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| re: Good Luck Ryan: You Deserve It | |
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Chika 03:33 am UTC 05/17/11 |
| In reply to: | Good Luck Ryan: You Deserve It - steven_stuart 02:10 am UTC 05/17/11 |
| You must be Ryans best friend. You will see Don Claude when it´s opening? > Oh my goodness. Everything is going so well for "Don > Claude Devious: Cannibal Rapture" but at the same time > your friend passed away. There is a reason to be joyful > and reason to be sad. Good luck Ryan. You deserve it. > Thanks for sharing your situation with the board. I'm sure > that the vast majority of Rockman members are supporting > you. > > > Just to provide an update for anyone who wants to know... > > I did a performance at the theatre's 10th birthday bash > > which got a huge applause. One of the members of the > > council who gave us the government grant told us that we > > got a lot of people talking that night. > > We now have our director. We held our first round of > > auditions in April and I believe we got our lead. The next > > round of auditions take place at the end of May and there > > are two stories being released in the local newspapers, > > advertising us. We're competing against 6 other major > > productions opening in the community, most of them > > revivals like "Little Shop of Horrors", "Fiddler on the > > Roof" and Joe Papp's production of "The Pirates of > > Penzance". > > > > This will be a challenge for us, getting our musical > > noticed. I thought we were EXTREMELY lucky to get that > > grant. > > > > The composer's been working VERY hard on the rest of the > > music. There are now 15 demos. The draft that we're > > working from is pretty much finalized for the present, > > though things may change during rehearsals, one can never > > tell. > > > > We'll video the performance, hopefully each and every one, > > and we'll move from there. > > > > I must also mention that after I came home from our first > > meeting this year, I discovered that one of my closest > > friends, had actually passed away that morning. It was a > > huge shock. I'm still trying to move past it, and I don't > > think I ever will. To think, we'll never speak again when > > we're 50. I miss our conversations. I miss everything. It > > was a huge blow. > > > > This year has been the most challenging year I have ever > > faced. > > > > But her family and friends have been wonderful, too > > wonderful. > > > > > I am very happy to see the internet buzz that is being > > > generated by Ryan's upcoming production of "Don Claude > > > Devious: Cannibal Rapture". Just Google if you are > > > interested. There seems to be a few talented writers who > > > belong to this board (like The Wolf, Scaramouche and Vin). > > > I would like to think that they are all (and I have only > > > mentioned a few) members of the School of Jim (as > > > Rembrandt had younger people who followed him). I know > > > from things that Ryan has written in this forum that he at > > > least would consider himself to be from the School of Jim. > > > I am not talking about imitating Jim, as Diane Warren did > > > when she wrote "I'd Lie For You" for Meat Loaf. It is just > > > that Jim is an inspiration for his talented fans. He > > > inspires them to get in touch with their creativity and > > > put their work out there, as Ryan will be doing in October > > > and Jacob Davies (The Wolf) has recently done on Jim's > > > Facebook page. I haven't seen Jacob posting the story he > > > wrote on this forum (although he may have), so I hope he > > > won't mind me posting it in this thread. It is quite > > > brilliant and well worth a read. I agree with someone > > > called Faye Allen who reviewed Jacob's story and said: > > > "Very very good, nice to have a vampire story without all > > > the romance and that doesn't completely bore me (Dracula) > > > I really liked it, will you be uploading more??? Also you > > > have a couple spelling mistakes but other than that its > > > very good." I myself was actually quite surprised because > > > I thought of The Wolf as a film maker. My favourite quotes > > > from Jacob's story (which I will post below) are: "He > > > looked at her neck and winced as he saw the extent of the > > > damage that he had inflicted. For all the years and nights > > > he had been doing what he had been doing, the sight of > > > seeing his victims savaged throats never lost its impact, > > > for this was when he saw in full what he had done, when > > > his inhuman thirst had been quenched and what humanity > > > was left inside of him regained control." and also: "He > > > had been walking home one night, the last night he had > > > been human, through the gas lit, foggy streets of > > > Victorian London, when he happened upon a monster, a > > > monster with the face of an angel." Before I post the > > > entire story could I just ask Ryan to keep the board up to > > > date with the "Don Claude Devious: Cannibal Rapture" > > > situation. I know that Jim and all board members wish him > > > well. And now for "After The Thirst" by Jacob Davies: > > > "This one would be different, he told himself. He would > > > stop himself before he reached the point of no return, he > > > would let this one live. That’s what he told himself every > > > time, every victim, and each time he failed, each time he > > > lost control, and just like all those nights before, he > > > could feel the life of the young woman in his arms > > > slipping away, her body becoming cold and pale as he > > > gorged himself. He withdrew from her, the copper taste in > > > his mouth, which mere moments ago he craved so much, now > > > sickening him, and it took a sheer force of will for him > > > not to throw up. He looked at her neck and winced as he > > > saw the extent of the damage that he had inflicted. For > > > all the years and nights he had been doing what he had > > > been doing, the sight of seeing his victims savaged > > > throats never lost its impact, for this was when he saw > > > in full what he had done, when his inhuman thirst had been > > > quenched and what humanity was left inside of him > > > regained control. Doing his best to regain his composure, > > > he lifted the woman from his couch and carried her into > > > her his bathroom, placing her face down in his bathtub. > > > He would leave her there for a few hours; let her...leak. > > > The thought of him “Finishing her off” made his skin > > > crawl, but from his past experience he knew that any stray > > > drops of blood could leave “Breadcrumbs” that could lead > > > back to him. Turning towards his Bathroom sink, he turned > > > the water on, and after a few moments he splashed his > > > face, noting how the blood that had been smeared on his > > > lips briefly diluted the water, before it ran into the > > > drain and the water became clear once more. He looked up > > > from his sink and into the mirror above it, and stared > > > hard into his, transparent, glass like reflection with > > > regret, He hadn’t always been this way of course, before > > > he had been a good, honest man, with a family, friends, > > > until the night he had strayed all but once, once!, and he > > > had paid for it for the rest of his life, and then > > > some.He had been walking home one night, the last night he > > > had been human, through the gas lit, foggy streets of > > > Victorian London, when he happened upon a monster, a > > > monster with the face of an angel. A young woman had > > > called to him from a distance, he couldn’t make out her > > > face in the fog, but he saw her gesture for him to follow, > > > called to him. In any other circumstance, being the well > > > grounded, faithful man that he was, he would have simply > > > walked on and paid her no heed. But there was something > > > about her, something in her voice, something that, even > > > through the fog, he could see in her and it made every > > > fibre of his being burn with an uncontrollable, curious > > > desire. She had led him into a dark, secluded alley, and > > > it was here where he saw her up close. She wasn’t overtly > > > provocative, she was sweet looking, with an understated > > > beauty of someone who was almost unaware of it, and the > > > affects that it had on those around her. This was, of > > > course, what she had him wanted to think. Her vulnerable > > > looking exterior hiding the creature within, and when he > > > was at his most unguarded, she had pounced on him, > > > draining the blood from his neck, much like he had done to > > > only minuets previous, except unlike the girl that now > > > laid dead in his Bath tub, his attacker had left him > > > alive, and although he had been dazed and close to death, > > > he still remembered what the girl had said to him he as > > > lay on the cold stone pavement, “What about your wife,” > > > she had sneered at him. “I’ve seen her, how she adores > > > you. What would she have to say, if she saw you with > > > little old me, it takes a man far removed from god’s > > > influence to betray his beloved sir, and its my duty to > > > mark you out to him, to everyone.” The last thing he > > > remembered was her creeping towards him, after that he had > > > fallen un-consciousness. When he awoke, he was something > > > all together different from the creature he had once been. > > > He remembered the sun, shining down on his face, and how > > > it stung, how it burnt. Years later, having travelled the > > > globe, lived through two World Wars and seen technological > > > advancements he never could never have dreamed off as a > > > child, he was still doing the same thing, killing and > > > covering his tracks. Not living, simply excising. He was > > > a coward, just like he had been in his human life, so he > > > could never sum up the courage to take his own life, and > > > he was never in one place long enough for somebody else to > > > do it for him, and he hated himself for that. He returned > > > to the living room, looking down at where he and the girl > > > had struggled, he saw a handbag. He picked it up and > > > hastily rummaged through it. He pulled out a mobile phone; > > > on its display was the girls name and address.“Jade > > > Collette, 19 Dawson Road”. He sighed in relive, that was > > > outside the city, in one of the nearby neighbouring towns, > > > once she was reported missing, he would have no need to > > > worry about the police or anyone else snooping around. The > > > fact that this relived only made him feel of a monster, > > > the girl he had killed was someone’s daughter, maybe > > > someone’s lover. She wasn’t an un-attractive girl. All > > > those close to her would never see her again, never know > > > where she had gone to that day, how she had met her end. > > > But the worst part was that she could never say goodbye. > > > What made this girl’s demise more painful to him is that > > > he had not been looking for “company” that night. No, his > > > encounter with her was most unexpected. In the hours > > > proceeding, he had been out in the city, wandering from > > > place to place, usually cafes or restaurants, anywhere > > > with lots of people. Not so he could pick out someone to > > > “entertain”, rather the complete opposite, being around > > > large groups of people kept him and his unnatural hunger > > > in check, because if he lost control in a crowded area, > > > they would all see what he was, and he could barely > > > stomach the thought of that, being looked on as monster, > > > even though in his long since still heart, he knew that > > > was exactly what he was. He just didn’t want it > > > “confirmed” for him. He would usually do this during the > > > day, a hooded coat and lots of sun-cream negating (most > > > of) the sun’s harmful rays. The day was nearing its end; > > > the sky burned a soothing orange as the sun set in the > > > distance. He had had begun to make his way home before the > > > night took dominance, he could control himself in the > > > day, but when the night fell, the number of people in the > > > city depleted, and the few that remained became all too > > > tempting when they were draped in the light of the moon. > > > He was swift and unseen getting home, his “condition” had > > > given him speed that any athlete would have been envious > > > off. Reaching his apart block, he stopped just outside > > > the door and looked up his window, there was a light, that > > > probably would have been invisible but what he could see > > > clearly, shining from his apartment. It had only been > > > there a second, but he knew someone was there. He entered > > > the apartment block and swiftly made his way the stairs > > > and to his front door. There, he took out his key and > > > opened the door. Almost immediately upon his entry, a beam > > > of light met his gaze. He made no attempt to shield his > > > eyes; instead he had them locked on the light’s source, a > > > torch, being held by a young woman. He shut the door > > > behind him and slowly began to advance. She was saying > > > something to him, but he couldn’t hear her, all he could > > > hear was the sound of her heart pumping, how it grew > > > faster and faster as he approached. It was the end of > > > another long, empty day. All his resistance was spent. > > > Tonight he would drink. Despite all this, he apologised to > > > her, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. > > > He didn’t want hurt her, but it now was truly out of his > > > control. Still, she was trying to say something, but her > > > heartbeat was now near deafening to him, every fibre of > > > his being ached with a beastly hunger. He didn’t hear her > > > scream as leapt upon her. He began to rummage further > > > through her bag, hoping that its contents reveal more > > > about her. . He felt as if he owed it to her, like he had > > > done for the other unfortunates that had encountered him > > > before, he remembered each and every one of them, and the > > > girl in his bathtub would be no exception. After a few > > > moments, he pulled out a notepad. He opened it, hoping it > > > was something like a diary. Something that could provide > > > some insight into her life, however small, he owed it to > > > her. He opened the book, and it became apparent he owed > > > her nothing at all. The book had not so much been a diary, > > > but more of an outlet for her frustration. Frustration of > > > her family, her education, and she had wanted more, how > > > she had wanted “The night” He read further, she had > > > detailed how she had longed for a release from her mundane > > > lifestyle, and how HE had seemed to provide it for her. > > > She had been following him. The notepad detailed how she > > > had tracked him. There were lists of the cafe’s he > > > regularly visited, charity shops he would sometimes visit > > > when he needed new clothes, banks, news agents, no matter > > > how much or how little he had visited them, the girl would > > > somehow be there make record of it. He looked further > > > still in the notepad, they were drawings off him, some > > > with near photo realism. A number of these drawings > > > featured the two of them together, in some they were > > > simply standing , side by side, whilst in others they were > > > doing far more than just standing!. THAT’S what she had > > > been saying to him, the words he was deaf to only moments > > > ago only now processing in his mind. She had said how she > > > had waited for him; how she knew he would come for her > > > eventually, how she had wished for someone like him to > > > come and save her for as long as she could remember. This > > > girl, who he thought had simply broke into his house to > > > rob him of what little he had, was in face his stalker. > > > She had tracked every move he made. Replicated his image > > > countless times and had sought him so he could “Save” > > > her. > > > There was no guilt now, only a cold anger. He felt as if > > > he had been tricked, lured into fulfilling some deranged > > > teen tearaway’s sick notion of romance. He had committed > > > murder on a girl who wished a fete worst then death upon > > > herself because she, as her diary had pretentiously put > > > it, didn’t “Connect” with other people. The horror at > > > what he had done was not bought on because of his hunger; > > > it was bought on through circumstances beyond his control, > > > by a young girl wanting to share his curse with him > > > because she was unwilling to strife for a better life by > > > herself. What he wouldn’t have given to be in HER > > > situation, to be alive and loved by a family he would not > > > entirely outlive. He walked briskly back into the > > > bathroom. He placed a hand on the girl’s cold dead wrist. > > > It wasn’t too late. She wanted to become a monster, he > > > would grant her her wish. Not because it was what she > > > wanted, but because she would now life to regret her > > > misguided desire to throw her life away for some over > > > romanticised notion that those like him could somehow > > > solve her problems. No, he would show her what it truly > > > meant to be a child of the night, He bite hard into his > > > hand, leaving a large open wound that dripped with blood. > > > He dangled it over the girl’s savaged throat, and the > > > blood on his hand began to drip into it. Almost > > > immediately, the girl’s body, which mere moments ago had > > > been dead and still, began to convulse and fit violently. > > > Soon she would wake up cold and in pain, and after she had > > > adjusted, she would know what it felt it like to be a > > > monster. In his eyes she already was, He watched this for > > > a few moments, a hateful smirk escaping him as she got, > > > what he felt at least, what she deserved, what she had > > > wanted, what she would live to regret.Without looking > > > back, he left the bathroom and then the apartment. He > > > would find a new place, somewhere far away, but not to > > > live in squalor as he had been. He and the beast within > > > him were one now. He would seek out more people like the > > > girl he killed tonight. There were more like her, some > > > young, and some old, who would look upon him as a means of > > > starting anew, being reborn. The truth was, he was > > > literally a dead man walking, in body and soul, and he > > > would make it an eternity’s work to make sure that those > > > who deserved it, those who would so willingly give their > > > life to an eternal torture, would forever feel the same" > > > Oh my goodness. I think we've got a young Hitchcock on the > > > board (and Ryan is a young Sondheim). Jim attracts very > > > interesting fans. > > > > > > > > > | |
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