"Daisies dies in winter"

viernes, 24 de enero de 2014


Extracto del guión del corto "Daisies died in Winter", escrito y dirigido ANNA PARCERISAS.



Scene I
(A song will be playing while Daisy is hanging clothes on a clothesline outside; Nalin is serving coffee and putting daisies in a vase. Suddenly Daisy goes to the garden in front of the house and lies there while reading a book. Nalin approaches her and they start a conversation).

Daisy: I feel like I’m trapped in a field of daisies, and I don’t know why my mind is burning with desire to cut off the daisies. I don’t know how I got there; I suppose that some things just can't be explained.  
Nalin: You should take your meds, Daisy, otherwise I’ll have to take you to the doctor again and believe me, I don’t want to.
Daisy: If I don’t get out of the field I’ll start cutting off daisies until all of them are lifeless.
Nalin: Take your meds or you’ll go nuts again, Daisy.
Daisy: I’m not nuts, Nalin, I just have the feeling of living in a dream within the realm of possibility. I’m just out there, in a field of daisies crying bitter tears and running away from my burning desire of cuttting off daisies. I’m out there with that jumble of feelings all the time.
Nalin: What if this field of daisies is just a nightmare you had where the border between fiction and reality is intermixed?
Daisy: Dreams and nightmares are a part of reality, Nalin. When do you think we’re going to die?
Nalin: Why are you asking me this kind of things? Nobody knows that, it can be tomorrow, next week, in five years’ time, we can’t know that for sure, Daisy.
Daisy: I wouldn’t be that sure.
Nalin: And why wouldn’t you be sure about that? Either you know it or you don't?
Daisy: I don’t know … it’s just that sometimes I think that since the moment that we  were born the date of our death is just set, like if life was a dream and as soon as you go to sleep someone knows when you’re going to wake up.
Nalin: And why would this be true?
Daisy: Well it happens to the daisies, we all know that they die in winter although they look wonderful in spring. It’s some kind of suicide because life avoids them. And then they become just like pictures.

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