Isolated!

*Note:- Contains sensitive content - description of female body parts*

“Speak now”

She smiled at the blank eyes and the open mouth of the corpse lying before her. There was no sound apart from the flow of blood which oozed from the corpse’s head. He was reduced to a lifeless thing in a split second from the bullet in his head. That’s what he had to make the world believe. His true talent was to turn lifeless the minute the lights turned on and camera’s started to roll. Not to mention his coordination to squeeze the bag of red paint by his neck - the diluted red paint with apparently the right “viscosity” to flow on the ground. 

She didn’t have time to appreciate her corpse’s coordination as she had to coordinate her bulged teary eyes of joy at the sight of blood and repeat - “Speak.. Speak.. Speak now”. She then had to screech by his ear - “SPEAK NOW”. Poor guy - would have turned deaf by now. And then came the “Cuuut”. No Relief yet as she awaited the flood of comments. 

A soft soothing voice from the Director’s chair - “Nandy. Your sitting posture makes the audience want to shit, instead of running away from fear.” The director’s soothing comments evoked loud laughter from his crew except Nandy’s soundless scoff. She didn’t know whether she scoffed at herself, to play a serial killer in a film where the director wanted the right density of blood spilling out of her victims or scoff at film crew’s forced laughter to inflate the director’s already inflated tummy. This was the fifteenth take on the shot where the serial killer says “speak now” to a victim. This serial killer apparently only liked to kill people with a gun to the head. No knives or axe chopping or beheading. Just a plain old shooting as the perfectionist blockhead said. Nandy turned with a poet with that phrase and constantly hummed: 

Just plain old shooting 

To get the audience snoozing 

or Lovers wooing. 

As Nandy sat beside her corpse (who probably was asleep by now) glanced at her agent who had accompanied her to the shoot. The agent signaled her to stay quiet - standard advice from an upcoming agent making new connections in the film industry to a new actress who landed her first big role. Nandy shook away her thoughts when the director walked up and stood beside her. She had to soak into his over towering demeanor as he didn’t even bend to talk to her when he started - “You need to be in a killer’s frame of mind. Your thoughts should really turn into… Sit down Nandy! I didn’t ask you to stand. Knees can take some bending. Ok now when you say it - the camera is going to zoom into your eyes for the next five minutes when your tears need to continuously stream.”

It’s hard enough to get the audience's attention, but to zoom into the killer's face for five continuous minutes before the killer kills her next victim with the gunshot? You have already lost the audience at the five minute shot, thought Nandy. But of course he is the world famous director and she - his mosquito - as Nandy overheard one of the crew members mutter. She now had to get eye drops and maybe think of the director to emote five minutes of tears.  

“Let’s begin again.” said the director as he walked back to his seat. "And Nandy - remember - this is an opportunity of a lifetime. Don’t literally shit this away.” A few smirks again while the girl next to the director, half his age, laughed out loud. Rumors sparked of their nocturnal adventures and no one said a word. 

“How many victims died?” asked Nandy’s agent after the eighteen's successful shot as she walked back to her room with Nandy.

Nandy’s eyes still watered from the five minute cry before the camera - “I think this is my fourth victim. But with all the takes, maybe my fiftieth?”

The agent rolled her eyes as she said - “I wish I could say - Don’t worry and I will get you a better role.”

The agent didn’t catch Nandy’s rolling eyes. 

Agent - “At least he isn’t a womanizer.” The agent bit her lip after she said it. 

Nandy stopped as she said - “And that's the standard for comparison?”.

The agent looked at the ground in silence for a minute when she finally said - “Get some rest. I will see you in the morning.”

As she arrived at the set, next morning, Nandy caught the director’s usual morning motivation routine. His routine started with theories behind his hard and arduous work - “Think about the best idea you have and multiply it by a million iterations. That's what I expect from my movie. Stanley Kubrick - the world’s most famous director - took a shot 127 times. 127 times. Can you imagine the actresses’ strength to shoot that scene?” He suddenly turned to Nandy when he said - “Can you shoot a scene 127 times? To achieve perfection? Oh by the way - You need to wear breast cups. When the victim tears your shirt, the audience shouldn’t get a glimpse of a flat chest. Were you malnourished as a child?” 

Nandy’s silence confused the director as she headed back to her room, when she finally said - “Be back in a few minutes.” She didn’t have an entourage to order an assistant for a bra. But Nandy was relieved to get the cups herself. The half minute walk back to her minivan was her best act till date - a practised stoic facade sans a single drop of tear shed.

Speak now. Nandy wished she could. 

Nandy chose to forget the rest of the day where her co-star tore her shirt multiple times to satisfy the director’s need to tear the shirt at the right speed and angle. Apparently this victim will try to molest Nandy before he is killed. And scene from previous day repeats - Nandy had to kill this tearing-shirt victim with tears rolling down her eyes. The tears were apparently after inheriting the spirit of a forest tribe - add mythology to a serial killer story. Not only did Nandy have to cry, a bunch of tribal folks recruited from the nearby forest area had to flash their spears and dance behind Nandy as she supposedly killed her victim. The tribes were apparently either her hallucination or “real spirits” as the director told them during the script review.

After she finished the shot once, Nandy was prepared for “Cuuut” followed by nauseating comments. But instead she heard - “Wow. Impressive. Nandy - get ready for the next shot.” One of the executive producers choked on her drink, and a guy stumbled on the lighting. The tribe who danced behind Nandy stood in awkward postures as their dance abruptly stopped. Nandy stood with her eyes and mouth wide open. The director looked around with a glint in his eye when he said - “This shot has been cancelled. Everyone can prepare for another scene.” He again looked at Nandy and said - “Your body has more expressions THAN YOUR FACE.” The entire forest heard his voice. He then continued - “I try to yank expressions from your face. No amount of scolding or insults work with you lady. Either elevate your face like you elevated your chest with those cups or go back to your poverty. Now paint your goddamn face with red paint - at least the paint might elevate those expressions.”

Nandy stood still with her features, worn out by the years, didn't change. She knew a huge risk of career change at the age of forty five, didn’t age well. Not a day went by when Nandy had evaluated her life choices since she starred in this movie. She had to walk back to the minivan she shared with a couple of ladies from the crew. The producer’s lean budget to fit the director’s fat paycheck. She continued to hear the director mutter - “Ten movie stars gained boatloads of fame from my movies. And look what I get now.” The director continued his tantrums; threw things at his crew when he finally stormed back to his minivan. The girl who accompanied him followed him to the van to ‘soothe his nerves' . But the girl stumbled out and fell down from the van. Tossed out like a garbage bag. 

The tribal folks huddled among themselves speaking their native language in low voices until they saw the girl thrown out of the van. All of them stood up in silence with their eyes fixed on the director's bus. 

Nandy couldn’t look at herself in the mirror when she asked the make-up artist - an old quiet woman - to just paint her face without the mirror. As the lady applied the paint she muttered to Nandy - “The paint isn't drying near your eyes. Your eyes are moist.” The lady looked at Nandy with a blank expression as she said this. As if the lady couldn’t hear a word of insult from the director. Nandy was about to shout at the lady when she heard a loud ululating sound outside. 

They stepped outside their van and saw the tribal bunch throwing stones at the Director’s minivan. Two of the tribal men dragged the director outside. Many of the crew members tried to pull away the tribal folks. The director had driven the crew mad with his request for authentic tribal folk with their authentic weapons, to be literally paid in swords. The same authentic weapons - swords, hooks and knives - were now pointed at the crew members. Many of the crew members bought kitchen knives, sticks, or rods to fight folks with swords sharp enough to slice bears in half. Odds weren’t on the film crew side. 

The tribal folk continued to bash the director on his head as he continued to squeal when they dragged him through the mud towards the girl he had thrown out of his van. The girl tried to run away from the tribal folks when they cornered her. As she continued to scream, she was pushed near the director’s beaten body. Nandy had a storm of emotions wade through her - relief the director cried, guilt of her inaction and horror to witness lovers (supposed lovers) getting murdered.  

The biggest man from the tribe pulled the director by his hair and landed him next to the shivering girl’s leg, who in-turn stood hunched like a statue of a roman goddess. This big guy pointed his long hook at the director and forced him towards the girl’s leg. The director sat frozen and clueless until he touched the girl’s leg. The big tribal man's face glittered with a smile and lowered his weapon. The director continued to touch the girl’s feet as the rest of the tribes backed up their weapons to stand still. That’s when it hit Nandy’s gut - she realised she was a middle-aged woman who sacrificed all her health, wealth, happiness and even shame – just to act in a movie. And here were a group of forest tribes without any education or knowledge, stand-up to a sinner and abuser, to make him apologise - albeit - in a dramatic way. To seek respect and forgiveness this way was prevalent when Nandy’s grandma was young. Nandy had to punch through to break her isolated mental wall to a door of courage. The frozen girl who stood without comprehension finally broke into a smile. 

But the non-violent tribes suddenly broke into a warrior’s precision with their weapons aimed at the crowd again. The director’s screams deafened the forest as they dragged him into a nearby pit dug up for shooting purposes. The pit was supposed to bury Nandy’s next victim on director’s instruction, where the director himself ended up. Karmic thought Nandy. 

Nandy unconsciously walked towards the pit, eyeing the director with anger and pity. She finally realised words hurt worse than swords. Her thoughts to beat up the director were cut when the tribe ululated all of sudden and dropped their weapons at the sight of Nandy with their hands joined in reverence to her. For a moment she didn’t understand when she realised her face was painted red. She looked malnourished like a witch on regular days (side effects to lose weight for a serial killer role. Another cliche of a slim malnourished killer), while red paint elevated her to an authentic witch status or - god status in this case - for the tribes. 

Nandy took the bait - as her eyes glittered wide with anger when she ululated at the tribes. The tribes followed suit like a pack of wolves. Nandy then winked at her stunned agent who stood in the crowd. Nandy’s agent understood and prodded the nearby crew to take away the weapons. Chaos ensued with some of the crew members reaching for tribal weapons, while some tried to bind each of the muscular strong tribal members, some as Nandy suspected, like the director cowered behind a tree. Nandy stood straight without any surprise or emotion but relief that her acting (maybe her makeup) justified this fight. 

Some of the crew members had the presence of mind to call the police, as they arrived in no time and handcuffed the tribes. The police started to interrogate many people and the tribes in their native language. 

One of the policemen started to interrogate a hunched, desolate looking crew member - “The tribes have been handcuffed. But apparently they noticed a fight between a man and woman when they intervened? Do you know if it's true?”

The director who stood behind the policemen gulped at the policeman's question to his crew member. The crew member’s disgusted eyes then fixed on the director. The director’s face turned red as when his eyes fell on Nandy who walked towards him.

Nandy’s razor sharp vision was on the director as she threw away her breast cups. Her painted face had a glint of mischief. Her eyes suddenly enlarged like her serial killer, as she whispered - “I am not Nandy Asshole. I am Nandini - your own Goddess of death.”  

The vein in Nandhini forehead popped when she said - “Speak Now”

  THE END