Étranges Libellules - Story Outline (pt. 3)

3

So much spirals through Curtis’s mind in that vast unconsciousness. His friends. The warmth of summer. The jokes he’d crack with his brothers (and sister) at home. Clare. The molotov fires he ran away from.

Lillian. (How could you have betrayed me. You betrayed my feelings!)

Why is it so hard to pull away from her? He still remembers her tenderness, her liveliness and how she was together with him, he cannot just switch it off and forget it like it’s nothing. She was his first love..

“CJ..”

He wakes up at a hospital bed. A nurse adjusts his blankets, and his friends are there too, awaiting him. “You crazy motherfucker," his friend Ivan goes, "what’d you get yourself into, eh?”

CJ is in a daze, his brain still sorting out the events of last night. But a strange lull, a comfort takes him. He accepts a cup of water from Ivan (how considerate), and tries gazing out the window – the orange-hued lighting suggests a hazy evening.

CJ then breaks down into tears, as feelings emerge, unrecessed. Ivan pats his back, and when CJ closes his eyes – he finds himself not in the hospital bed anymore, but rather in red bedsheets, silken and soft, enveloping him.

He's in bed.. with her. With Lillian. She is smiling, her eyes complacent, radiating calm – you see it and you think of nothing else except soaking in this moment.

"Why are you crying?" she asks.

A beat.

"Because I thought I'd never.. find you happy with me again." CJ reaches out and embraces her; two nude forms, radiating and sharing warmth. The kiss just tastes like that almost-forgotten sweetness, spreading through his body.

"Silly dear, don't fret yourself so."

She brushes his hair aside, and runs a finger down his brow, delicately capturing a tear. "You are.. the most charming.. wonderously handsome boy I've met. You know, I've always liked you.. even before that graduation ball. I loved it when you slid down the hill backwards, when you danced your heart out in the hallway."

He lets out a trembling breath because her words are an antidote to the night's torture, that he could not recall exactly, but could still feel its gut-punch. "Who am I to you, Lillian?"

"You are Curtis. A person who I'll cherish always in my heart."

Some part of him knows it's just a dream; please let it last.

"Please hold me," she goes, and as he hugs her she burrows her head in his chest.

He feels her silky hair, smelling of mint and bergamont.. why does her body feel like plasticine now? He opens his eyes – she is deteriorating, dry skin flaking off en masse, her hair falling out. Where there used to be a lively sweetness in her eyes, it's sullen and filled with disgust, contempt.. an unpleasant coldness.

"No," he goes. "Oh no no.."

As so, he hears the loud cheering of a raving crowd. "Let's give it up for Lillian and the Tei Shi Moguls~!"

It turns out the bed was on a stage. He gets up from the red bedsheets, bloodstained, and the curtains are pulling back, splitting away the darkness, revealing everyone – bathed in a hellish orange.

A spotlight turns on. It shines on Lillian, a few feet away – in her rocker outfit, the rest of her band a vague blur. She has her microphone, her red lipstick, and she thanks everyone for their support, before the drummer goes: "One, two-- one two three four--"

The bass and guitar kick in, and it's a very throbbing tune, almost deafening. Curtis finds a stack of cardboard sheets and uses that to hide his privates – he sees Cesar, the guitarist, madly jeering with his guitar, intimidating and ghoulish looking with the white makeup. The thought kicks in, why doesn't he just put a stop to it all? There must be a mixer, or a power switch nearby..

CJ, more mad now than fearful, glances at where the lead guitarist's power cable is plugged in – it leads to a giant electrical socket on the wall, aha. He runs over, notices how so much cables are plugged in, and rips them all out, one by one.

Sparks surge out the holes from where he unplugged them.

"Stop! What the hell are you doing!?" His heart is rushing, sure, and the band's music trembles off to a halt. But he wants to rip everything out-- all the hurt, all the pain and nonsense. The socket itself catches fire, and when CJ looks back, the crowd is all gone, and the band seems to have combusted into ash.

There's a calm quiet.. and her, slumped down on her knees. Daylight seems to burn through the ceiling, you could see the blue sky and clouds, and CJ feels there might be reconciliation yet. He approaches her.

"You messed everything up," she goes, as if defeated. "Just please, go away--"

"No," he says, taking a stand. "I'm not going to leave you just because."

The gym seems to collapse, as if its structure were like a vampire getting eviscerated by the light. Pieces of the ceiling crumble and slam across the ground. Curtis knows he doesn't have much time left. Why do things always have to be pressed short, just when it's getting good?

"I came all this way, scoured the places we've been to, because I know you're Lillian. You're not just anyone I could find from the street – I've.. this is my first time I've ever loved anyone in my life. Without you.. it would've just been any other summer for me."

Remnants of the Lillian he once knew – a gleam in her eyes. A ray of light shines on her face, and he sees that she's in tears as well.

"I know I'm not the perfect guy," CJ goes. "I get clingy, cause it hurts when you're not there for me in return. When nothing's whole or real anymore, it's some of the worst feelings to have. I can't help having fallen in love with you, and I only want another chance.. just to be happy, with you."

Something has reached through to Lillian. She gazes up, "Oh, Curtis.. I'm so sorry..!" She rushes forth to embrace CJ.

Suddenly, a huge fracture splits through the ground around them, and it's like the entire gym is blowing away, like leaves in a wind, eventually leaving only the sky, as seen from the window of a plane. Heavy orange, white and purple-hazed clouds scudding over a bright red sky. It could be anywhere in the world.

Curtis – he sits by the window seat, hopeful of what lies ahead, and he finds Lillian beside him, restful and sleeping with an airline blanket covering her. Her arm wrapped around his. They're flying home together. The only thought in his head is where they'd go after, once they've landed.

The rest of his dream is a faint blur. He smells nectar, and then wakes up in a dreary hospital room. His arm is hooked up to an IV. The nurse tells him that he was lucky to have an ambulance sent for; a concerned rocker thought he'd overdosed on drugs.

CJ doesn't have his phone. But there's a TV where it's broadcasting Peppa Pig dubbed in French, before one of the neighbouring patients gets bored enough to yell for the channel to be changed. On the news, there's a reported bomb threat that has the international airport on lockdown, and Curtis thinks – man, lucky me, I don't have to be waiting forever in that crowd! He catches a glimpse of Lillian and her family amidst in the lineups.

But what is he going to do? His housing license, his travel visa is going to expire..

He gets on his phone and opens up about what's happening with his pals. (Well, not the part where he tried to win the girl back.)

"Dude, it's impossible to travel by plane back to America.. the only way out is to take the ferries, and that's far-out by the west coast," his friend Ivan goes (he's from Canada).

"How can we get there?"

"We'll have to rent a minivan, and get a 2-week extension on our visas while we're at it. It's going to be a hella roadtrip!"

Dmitriy is chuckling, because he already is taking the subway back to Russia – no struggles there.

CJ is energised by that prospect – he can't wait to get out of France, whose romantic lustre has faded. It'll be one more time that he could have fun with his friends..

After a medical checkup, CJ heads back to his housing, gathers up his luggage, and takes a taxi ride over to his friend Ivan's apartment, where his other American buddies are chilling. They have kegs of beer, and they're hovering around the tablet-table where Ivan is planning out their awesome road trip to Calais – it's close to the UK, and the ferry will make a stop by Bexhill before arriving in New York two days later.

A sleepover. Ivan (high as fuck) and CJ share the same room, while the other buds are out in the TV room by the couch.

Ivan asks if CJ is trembling over what's to come tomorrow – he feels as if it's just like when embarking on as an exchange student for the first time, a year ago.

"I'm not.. I'm just glad to have spent this time with you fellas," CJ goes. "You made my year."

"About Lillian.." Ivan goes. "I'm sorry what happened between you and her. I think she's not that stable to begin with.. I remember her screaming her guts out at some girl over a betrayal."

"Really?" It's just interesting to know sides of people that they'd never tell you about upfront.

"There's plenty of women out there – and especially for a guy like you, I'm sure.. once you cultivate enough confidence, have your own style, your own flair; see, with the chicks today, they're looking for a real assertive man. Not some suck-up nice guy who can't get it up in bed cause he's drunk too much soy milk."

CJ and Ivan have a good laugh together.

It is tomorrow. Ivan haggles over the price of a rental van with the dealer – it's supposed to be 120 euros cheaper, while CJ sits outside with the others, bumming a good smoke as the wind blows leaves through. This is the last he'll see of Paris, he thinks.

When Ivan's like "We're all set!", they squeeze their bags into the back and proceed to drive through the morning traffic.

It's a hum-drum coasting through the roads, with Ivan's rap songs blaring out – classics like Tupac and Eazy-E that CJ has grown up with. It looks to be a very good way of kicking off the drive. Some drivers nod their heads in approval to the music, hearing it.

They arrive by a checkpoint. The officers stop their minivan for a random frisk and evaluation of their luggage – make sure they're not transporting illegal goods or on a wanted list.

"We're good guys!" one of CJ's friends [Josh] say.

A truck pulls up behind them. The frisking continues, with Martinez asked about his stash of risque comics (it makes him blush).

The truck's engine stops, and a guy – roughly built; cold, steely eyes – pops out the driver's door. He's very upset over the delay (moreso with the unexpected frisking procedures). He yells torrents of French words at the officers, mixed with Arabic profanities.

Ivan gets ticked off at the guy's tone. "Hey, what THE FUCK is your problem dude? Just wait your turn, dickwad!"

There's a deathlike rattle in the air, as the guy seems to struggle for a moment with a spellbinding decision. His nostrils flare and the officers are taken aback by how fast he pulls out a bottle and splashes its contents over Ivan and the officer beside him.

It is battery acid.

Ivan yelps – he clutches his face in sheer pain.

Curtis is frozen with shock. The other officers pull out their pistols, but don't manage it in time as the guy has pulled out a knife and stabs them with the efficiency of Emperor Palpatine against the Master Jedi.

A pistol clatters near Martinez. He has the bright idea of just shooting the guy while he's unaware, so he fires at his head and blows off his ear, fooling him into thinking he's downed the guy.

Ivan's screaming, so Martinez attends him – his face is swollen yellow and green, and his eyes are totally bloodshot.

The guy recovers, and swiftly lunges at Martinez, who still has the pistol and shoots at the guy through his fingers (leaving just his forefinger and thumb).

The guy is unfazed. He has his knife and plunges it several times through Martinez. For Curtis, it's like having his soul shredded.

"CJ – run!!" Josh yells, and the both of them flee the scene together.

They hastily run through abandoned alleyways, while hearing the distant approaching sirens of police reinforcement. Still hearing the guy's gutteral sounds pursuing their footsteps, they don't bother simply waiting for the police to show up and save the day.

Instead, they emerge out into a crowded square, where CJ pants, recovering his breath – he hasn't run so much since the gym marathons at school, then Josh points out a cafe to go hide. The scent of coffee relaxes them.

An unoccupied table.

Curtis takes the relief of having a seat – he pulls down the window drapes. He feels a weird ache in his chest. He'll never be with Ivan or Martinez ever again. Josh offers him a tissue, and when a waitress comes by, CJ is too distraught, so Josh says to get him a glass of water. They're recovering themselves and don't notice the nervous gait with which the waitress carries herself.

"I swear to God, that fucker's going to pay," CJ goes, crumpling his tissue in his fingers. "How can someone just.. kill people, like they're obstacles in the way?"

Josh explains it's no different than when you're playing against other players online, the struggle to win. Except this happens in real life, and the way you win is smiting down whoever you call the bad guys. Here, the lines are blurred – it's strange and just awkward to label real people as evil, and you're traumatized when you see in person someone committing horrible deeds. Because you're naturally hardwired as a social animal to care and be receptive, and when you don't have that environment anymore, you're lost, disoriented in anomie.

Muslims have been displacing French people in their own country for years, being pressured to accept that this wave of immigration, multiculturalism, call it what you will – is the norm, and you can either just accept it, turn a blind eye to the horrible things that occur, or face the increasingly uphill struggle of shouting "No, this is not right!"

The country they naively thought was the romantic dream is but a pale remnant. They were lucky enough that the high school as well as their residences were situated far from the Muslim zones.

Luckily they still have their wallets, but what are they going to do? They're both out of a home and uncomfortably stuck in a foreign land – all their stuff is in the luggage they left in the van.

"We've got to get our luggage," Josh says. "Co'mon--"

Then he stops. Curtis glances at Josh's paralysis, then looks at where Josh's gaze is lying at, and he sees that many of the cafe's occupants are Muslims. Rugged-looking, boisterously talking, yet with the aura of being always on a knife's edge. No women whatsoever.

They've been talking out loud about what's happening, in the presence of these people (who barely conceal their aside glances).

"Curtis?" Josh goes, with a doe-eyed feel to his face. "Let's get outta here--"

A bunch of Muslim men have surrounded them.

This is it, Curtis thinks, this is how it ends. My life is over because I've happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. His anxiety palpitates.

"American tourists?" they ask.

Josh and CJ look at each other, and Josh is nodding "yeah yeah." So CJ tells them, "Yeah, we are."

The leader of their group mutters something, then one of them rummages through a bag (Curtis gulping) before pulling out a crudely made stick figure, with sewed-on buttons for eyes. "Our souvenir for youse. Twenty Euros."

CJ stares at the thing in disbelief. "Wha-- no thanks!"

"Twenty euros. You buy now."

Josh tries to stand up, but the leader just pats down hard on his shoulder. It's not a negotiation.

So Josh rummages through his wallet, finds he only has 17 euros, and CJ has 3. Without hesitation, one of the Muslims yank their wallets, pull the bills and coins out and thrusts the stick figure onto the table. But it's not over yet.

"You think we are scum?" the leader goes, more gruff. "You think we terrorize, we treat everyone horribly?"

"No, hey, we don't think that," CJ goes, nervously.

"You do. Don't you lie or try to flatter, we were hearing you talking. You think we bullshit?"

"You're an ordinary French citizen.." CJ goes. "Just like everyone else, yeah, you're nice, and we really appreciate your uhh.. figurine. We were just talking about how the times were changing in France, with the diverse demographics.."

"You FUCK WITH US?" The leader shoves CJ back, clattering him onto the floor with the chair, while the rest of the Arabian men cheer.

Josh is frightened, but seeing his friend Curtis shoved takes the cake. He elbows the leader in the eye. "Hey shitter, NO ONE does that to one of my friends!"

The men stop cheering, and decide to shove and slap Josh around in a circle. He struggles, but gets bruises and his shirt torn and rammed onto the table, which topples over with his weight and overturns – leaving him shivering while curled-up.

Then they unzip their pants – they are on the verge of collectively peeing on CJ and Josh..

The owner of the cafe pops out from upstairs, with the waitress pointing out the troublesome scene. He has a shotgun, cocked and locked, aimed at the offending clients. "The next blow stricken will not be from your fists, but out my barrel! Get out!"

For the first time, you see the men wary and startled. "We were just joking.." The leader gets up, rubbing his bruised eyelid, and places the $20 euros on a table as if to compensate for the trouble – the owner cocks his shotgun and aims more tightly.

The Muslim clients seem to leave peacefully, with one of them still sipping their cappuchino from a cup. When the cafe owner loses tension in his aim-- he angrily throws the cup hard in the owner's face, splashing the lukewarm coffee all over.

The owner shoots the gun by reflex, exploding one of the men's torsos in a dazzle of smoke, torn fabric and ejected blood, while loose pellets end up injuring another.

The Muslim men are enraged by what the owner did to one of their brothers. They will strike upon the owner with great vengeance and furious anger, such as it is with anyone who dares attempt to poison and destroy who they call their kin.

When the owner wipes the coffee from his eyes, he realises what's done. They're advancing on him, so many of them, toppling aside the tables in the way, and panicking, the owner cocks his shotgun, backing off – a spent shell clatters on the floor. They're on the owner by the time he's ready to fire again, and pummel him, his gun discharging and blowing off his own toes.

Josh and CJ helplessly watch the owner, screaming in pain as he slides back down against a wall.

The Muslims go behind the counter - one of them grabbing, fondling and kissing the poor, stunned waitress ("C'mere bitch, let me show you de wey.") They loot the cash register, the tips, anything they find of value, then finding the wine bottles, they uncork them and splash the wine over every surface.

CJ is able to recover himself, but doesn't move yet lest he attract their attention.

With the last wine bottle, they uncork it, stuff a fabric in it, and set the fabric on fire with a lighter. A molotov cocktail.

"May Allah spare you an ounce of mercy, my friend," they go, before tossing the thing directly onto the slouched owner.

The bottle splashes, and the owner is aglow in flames maddening. He is flailing, screeching, the flames cascading from his body to all the surfaces, and the Muslim men are laughing, with the waitress's muffled cries of horror. "Now we're done with you! Allah ackbar!"

They rush out the door, and CJ gets up, the rising smoke stinging his eyes. He hurries to get Josh standing, as the flames rapidly spread over the floor – rushing over where they were lying a few seconds ago.

They hobble outside into the square, coughing, soot over them. Onlookers have their phones and glasses recording the spectacle; distant sirens converge, and someone rushes over to help Josh and CJ away from the burning cafe, falling apart and crumbling into bits.