Post by wblstudios on Mar 13, 2006 16:26:01 GMT -5
Hotel Room
10:40 PM
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Ellis: (singing)Faint white figu... faint white... faint white figures paint my sleep, please don't tell my secrets... secrets... keep...
The faint plucking sounds and the beautiful, yet cripplingly haunting voice of a fallen angel come into focus as the scene unfolds, coming into view a rather simple hotel room. Talk shows on mute, facing across an unkempt bed holding up several outspread sheets of printed paper and a tiny little girl clad in torn denim jeans and a "Victim of the Crossface" t-shirt, holding a basic acoustic guitar... nothing fancy, 30 bucks if it's a cent.
The thing that held the scene together almost disappeared into the background. Ever since the reemergence of "Jersey Jane Doe", real name Ellis, the little girl left for dead in a dumpster that sparked a cruel chain of events that made several policemen very rich and several children's right's activists sit up and take notice, every question directed at her has been along two lines. Neither line Ellis wanted to go back in.
Because 1) She didn't remember how it felt, and 2) she didn't know why it happened.
Although she bore almost as much scar tissue as healthy, the last thing she could remember was waking up face down in an alley within earshot a Phil Collins concert a couple of weeks after her coffin was discovered empty. She regained consciousness at "Well if you told me you were drowning", but wasn't even able to take her eyes off of her scar tissue until "the hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows". No memory of how it all got there. What could she have done to deserve all this abuse they said she suffered?
Ellis: (singing)What did I do... what did I do to deserve... what did I do to deserve... (sighs) Darn it...
Back to reality, or as close as Ellis got these days, her hands left the guitar in her hand and found their way to the sheets of paper strewn about in front of her, taking careful note of every dot and dash.
Ellis: This tabliture's all wrong... I know I should have gotten the magazine instead.
Finished with her frustration, Ellis turned off the mute button and flipped around, setting paper and guitar alike on the ground (30 bucks didn't afford a case). Finally settling on VH1 showing... surprise surprise... return to the 80's programming, including an interview with Mr. 80's himself, Phil Collins, seeming like he'd rather be anywhere else than on the cheap set answering questions about his work. Ellis took the opportunity to grab a few more hours. A long, busy day was ahead of her. Going to the WCF offices, finding out who her opponent was and more about him, and shaking off a couple months' worth of ring rust.
Ellis actually met Phil Collins during her recovery back in 2001, and she ruminated on that as her scarred eyelids began to flutter heavy over her deep, rich violet eyes. It was almost nothing, a little 10 minute chat probably meant more for publicity for his new album than anything else, being seen with "Jersey Jane Doe". But they'd relaly made an impression on each other. At least, that's what he said when he saw her again a couple of years later.
Because she couldn't remember...
But those dreams became painfully real in her sleep...
And that's why she always woke up crying.
---
~Ellis
---
Lyrics to "Blood Red Summer" courtesy of Coheed and Cambria. Lyrics to "In The Air Tonight" courtesy of Phil Collins
10:40 PM
---
Ellis: (singing)Faint white figu... faint white... faint white figures paint my sleep, please don't tell my secrets... secrets... keep...
The faint plucking sounds and the beautiful, yet cripplingly haunting voice of a fallen angel come into focus as the scene unfolds, coming into view a rather simple hotel room. Talk shows on mute, facing across an unkempt bed holding up several outspread sheets of printed paper and a tiny little girl clad in torn denim jeans and a "Victim of the Crossface" t-shirt, holding a basic acoustic guitar... nothing fancy, 30 bucks if it's a cent.
The thing that held the scene together almost disappeared into the background. Ever since the reemergence of "Jersey Jane Doe", real name Ellis, the little girl left for dead in a dumpster that sparked a cruel chain of events that made several policemen very rich and several children's right's activists sit up and take notice, every question directed at her has been along two lines. Neither line Ellis wanted to go back in.
Because 1) She didn't remember how it felt, and 2) she didn't know why it happened.
Although she bore almost as much scar tissue as healthy, the last thing she could remember was waking up face down in an alley within earshot a Phil Collins concert a couple of weeks after her coffin was discovered empty. She regained consciousness at "Well if you told me you were drowning", but wasn't even able to take her eyes off of her scar tissue until "the hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows". No memory of how it all got there. What could she have done to deserve all this abuse they said she suffered?
Ellis: (singing)What did I do... what did I do to deserve... what did I do to deserve... (sighs) Darn it...
Back to reality, or as close as Ellis got these days, her hands left the guitar in her hand and found their way to the sheets of paper strewn about in front of her, taking careful note of every dot and dash.
Ellis: This tabliture's all wrong... I know I should have gotten the magazine instead.
Finished with her frustration, Ellis turned off the mute button and flipped around, setting paper and guitar alike on the ground (30 bucks didn't afford a case). Finally settling on VH1 showing... surprise surprise... return to the 80's programming, including an interview with Mr. 80's himself, Phil Collins, seeming like he'd rather be anywhere else than on the cheap set answering questions about his work. Ellis took the opportunity to grab a few more hours. A long, busy day was ahead of her. Going to the WCF offices, finding out who her opponent was and more about him, and shaking off a couple months' worth of ring rust.
Ellis actually met Phil Collins during her recovery back in 2001, and she ruminated on that as her scarred eyelids began to flutter heavy over her deep, rich violet eyes. It was almost nothing, a little 10 minute chat probably meant more for publicity for his new album than anything else, being seen with "Jersey Jane Doe". But they'd relaly made an impression on each other. At least, that's what he said when he saw her again a couple of years later.
Because she couldn't remember...
But those dreams became painfully real in her sleep...
And that's why she always woke up crying.
---
~Ellis
---
Lyrics to "Blood Red Summer" courtesy of Coheed and Cambria. Lyrics to "In The Air Tonight" courtesy of Phil Collins
