She couldn't believe that she had just poured out a paragraph of swift words straight from her head. And it was gone. It disappeared, as nonexistent as though she had never written it at all.
She was writing about the decision of reality and fantasy. To live in a reality seen through gilded eyes, or a fantasy overshone with the harsh glare of reality? Inspired and torn, she wanted both. To live in a fantasy in reality, even death was beautiful. The deathbed was clean and white, the walls were a rich blue-green. There was nothing disturbing, the aches and pains were muted, your face dry,smooth and clean, while soft music plays in the background. The emotions that pierce your heart are rich and sorrowful, something you'd remember fondly for eternity. Everything is washed over in a golden hue. Gilded. Rich and savorful, but you know, not real.
Whereas in the fantasy seen through reality, it is the opposite, of course. The deathbed is clean and white, but with the starched sheets that itch your skin, the overpowering clinical stench that irritate your nostrils, the dryness of your skin and eyes, the cracked drool at the side of your mouth. The aches and pains keep you immobile, every breath is a struggle. The only sounds are the mechanical clicks and beeps. But the emotions are real, and the tears that flow down your face pierce you far deeper, something you'd forever be scarred with. It grounds you, it makes you appreciate simple beauty. Flourescent lights make everything look sickly green.
Of a bookcase, in the fantasy, a messy bookcase would look perfect. Organized chaos. Every single book has fallen in way that makes it looks as though it had been made to fall that certain way. The books are aged to the perfect amount of yellow and crackle with a musky scent of remniscience. The bright colours are appropriate and fit into this world. Even the dark things look enticing.
Shone over with reality, you see the details. The grains and the rotting pages. The pages that fall out and would never fit again into the book. The specks of yellow, worm-eaten holes. The stories of death are unpleasant and better to be ignored.. The fallen books are just that, fallen. There is not symmetry or arrangement, it just looks unkempt and messy. Bleakness. But it is solid and substansial. And you know that.
So, which one does she choose? She isn't sure, she doesn't know. She loves the warm golden hues, but knowing that there is another side to life, the unpleasant side, seems to balance everything. But is there need for balance, for conventions?
Realizing the words, she realized the choice might have already been made. Which makes her wish she could just.. not make the choice. Faced with this again, she wants to stay on the border forever. Have the best of both worlds and the worst of both. Coming right down to it, she firmly makes a decision. She wants the fantasy steeped in reality. She wants the unreal, blood red rose with the brown speck of decay on the stem.
Big Fish
Senior Dr. Bennett: Do you want to know what really happened on the day you were born?
Will Bloom: Sure.
Senior Dr. Bennett: You were born early, without any problems, and your dad was away on a salesman trip and was upset that he couldn't be there. But, men weren't allowed in during the delivery, so I don't see how it could be much different. I guess its not as exciting as your fathers version...
Will Bloom: I kind of liked your version.
Or maybe not.. Maybe she'll give up pretenses and start living life how it is. And do the exams and homework and treat this as what it really is. A movie and a book.
She was writing about the decision of reality and fantasy. To live in a reality seen through gilded eyes, or a fantasy overshone with the harsh glare of reality? Inspired and torn, she wanted both. To live in a fantasy in reality, even death was beautiful. The deathbed was clean and white, the walls were a rich blue-green. There was nothing disturbing, the aches and pains were muted, your face dry,smooth and clean, while soft music plays in the background. The emotions that pierce your heart are rich and sorrowful, something you'd remember fondly for eternity. Everything is washed over in a golden hue. Gilded. Rich and savorful, but you know, not real.
Whereas in the fantasy seen through reality, it is the opposite, of course. The deathbed is clean and white, but with the starched sheets that itch your skin, the overpowering clinical stench that irritate your nostrils, the dryness of your skin and eyes, the cracked drool at the side of your mouth. The aches and pains keep you immobile, every breath is a struggle. The only sounds are the mechanical clicks and beeps. But the emotions are real, and the tears that flow down your face pierce you far deeper, something you'd forever be scarred with. It grounds you, it makes you appreciate simple beauty. Flourescent lights make everything look sickly green.
Of a bookcase, in the fantasy, a messy bookcase would look perfect. Organized chaos. Every single book has fallen in way that makes it looks as though it had been made to fall that certain way. The books are aged to the perfect amount of yellow and crackle with a musky scent of remniscience. The bright colours are appropriate and fit into this world. Even the dark things look enticing.
Shone over with reality, you see the details. The grains and the rotting pages. The pages that fall out and would never fit again into the book. The specks of yellow, worm-eaten holes. The stories of death are unpleasant and better to be ignored.. The fallen books are just that, fallen. There is not symmetry or arrangement, it just looks unkempt and messy. Bleakness. But it is solid and substansial. And you know that.
So, which one does she choose? She isn't sure, she doesn't know. She loves the warm golden hues, but knowing that there is another side to life, the unpleasant side, seems to balance everything. But is there need for balance, for conventions?
Realizing the words, she realized the choice might have already been made. Which makes her wish she could just.. not make the choice. Faced with this again, she wants to stay on the border forever. Have the best of both worlds and the worst of both. Coming right down to it, she firmly makes a decision. She wants the fantasy steeped in reality. She wants the unreal, blood red rose with the brown speck of decay on the stem.
Big Fish
Senior Dr. Bennett: Do you want to know what really happened on the day you were born?
Will Bloom: Sure.
Senior Dr. Bennett: You were born early, without any problems, and your dad was away on a salesman trip and was upset that he couldn't be there. But, men weren't allowed in during the delivery, so I don't see how it could be much different. I guess its not as exciting as your fathers version...
Will Bloom: I kind of liked your version.
Or maybe not.. Maybe she'll give up pretenses and start living life how it is. And do the exams and homework and treat this as what it really is. A movie and a book.
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