The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon (Vanessa and Sumesh's Final Cut)

This is Sumesh and my Dual Interpretation (Duo) script for the 2011-2012 school year. We went through SO many cuts and versions and spins of this script by Don Zolidis. We had so much fun developing the characters and putting our own spin to the story. I hope you enjoy what ended up being our final cut of the year! The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon - Vanessa and Sumesh's version, everyone. Enjoy!

NARRATOR 2. Sunday Sunday Sunday. It's EXTREME! See! Monster slaying action as the three-headed pig battles the wolf-o-bot in a bone-crushing cage match of death. They'll huff and they'll puff and they'll kick some! –

NARRATOR 1. Okay, stop. We're not doing that.

NARRATOR 2. Blood! Violence! Death! People being cut open with scissors!

NARRATOR 1. Can you stop?

NARRATOR 2. Flames! Flames!

NARRATOR 1. Enough, You're weirding them out.

NARRATOR 2. I'm EXTREME.

NARRATOR 1. No you're not. Can we just do the show?                                                                        

NARRATOR 2. I’m so excited I’m going to throw up.

NARRATOR 1. A little background to begin.

NARRATOR 2. The Brothers Grimm were brothers named Grimm. They are dead. But in the period before they died the Brothers Grimm wrote 209 fairy tales –

NARRATOR 1. They didn't write them –

NARRATOR 2. The Brothers Grimm did not write 209 fairy tales that we know today, they were frauds. We should dig up their bodies and spit on their corpses.

NARRATOR 1. No! I'm just saying that they were collectors of stories. Quite a few of these stories have become immortalized in film and television-

NARRATOR 2. Of course they've all been changed by "the mouse," to feed their enormous octopus-like animation empire which sucks the life out of existence and crushes your soul in a death-grip of happy happy songs and talking objects. I can't even speak their name aloud because they're looking for a way to sue me right now. You won't win. My uncle is a lawyer! He defended OJ. That means I can kill anyone I want and no one can get me.

NARRATOR 1. O-kay. What we are going to do for you right now is return these fairy tales to their original glory.

SUMESH.  Society is a myriad of problems…

VANESSA. My chocolate chip cookie was oatmeal raisin.

SUMESH.  My family fights over the remote.

VANESSA. Teenagers

SUMESH. Trespassing.

VANESSA. Backroom deals.

SUMESH. Theft.

VANESSA. Violence.

SUMESH.  Drug abuse.

VANESSA. Starvation.

SUMESH.  Dehumanization.

VANESSA. Politics.

BOTH. My duo partner

SUMESH. Which all leads to nuclear war.

VANESSA. Dude. Wrong event.

SUMESH. Right.  But the biggest problem is that these problems have their own problem. Perception.

VANESSA. Instead of portraying reality, fairy tales have us believe in “happily ever afters.”

SUMESH. So, today, we’d like to put a more realistic spin on the problems of

 Snow White

 The Stepmother

Hansel

Gretel

The Witch

Rapunzel

The Devil

Rapunzel’s Mother

BOTH. In The Brother’s Grimm Spectaculathon by Don Zolidis.

BOTH. Once upon a time there was...

STEPMOTHER. Snow White.

SNOW WHITE. Stepmother.

BOTH NARRATORS.  The battle you’ve all been waiting for.

STEPMOTHER. I believe you're putting on weight.

SNOW WHITE. Not on this body, sister. These curves are tight and streamlined like a racing yacht owned by a rich Colombian drug dealer.

STEPMOTHER. I think you might need to tweeze your eyebrows. They're looking ... puffy.

SNOW WHITE. My eyebrows are sculpted like a block of clay in the hands of a blind god of sculpting eyebrows.

BOTH NARRATORS. What happens when they stop being nice and start being real?

STEPMOTHER. Look at me and know despair, Snow White. I've tucked , sucked , and erased every visible trace of the past twenty-seven years, and now, I am more beautiful than even you.

SNOW WHITE. You're hideous and deformed! My stomach recoils in horror as you approach!

STEPMOTHER. I AM more beautiful than you. I am! I am the prettiest!

SNOW WHITE. When are you going to learn Stepmother, that we women shouldn't be judged by our surface beauty but rather by the contents of our brains?

BOTH NARRATORS. You’ll find out, who’s the toughest of them all?

STEPMOTHER. That's stupid. No one cares about ugly people.

SNOW WHITE. Well no one cares about you!

STEPMOTHER. How about I take you on then?

SNOW WHITE. A titanic struggle of good and evil. Purity versus corruption.

BOTH. Everybody was kung fu fighting!

STEPMOTHER. Your kung fu is strong.

NARRATOR 2. Our next story: Hansel. And. Gretel.

GRETEL. Hansel, I saw you smoking.

HANSEL. Smoking is cool, Gretel. It makes me feel like a man with dark, sultry lungs and a deep, masculine cough. Let's go out in the woods.

GRETEL. I don't know if I want to.

HANSEL. IN SOVIET RUSSIA YOU DON’T KNOW WANT. WANT KNOW YOU..

GRETEL.  Okay.

HANSEL. Here we are in the woods.  IT’S A HOUSE. MADE OUT OF CANDY!

WITCH 1. Are you eating my house?

HANSEL. No!

WITCH. I'm going to teach you a lesson. By eating you.

WITCH. But I'm going to fatten you up first.

NARRATOR 2. So Hansel and Gretel were locked away and force fed sugar water and they got fatter.

HANSEL.  Are you going to eat that?

GRETEL. No!

NARRATOR 1. Then they dieted a little bit. But then they got fatter again.

NARRATOR 2. Until one day…

HANSEL. Eat this, witch!

WITCH. Ah I'm melting! Oh wait ... I'm burning and dying in an ironic way!!

HANSEL. Hey Gretel. I was talking to some bad kids. And they were telling me that drugs are cool. It's fairy dust. Everyone's doing it. It lets you fly.

GRETEL. No!

 HANSEL. I'll do it myself then.

NARRATOR 1. And he jumped off a cliff.

HANSEL. I believe I can fly! I believe I can…

GRETEL. Oh no. Fairy dust has claimed another life. All we are is dust in the wind.

NARRATOR 2. Our next story: Rapunzel and her Mother

NARRATOR 1. Her mother? She was poor.

GIRL. Oh I am poor.

NARRATOR 1. I just said that.

GIRL. Oh, I can’t even afford dirt.

DEVIL. Excuse me - but I couldn't help overhearing your tale of misery and woe. Tell you what-I will grant you your heart's desire if you give me one small thing.

GIRL. That sounds like a great bargain. I won't even ask what the small thing is because I'm so innocent and trusting and stupid!

DEVIL. Just sign this one small contract and I shall make you rich. Beyond your wildest dreams. And you shall conceive a daughter so beautiful the very earth will want to kiss her. But in a platonic way. Nothing kinky.

GIRL. That sounds like a great idea. Because I’m stupid.

DEVIL. Moo ah ha ha ha ha ha!

GIRL. Hey look a giant pot of gold!

NARRATOR 1. And she conceived a child.

GIRL. Whoah! How did that happen?

RAPUNZEL. Through magic. The magic of the devil!

NARRATOR 1. Years passed.

GIRL. Rapunzel, cut your hair.

RAPUNZEL. I do what I want! GOT IT? OR I WILL TEAR OUT YOUR TINY HEART AND USE IT AS A CHEW TOY FOR MY HALF-CHIHUAHUA, HALF-DOBERMAN MIX, GOT IT?

DEVIL. I have returned. Your time is up.

GIRL. Fine. What do you want?

DEVIL. Your child.

RAPUNZEL. Mom!?!!

GIRL. I may have signed with the devil…

RAPUNZEL. Mom!?!!

GIRL. What?! I was young! I needed the money! And the baby! But really just the money.

RAPUNZEL. I can't believe you! I hate you! I am so outta here!

NARRATOR 2. Our next story is

NARRATOR 1. Hold on. We don’t have enough actors left to continue…

NARRATOR 2. So it's time for the lightning round re-cap? Ready?

NARRATOR 1. I was born ready.

NARRATOR 2. All right then. And ... GO!

NARRATOR 1. Snow White.

NARRATOR 2. Vanity. Violence.

NARRATOR 1. Hansel and Gretel.

NARRATOR 2. Gluttony. Drug abuse.

NARRATOR 1. Rapunzel and her mother.

NARRATOR 2. Greed. Teenagers.

NARRATOR 1. The Brothers Grimm Spectaculathon.

NARRATOR 2.It's EXTREME!

NARRATOR 1. Our problems are extreme.

Your Soul's Sole

This is my Original Prose and Poetry (OPP) piece from the last school year (2010-11) for Speech and Debate... Now that I'm done competing with it, I've decided to post it up for you all to read. Of course it's not quite the same as me performing it, but it should be an interesting read anyway. Enjoy!

I.                   Teaser:

Schelly: HEELS!

Mattie: HEELS!

Karcyn: HEELS!

Damon: HEELS!

Fiona: HEELS!

II.                Intro:

Shoes, Shoes, Shoes

Aisles filled with way too many to use

Occupying department stores

Then there are those dedicated to even more!

Sneakers, Sandals, Slip ons

But we all know HEELS are the greatest turn-ons

Or possibly for some,

An omen of doom to come

Heels with their endless appeal

For your problems they are sure to heal

Or are those simply lies

Evil and death in disguise?

Soon we’ll all discover

A use for such and another

In “Your Soul’s Sole”

A Vanessa Wu Original

III.             Body:

Schelly: I was always bullied throughout my childhood – teased for being the shortest of my class. I could easily blend in with the younger kids – those who were 9, 8, even 7 years old – when I was in junior high. As we got older it just got worse and worse. Shorty Schelly had gained herself a reputation as the miny munchkin. I got called names, shoved inside lockers, into trash cans, and tossed around. But nothing was ever as bad as today. All of the above. PLUS now… I am cornered in this dark alley with a ton of scary jock girls. A sweet looking girl steps to the front and, for a second, I let myself hope that she’d try to help … but she turned to them and said in a sickly sweet voice, “Leave the shrimp to me, I’ll take care of EVERYTHING.” She turned on me then with an evil smile upon her angelic doll-like face and assaulted me with her high heels. They dug into my flesh, tearing me apart, and all I could feel was pain. And then… Nothing.

Mattie: When I was younger, I loved to play with dolls and everyone still thinks I AM a doll… well… I’m SICK of it. I found a way to vent this tension by having my dolls attack each other –dolls talking: “Hello there, little girl. Well, don’t you look like a doll?” “I’m not a doll!” “Aww, what a cute voice to go with your cute face! Such a doll-like girl MUST be sweet.” “I am NOT! I’ll show you! DIEDIEDIEDIEDIE!”-… but soon, it wasn’t satisfying enough anymore. So when I saw all the jock girls pushing around this midget of a girl, I came up with my master plan. Everyone thought I was innocent anyway… so I would get away with anything! I took advantage of that little black alley and pulled off my heel to use as a knife so I could finally fulfill my nightly dreams of slashing across skin and gouging out eyes, but sirens rang and a cop pulled up, followed by an ambulance to take her to the hospital. The officer’s deep green eyes darted between me and the girl unconscious on the floor. He hesitated a moment, not believing such a sweet looking girl could have done something like this. But with her being so puny and passed out and me grasping a bloody heel, my self defense excuse didn’t pass so well… I should’ve thought this through some more…

Karcyn: Heeeeey! Looking good! They see me rollin’ and they hatin’ and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty and they’re trying to catch me ridin’ dirty (Chamillionaire)… Ah! That party was like so HOT! Mm.. and those guys were like smokin’! and they like totally couldn’t like keep their eyes… and their hands… off me… SO totally lovin’ these new stilettos! Aww shiz! The cops are like on my tail! Better pull over and put these sexy stilettos to use! He walks up to me and tells me to step out of the car to walk in a straight line. No way am I like gonna get like written up for a stupid DUI! I totally didn’t walk straight but his deep green eyes were like on my swaying hips and sexy legs. Thank god for my hot bod! I bent over to pick up my purse and I was like totally off the hook!

Damon: God! My big sister is amazing. You would not believe what that girl can do with a pair of heels. Never underestimate the power of heels OR Karcyn! Her hot bod and her hot clothes combined can get any guy to do anything. She’s the one who showed me the power of clothes. She’s the reason I dress the way I do now. She was, is, my inspiration for my fashion masterpieces. Speaking of which, I need some new heels! I pull Fiona, my totally feminist BFF, off the couch and to the shoe store we go! Even though she despises heels, we go way back, so she won’t mind coming with me!

Fiona: I was just flipping through channels spread out on Damon’s couch like I do practically every day. And then, Damon decided he just HAD to get some new heels. Why did Karcyn HAVE to show up with her latest shameful scandal?! She is a disgrace for caving into conformity. I remember when Damon and I used to play in the mud and wrestle. Then one day, he insisted on dress up instead. Now he just asked for his shoe size for some hideous excuse of shoes and the salesperson handed it to ME! Can you imagine?! What is her problem? Do I seem like the type of person who would wear heels?! These things are an oppression of women, so she can’t run from man! At least Damon is breaking down stereotypes…

Schelly: I’m out of the hospital! Time to go buy some heels to fix my whole height issue… oh look! Damon’s here! He’s so cute… and he’s even accompanying his best friend shoe shopping! Oh right! My height remedy!

Mattie: Ugh! Mental rehabilitation is such a waste of my time… They should have realized it wouldn’t have any impact on me anyway… Ah well, time for a new pair of weapons of mass destruction!

Karcyn: I like really can’t let my lil bro get like all the fun… shopping and shoes WERE like MY expertise first, yaknow? Even sexier me like totally coming up!

Damon: These are perfect! They’ll make my newest outfit mind-blowing! I’ll look fantastic… maybe even as good as Karcyn!

Fiona: Ugh… those are death traps… Why must he insist on heels? Out of the millions of shoe choices he could’ve gone with… -sigh- I’ll never understand boys…

Plants (Short Story by Vanessa Wu and Jeffrey Hsu)

This was a short story I co-wrote with one of my best friends/big brother, Jeffrey Hsu [: We submitted it to our school's literary magazine, but it didn't make it. So here it is for anybody who wants to read it! [: WARNING: This is not for the faint of heart.

Oxford Academy

Wednesday May 4^th, 2011

22:14

Dormancy is vicious; it’s ceaselessly waiting, always teetering on the sky-scraping edge of the world, eternally heralding life, and infinitely craving the painfully tranquil sleep. Dormancy is overpowering, undeserving, and a relentless murderer.

And thus, the night laid forever dormant, breathlessly escaping the sun and worshipping the crystalline structure of night. And on this night, that night itself plunged into a drowning dormancy, leaving the world unwatched and uninhibited; the world was free. As a chill, just a gentle silken chill, glided across the surface, the school was sleeping. It had shut down for the evening — but, this was fleeting, a brief encounter with rest. Startled into consciousness, the school howled salaciously, seething in earsplitting pain, as a pulse tiptoed on its unsuspecting spine. And here, on this night when everything was dormant, evil rose into freedom. Unlatched and released, its power is, ironically, finite — how long can it last before being ferociously quelled into dormancy? For that brief nanosecond, the evil crawled on its stomach and slithered into the school.

And, seeking a devilish medium to cultivate its venom, the chill cracked the northern windows of Room 206, leaving the southern hemisphere untouched. Blistered with glass residue, the wind took over the plants. Suddenly, the night flung out of its dormancy, and the evil was sealed again for immeasurable time, furrowed into the depths of its new hosts.

Oxford Academy – Outside Room 206

Thursday May 5^th, 2011

07:37

Spring sunshine slithers in through the slashed shards, but nobody has discovered it yet. The clock cries out for help – TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK. Tiring of the pointless protest that ultimately drones on beneath the clamor and chaos on the other side of the remnants, it stops resisting, falling into its routine, melancholy step.

More steps join in, breaking away from the cacophony so familiar, into what used to be familiar. She hears the yelp of the clock, but it is cut off by the screeching of the PA system. She shakes off the foreboding feeling and goes to spritz some water on the house plants decorating her room. Finally she notices the jagged pieces of glittering glass dispersed sporadically across the floor. Not wanting to be blamed unjustly yet again, she quickly sweeps up the hazard and dumps it in the designated gray bucket before she trudged downstairs into the main office to report the unusual happenings.

“My windows are broken,” she bluntly informs.

“WHAT!? How did that happen?” they question furiously.

“I don’t know. They were like that when I walked into my room this morning.”

“The ones on the doors? Maybe somebody was trying to get in…”

“No, ALL of the ones except the ones on the doors…” she trails off pondering for the first time how the f**k all of the second story windows, which practically touch the ceiling, had managed to detrimentally implode into a supernova of glass specks.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the shrill cry of the bell, oddly similar to the yelp she heard from her classroom clock earlier. She turns her attention back to them and pushes the déjà vu away. They are regarding her with the same disapproving looks they always bestowed on her: the eccentric pariah and mischievous hassle in their eyes.

“Why the f**k did I even bother?” she thought to herself, “They never believe me anyway; screw it, I’ll be out of here in a year anyway. I have to get to my class. They’re probably crowding in the hallway.”

And waiting they were, completely oblivious to the situation, completely accustomed to waiting. The sinister aural energy lurking behind the door was waiting itself, stockpiling a massive pool of dark power. For now, safety abounds. Later, however, is indeterminate.

Oxford Academy – Room 206

Wednesday, May 11^th 2011

23:51

As the wind bared its razor fangs and howled, room 206 was quiet. The students had all cheerily departed, she left the room at the appropriate time, and the night janitors systematically cleaned the rooms and returned home. It was night once again. The voluptuous curls of the brisk night swept the county, relieving the air of daytime tension. It was, admittedly, peaceful. That peace, however, aggravated the poisonous evil, pushing it to escalate faster and faster.

An eerie blush of purple-tinged evil subtly bordered the string of recently repaired windows in room 206, spilling through the glass and mystifying the peace.

And its power grew; at this point, it’s time is approaching. Like a drop of Russian Roulette, the tension sifts into the room as the gun lays dormant, waiting to strike. And strike it will, with the veracity of a gun to the head, loaded with a bullet.

Oxford Academy – The Science Building

Thursday, May 26^th 2011

11:04

“Finally! The announcements are done,” praised Jeffrey in Mr. Steven’s cluster class, jeering at the fundamentally tireless quality of the video announcements.

Barely paying mind to the announcements, Vanessa cheerfully chatters with her peers in the light of room 206 and its newly furnished windows: “Ohmahgod. My birthday is actually tomorrow! Wow. I can’t believe I’m already going to be seventeen…”

The utility of the evil is massive. Now, dreadfully close to the climax of evil, the sunlight dances in the room and, though translucent, layers a transparent sensation over the room. It’s a sign of happiness that is, with asserted surety, going to fade soon.

The plants radiated a masked darkness. It was threatening, a slicing chill. At 11:15, the bell shrieked its customary cry and the students laughingly filed out of the classrooms. In room 206, she was sitting at her desk while Vanessa quietly collected her array of paintings and art supplies.

“How am I going to carry these? Okay, let’s see, I can hold this in one hand, this in another, that I can pile on top… I’ll stick this into my backpack, and…wow, this is heavy,” thought Vanessa. Unknowingly, she dropped a prime piece of her artwork. Sadly, the due date was today for the statewide competition, and this piece was her competition submission.

She, watching Vanessa scurry out of the room with her multitude of bundles, stared dazedly into the light. Sauntering to the back of the classroom to recover the forgotten painting, she placed it carefully on a neighboring table. As she walked back to her desk, the afternoon delirium set in and she continued munching on her lunch, slightly bitter.

Sooner than later, the bell that ended sixth period chimed with an oddly peaceful reverberation. The shriek had died.

As Jeffrey exited sixth period Viramontes, Vanessa arrived frantically crazed. She had lost the painting and it was due right then. Urgently pulling on his messily draped jacket, she dragged Jeffrey around. The bell suddenly rang, signaling the introduction of eighth period. There was a cadence to its twinge that was sinister, frightening.

The two climbed the stairs in a chipper mood. Entering room 206, they spotted the forlorn painting and visibly calmed down, collectively unaware. Vanessa ran towards it.

But, she never made it. The plants, overtaken by the mysterious wind, the evil force of darkness, had sprouted monstrous vines, veins of toned muscle. Tripping Vanessa, they silently, but with precise dexterity, captured the three.

Worried phone calls were exchanged between families, but by the next morning it was obvious that the tremor and uneasiness of the three’s disappearance would take a back seat to the impending events.

Oxford Academy – Room 404

Thursday, May 26^th 2011

23:58

The three are trapped in this room. The vines had dug sneakily into the underground of the school and surfaced here. In the biting cold of the vortex night, the three have a solemn future, surely. The evil is festering and its peak has nearly arrived. As the shrill clock walks to midnight—TICK TOCK, TICK TOCK—an odd wail fills the bowels of the school. The unscheduled shriek was a foreboding symbol. Watch out.

Oxford Academy – Room 404

Friday, May 27^th 2011

00:01

Happy birthday. But there’s not much to be happy about. Time is persistent yet, with its TICK.TOCK.TICK.TOCK. But for how much longer will time run before there is no longer any place to hide?

Oxford Academy – Just at school, in general

Friday, May 27^th 2011

07:23

The atmosphere is tense as car doors swing open and backpack straps pad heavy shoulders. The students aimlessly step out and towards the school campus. Silence seems to engulf every millimeter of their numb bodies, but there seems to be chatter coming from within. They question how people could continue on like nothing happened when three were so unexpectedly missing.

As soon as they reach the edge of the threshold between the anguish and the anonymous, they come face to face with the cause of the clamor. The entire quad is flooded in flora – vines dangling from the trees, stairs, and roofs of buildings; leaves sprouting every which way with their faces gargantuan and moments from slapping bystanders in the face; eerily blooming buds that beckoned others closer without a single thought.

The inexplicable moment passes though and they shake their heads, trying to make sense of the new décor that seemed to bathe the school in an endless net of green. Could it be the senior prank? But how in the world could they have pulled off something so wild, so untamable – almost beastly? Where could they have gotten the time?

Time? It’s 7:50. And right on cue the shrill shriek of the bell bellows across the campus. The figures in the quad stir. It’s time for yet another tedious day. Less than five minutes to another lecture and mass of notes. Less than five minutes to an hour and a half to catch up on the sleep missed because of that late-night webcam session. Daytime: where all seems absolutely safe. The perfect time to get some sleep – but is it a sleep that nobody will awaken from?

Let the nightmare begin. The second shout of the bell echoes ominously as the second hand of the clock tremors and reluctantly hits 7:55 with its last murmured TICK TOCK-SMASH. All the windows across campus shattered, punched through by the greenery that had adorned and bordered the panes. The embroidered foliage gains speed, feeding off of the horror, shock, and confusion so dense that the air is choking with it.

The reaction catalyzes exponentially and the vines gain more rigidity, popping like veins of overworked arms on steroids. The razor-edged shards explode through the air. They launch themselves into students’ eyes, gauging them out, leaving endless, gaping wormholes of blood. They slice the flesh and skin with piercing gashes deep to the bone and stinging surface cuts, grazing and nipping to expose yelps of pain. The scent from the buds drug and daze the daydreamers, drawing them in while reducing awareness like anesthesia. Once within grasp, the evil takes hold. One vine entwines itself to a leg while another snakes around the other. With a single flip and a pull, the victim dangles upside-down from the ceiling, blood rushing to his face, reddening then purpling. The opposite sides tug and yank, pulling his legs further apart in excruciating splits. They drag and twist further and harder until there is a rip, tear, and pop – the legs unevenly dismantled and torso colliding to the floor, writhing in pain. His eyes begin to glaze over, catching his life’s last sight: the sly vines have slithered themselves into a loop of a lasso, knotted and ready for the toss, danced in the air with a soft hum, and tightened around the bare throat exposed over the cut of the polo as a noose with utmost precision. She gasps and sputters for breath as she is lifted higher up until the back of her skull clashes violently into the ceiling. Before she can react at all, the chord drops reconfiguring the bone and cartilage of her face. Suspended midway again, her face turns an icy blue and white. With her last gasps of breath, she tries to warn the only living person in sight. Her head hangs loose, limp and crashed at an angle as if snapped across the bony slate. From the depths of the underground trail emerges the drilling vines which burrow from the lower back through the abdomen, spilling intestinal fluids and organs, before swerving back to plunge into the chest, spurting blood from the beating heart across the room in a ruby red shower. It worms its way up the esophagus before skewering the eyeballs and squirming out the cavities like parasitic medusa. Within the esophagus’ passage the vine is branching rapidly and working its way past the uvula, pounding the miniscule punching bag before erupting as split tongues from the dragon-like mouth. She gags on her newfound tongues slithering as the twisting turns cause the body to convulse prior to sliding as a corpse across the tiles. The final BADUM-badum of the body’s internal clock hurtles to a complete halt, screeching a scream of silence that matches its sister once upon the wall, now face flat upon the floor shattered. The monstrosity falls dormant again, finished with its sadistic task, satiating its blood-thirsty hunger. And amongst the school strewn with guttural overspill, life-size doll fragments, and silenced cries, dormancy creeps inexorably.