Monroe draws her sword approaching the corner of a dark room, lit only by hall's light ~
"I
don't care your reasons why. I don't care what your master plan is and
I don't care what you think you're going to do to me. I don't care
about your agenda and I don't care about people who waste their time of
day hating your agenda."
Cutting ~ "I don't care about your fucking politicians. And I don't care about your fucking family name." Wipes blood from blade, "I don't care about your crown, don't care about history and I care even less, about the future."
Sheathing ~ "No matter how I feel about any of it, you were always just a job." Watching him die, "But I did not mind doing it." Kicks the last of his strength away with a turn for the door, it closes to dark.
Minneapolis in the '90s was the kind of town that had a guy playing saxophone in under the overhangs of closed stores on misty nights. Because they were misty nights and he knew that was cool.
The echoes ... even fleeing monks of Tibet favored Minneapolis.
A friendly prostitute regularly on the apartment stoop, waiting for somebody else but always with a smile nonetheless just in case. A rare and fleeting place in time and history, of absolute urban perfection.
Lyndale Avenue, a triple wide street off the uptown district, where all the punk parties
happened in the blocks surrounding parallel, all overgrown with broad and healthy trees.
Gang wars and gunshots in the night until peace was forged between the blue and red by the black. It was ... 'the city'. There were many women. And I loved every one of them.
New Actor - "I lost track of music in the '90s. Threw out the radio before the TV, We kind of went a different way. Like a bad breakup."
He hears a moaning sound ... turns to the side chewing the sucker ...
"Irreconcilably bad."
There's some guy in the shadows with his bloody crotch in one hand and a hatchet in the other walking slowly toward him.
Voiced over - 'Junkie rock' ... I never got into it."
Looks him over, still a distance away and taking a really long time.
Gang wars and gunshots in the night until peace was forged between the blue and red by the black. It was ... 'the city'. There were many women. And I loved every one of them.
New Actor - "I lost track of music in the '90s. Threw out the radio before the TV, We kind of went a different way. Like a bad breakup."
He hears a moaning sound ... turns to the side chewing the sucker ...
"Irreconcilably bad."
There's some guy in the shadows with his bloody crotch in one hand and a hatchet in the other walking slowly toward him.
Voiced over - 'Junkie rock' ... I never got into it."
Looks him over, still a distance away and taking a really long time.
"I mean it made sense, make junkie rock stars, they glamorize the heroin, sell a lot of heroin. Who could argue ? Like cocaine to the yuppies, they never saw it coming."
Sitting in a cafe, watching the yuppies with gripped portables order their coffee while displaying their calls like an add for the company, loud like their existence is worth announcing here.
"Just look at these fucks."
Yuppie - Call interrupted, "Yeah to go." Back to the call, "Yeah fuck that guy. He has no clue what he's even doing in the building."
Actor - Voiced over watching him, "Cocaine in the towers, crack on the streets, it only left one thing. Dumb ass white kids." He looks at the best examples in the corner ... "And weed's just too easy to grow. So what do ya do when the yuppie spawn start to rebel ?"
Music cuts to the next.
He watches the guy moaning, holding up the hatchet and waving it. Fucking overalls, song on the car passing, one after the next.
"I fucking hate that song."
He throws down the sucker stick and keeps walking, near distant downtown seen ahead. Passes the Nirvana fans screaming over them playing at First Avenue, he takes the 7th St Entry, a nod and a grin from the bouncer ~
"Everyone got what they wanted, and it just made them sadder." Shotgun sound. "DJ kills the radio star."
He throws down the sucker stick and keeps walking, near distant downtown seen ahead. Passes the Nirvana fans screaming over them playing at First Avenue, he takes the 7th St Entry, a nod and a grin from the bouncer ~
"Everyone got what they wanted, and it just made them sadder." Shotgun sound. "DJ kills the radio star."
(ambience)
At a side table with a beer, "And fuck the homage. What are we even paying homage to ? The truth or the lie ? That's a very period kind of question you know. So here's how it really went down. Founding members."
(quality)
As
he watches the band drinking, he smokes the joint with an underlying
rage brewing, calculation, "And by the way, I am not my father. And
this no fucking comedy."
The show plays on, over the crowd in the pit and into the next song.
~ Killer's Take and the Meticulous Rabbit ~
Monroe cuts her skin, peeling it away and bandaging behind.
It comes off too clean with too little blood, barely bonded to muscle, she removes the skin suit with an occasional glance to the terrified woman tied to wash-bin's nozzle. Monroe slides out a leg from the skin like nylons, dropping it.
The television comes on.
Newshuman - "While there's been no official word, rumor has it this appears to be the work of Hecate Hill."
The cop on camera - "Well ... there's been no specific conclusion, but it does have the same uh ... mortis operandas. However some things are missing so we think it may be a copycat."
A death rattle beneath the bandages ...
Newshuman - "And what is that 'M O', exactly."
Cop on TV - "High profile. Lots of security. Didn't f-bleep-ing matter. Nobody saw a thing and everyone else slept through it."
Newshuman - "And what's missing."
Cop - "The blood."
Frightened Woman - "Is that you ? Are you ... Hecate Hill ?"
Monroe - A death's rattle of rage and a slash to black. "Next !"
Her voice in the dark ~ "How are you doing this ? How am I still alive ?"
Monroe - "You are not."
The light comes back on with thunder's flickering of a storm outside, the woman lay skinned as Monroe applies the last of her skin, a solvent dissolving the gaps.
She feels herself over in the mirror, exhales.
Drops a firebomb on the body wearing her old skin and closes the normal looking side of the city kind of house door, locking it back with a pick as if never undone.
Gets in her new car and drives away. Last stand of the wood stickered station wagon.