I figure you could use better time management," Kris replied.

Dom chuckled. "Nah, I'm just taking my time gathering research. Did you hear about how Survival of the Fittest came back?"

Kris stopped, holding the vase in his hand. "You're not-"

"No, I'm not watching it. Fuck, man. That's sick. But no, I've been watching a lot of videos and interviews from the survivors or the families of victims. I want to do a sort of brief family drama for my next short film, the kind where people go through a tragedy like SOTF."

"That sounds really exploitative, man."

"It's not!" Dom insisted. "The script's about a family whose kid is in a coma and they're awaiting a phone call to say whether or not he's brain dead. I just wanted to gauge the sort of reactions you see from those families to better develop the characters."

"Okay," Kris said. "And what have you found?"

"It's heartbreaking," Dom said. "You've got people who feel like their whole lives have been ruined. You've got people who look like there's nothing behind their eyes. It's fascinating stuff, and to try and bottle that for my script is a challenge."

"You could try to speak to someone," Kris said. "Maybe there's a survivor's family in LA."

"Nah, I won't do that," Dom said. "If I was a big-name director, people would, but since my highest placing in a film competition was third, I doubt people would be willing to talk to some scrub like me. Besides, how do you even find those people?"

"You could ask."

Dom and Kris paused. They both looked up from where they were and saw the girl who passed them by earlier. They looked over her, seeing her wheat-colored hair in a limp side plait, her black, square-framed glasses resting on her face, and the long-sleeved sweatshirt she had open, revealing a t-shirt with Black Widow on it. In her hands was a small, plaster bust of a woman.

"Sorry, what?" Dom asked.

"You want to talk to the families of someone from Survival of the Fittest. I am one."

"Wait, I know you," Kris said. "We had a class together freshman year. What was your name again? Jamie?"

"Jessica," the girl said. "It's Jessica, Kristian."

"Oh, right."

Jessica slowly stepped towards them.

"You want to know what the people who lose a loved one in SOTF go through? I can tell you. I hope you brought a pen, cause I'll only say this once."

Kris looked back at Dom, who seemed a bit confused. Dom definitely didn't have a pen.

"It's quite simple," Jessica said, slowly advancing towards the boys. "When they're abducted, you're left panicking, wondering what happened. You think 'well, plane crashes are typical, but they're not guaranteed to kill everyone on board'. And then days pass. Weeks. No sign. At that point, you think 'okay, this is one of those plane crashes, and it probably killed everyone.'

"And then you find out it wasn't a plane crash, but terrorists abducting your sister and her senior class. Knowing that while you were attending memorials and accepting flowers and casserole dishes, that she had a bomb put around her neck and was left to run around some goddamn island killing anyone she came across. If you're lucky, she won't be one of those mass murderers. If not, you're in for a ride of horror and betrayed expectations. Worst of all, you have to spend all that time when they haven't killed anyone wondering if they will flip. If they will be one of the hated killers of those games. If your whole family will have to suffer for that public execution of her character, or if your own trust and faith in that person will be shaken.

"That's when you really find yourself wading through all the bullshit. All the online scrutinizing of her actions, all the people comparing her to others or placing bets on whether she'll die or get more kills. Then you find people who do that to others in her class. People who place bets, or write treatises, or make fan art referencing shitty porn games from Japan. Oh, and this constantly is shoved down your throat no matter what. Either someone emails it to you, or texts it to you, or comes over to show you it. You start to wish you could be more isolated from it all, like you want to just chuck all of your electronics into a landfill to be rid of it. But you don't, because you know you can't truly escape a tragedy that's being played out for the world and localized entirely in your small corner of it.

"And then, when you find out your sister did die and wasn't the sole survivor, you have to watch as everything around you falls apart. You have to watch your parents cry behind locked doors. You have to see your other siblings trying to manage your home and make their own sacrifices. You have to see strangers and neighbors and friends all suddenly change how they act around you, as if you're constantly surrounded by landmines. Then, you have to return to the place where it all started. You have to go back to school knowing hundreds of people were abducted from it and the mood is forever changed. You watch as memorials are erected and names are etched in marble, knowing that it's the best you'll get as tribute and that any real attempt to pay tribute to the lost is stolen because they never made it back home and are left to rot somewhere unknown.

"Then, you get to experience it all over again as another game starts a few years later. As more people ask how you're doing, or offer condolences, or offer favors and more goddamn casseroles and flowers. You watch people go through the same rigmarole of betting, public chastisement, and shitty fan art as before. You even see children talking about it on the internet like it's some kind of spectacle that comes every year. Like, if it was the Superbowl but even worse than it normally is.

"So you have to go through all this, constantly reminded of the person who was stolen from you, how the public thinks they know you and your lost sibling so well that they can constantly judge you or pity you, and then you see the same arguments, the same behaviors, and the same missed lessons and critiques over and over again to the point where you just want to be like Kim Nguyen and fuck off out of the country.

"And finally, you see people who try to understand it and act like it's all some big cultural movement worth exploring to find some inane and trite statement on the human experience, when in actuality, they're just careless and insensitive dickwads who are just riding a hype train that's heading right for a gorge. Sure, they think they can hit the brakes, but most likely, they'll just careen off the edge and spend the entire freefall wondering where it all went wrong, and the answer is simple: it all went wrong when they boarded the fucking train to begin with!"

Jessica had finally reached the boys and loomed over them. Both stared at her with their mouths agape.

"So. Did that answer your question?" she asked Dom, her face red and her eyes watering. Her hands continually traced over the eyes and lips of the bust.

Kris couldn't speak. He looked over to Dom. Dom seemed just as confused and had as much trouble trying to speak.

"W...was the porn game thing real?" Dom asked, the corner of his mouth turning slightly upright..

Before Kris could say anything, Jessica swung her leg up and kicked Dom in the side. He fell back a bit, catching his fall with his elbows.

"Ow! Hey!" he cried out.

"That's all I have to say," Jessica said to Dom. She then turned her head to Kris. "Good day, Kris."

Jessica side stepped the boys and walked away, heading towards the exit of the prop room. Dom sat himself back up and rubbed his side.

"Jeez, was she wearing steel-toed shoes or something?" he asked. "That really hurt."

Kris shook his head and wiped his eyes. Now he remembered Jessica much more clearly from freshman year. How she rarely talked about herself, how she worked quietly and alone on her film projects, and how her final project for first year involved a movie where a young girl watches as her older sister is slowly pulled into the sky, leaving her behind in a sprawling, endless field. Now he understood why Jessica Monaghan received a special commendation for that project, and why it had gotten her in talks as a potential star filmmaker once she graduated UCLA.

Kris stood up and began to rearrange the items on the flatbed. Dom was still rubbing the spot where Jessica kicked him.

"Man, maybe it's best I didn't try to approach any survivors," Dom said, standing back up.

"Maybe it's best you get your inspiration from somewhere else," Kris said, pushing the cart past Dom. "Now come on, let's just get this stuff to the studio before you piss off any more relatives of mass murder victims."

"Yeah," Dom said. "There could more in here for all we know."

As he past by, Kris swung his foot and kicked Dom in the back of his shin.

"Hey!" Dom cried out as he stumbled forward.

"Let's just get a move on," Kris insisted.

Kris pushed the cart forward. It was one thing to create dramas, and one thing to live through drama. Jessica understood that pretty well, and Dom would have to learn it someday. As for Kris, he'd have to find that balance, especially if he was going to be a filmmaker. He was sure he could find it somehow. He could ask Jessica for more information. At the very least, he could find her to apologize for Dom's behavior. Even he had to feel a bit complicit in that, much like how they were all complicit in allowing Survival of the Fittest to fester and grow so large and unchecked.

Kris pushed the cart towards the exit of the prop room. Jessica had provided him the Ariadne string to understand and leave this mode of thought behind. Maybe he could see where else it led.