Warning: Kimbley's point of view. If that doesn't deserve a warning beforehand I don't know what does.
– and then it collapsed in a fit of black smoke, squishing the man against the ground and his stomach out of his mouth, before his wife-
Tsch, you people are making a big deal out of this. If you don't want me to tell you about it, fine. But it really was quite touching, you know.
Oh, pardon me, so you wanted to me to tell you their last words? But I- well... I only remember their last cries. It's terribly important to me, you see. To capture that essence, to... connect with them, so to speak. It's funny, almost- it's like it makes me, if only for a second, feel human too. There is something really beautiful about a scream wrenched ripe from the very bottom of the throat, good sirs.
(shouting intensifies; angrily)
Didn't you hear me? I. Have. EXTRACTED. something beautiful, something pure and REAL out of that little girl's last sob, out of that old man's last choke, something about them that isn't a complete frivolity. In fact, (a soft chuckle; turns) in a way I know your little brother better than you ever did, young lad—sit down! (yelling; boot on the arm; screech of metal; riffle connects with a side of boy's head; a dull thud) –
… metal... (inhale;deeply;exhale)... brat...
(urgent murmurs) – YOU-! (again, struggle)-
. . .
. . .
...you don't understand, gentlemen, you just don't get it.(a deep, breathless sigh; continues in a pleasant tone) No, it isn't your fault. You live in the world of words. Crooked, accusing, sharp, loving, gentle, scolding, assuring, warm, vulgar, plain, wrong, passionate, insane, light, severe, stupid, dreamy, yours, his, hers. But not mine, dear ladies and gentlemen. (rubs the handkerchief; fingers tinged with crimson)
My world (a step; humming) is made out of something more real (step; closer): it is made out of sounds. It is more natural, if you think about it. It echoes the barest nature of humans, its conflicts, war, passion, I dare even say, aggression. (gliding fingers on the wall; blood smears in red lines)
Only I know to enjoy it so fully. That particular cry of our nature. (scribble) Mixed with that creamy, musky scent of gunpowder. (a circle; line, line) The destructive rumble beneath my feet. (presses hands together) Melodious tempest in my ear. (triangle; glowing: red, red, RED-) Bang, bang. Screams.
"Ahh, what a nice sound... Truly, a nice sound that resonates throughout the depths of the body. My spinal cord dances in sadness and my eardrums tremble in delight. And the joy of being able to feel that on this earth where it is always partnered with death... What a fulfilling job!" by Solf J. Kimbley
Kimbley loves monologues. Anybody notice a hint that one of the prisoners was Ed? No? Didn't think so. Don't get me wrong, I adore Ed an' all, but... well... Kimbley doesn't. :-/
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