Steven Dunne - Deity

‘Want me to start ringing round the funeral homes?’ Noble had asked.

Brook picked up his car keys and shook his head. ‘Let’s have that conversation tomorrow when we have more information and maybe an ID.’

American Beauty starring Kevin Spacey, directed by Sam Mendes in 1999 — an exploration of romantic and paternal love, sexuality, beauty, materialism, self-liberation and redemption . According to Wiki at least. He could show them that film at the party. Adele would love it. Kyle too. Maybe Becky would be more cynical.

But the bonus was Ricky Fitts, one of the characters. He was young and cool and spent all his spare time filming on his camcorder. Just like me .

Rusty stopped at the side of the road and bent down to the pavement. Yeah, American Beauty . Life — a journey without meaning. This pigeon knew. You live, you get by, you die and everyone forgets you. He lifted his camcorder and zoomed into the pigeon lying on the ground, its neck slack, and its opaque sightless eyes half-open. Maggots were chewing through the bird’s intestines.

A few seconds later he zoomed out and continued on his short journey across the Brisbane Estate, at the western edge of Derby. He replayed the short sequence as he walked through the cool night air then deleted it. His brand new Sanyo camcorder had great picture quality even at night. Just as well.

Becky Blake read the letter one more time, refolded it and slid it into the small gap between the carpet and the actor’s make-up bureau which her dad had made especially for her. The light bulbs around the frame were to accustom his daughter to stardom.

She sat on the padded chair, cradling her old teddy bear and staring at her reflection in the illuminated mirror for what seemed hours. Finally, she sat up straight and Justin the bear fell to earth. She looked away from her reflection but there was no escape from her face — wherever her eyes wandered in her bedroom, her image glared sassily back at her. Sometimes writhing on a bearskin rug, sometimes peeping coquettishly over a bare shoulder, sometimes hands on hips in Don’t-fuck-with-me mode. The confident, self-assured bitch snarled next to the vulnerable girl/woman, who jostled for wall space next to the siren looking for love. Her portfolio of portraits, professionally done and paid for by her father, filled the walls.

A tear fell as Becky turned to face herself on the wall. She couldn’t meet her own eye and was tempted to trash the shrine, tear down every corrupting image and deconsecrate the pink room completely. Avoiding her own gaze, she looked instead at the few remaining posters fighting for space, posters that spoke of Becky’s graduation from thirteen-year-old wannabe to the luminous cynicism of the eighteen year old. Thus the lacy chutzpah of Gwen Stefani was juxtaposed with the brassy sexuality of Christina Aguilera, the perky whole-someness of Hannah Montana with the brooding promise of Rihanna.

With a sigh Becky stood in her silk slip as another tear fell. Calmly, methodically she toured the room taking down all the photographs her father had paid for then slid them under her bed. She flipped up the lid of her laptop and clicked off Facebook to load the document she’d written a couple of days previously. Dear Becky, I am pleased . .

She finished reading and spotted the spelling mistake underlined in red but it was too late to correct — it was already two days in the post. As she closed the brief letter, a casual glance back at her mirror caught a movement outside in the darkness. A second later her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Rusty Thomson, Geek Boy, shinning his way along the branch of the large tree outside her window. Her initial impulse was to turn and vent her spleen, but to her astonishment she found herself watching him in the mirror, unable to move, as he slithered into position.

Instead of rushing to the window to scream abuse, Becky busied herself on her laptop keyboard, keeping her back to the window but her eye to the mirror to observe the gawky Thomson. A moment later Becky watched him lift his right hand. The faint dot of red light emanating from the object in his palm was confirmation of his intent. He was filming her. Geek Boy was filming her in her bedroom. Cheeky fucker .

She took several deep breaths then put her laptop aside on the bed and stepped over to her make-up bureau. She moved the chair so she could stand closer to the reflection and the lights. She stared at herself in the mirror again, this time with heightened interest. Her nipples had hardened under her slip and she brushed them with her forearms as she ran her hands through her hair.

Slowly, very slowly, she began to sway her hips from side to side, throwing back her head and opening her mouth invitingly. She cupped her breasts in her hands through the soft silk and massaged her nipples with fingers and thumbs. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and flicked the thin straps of her slip from her shoulders and down her bare arms.

Little by little she lowered the slip until, with a faint wobble, her breasts wrestled themselves free of the material and she pushed the garment to her waist. Swaying more urgently now, she eased her hands down her stomach before pushing the shiny slip to the floor, standing naked before the mirror. Finally she turned towards her bedroom window and stared intently at the red dot.

PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK — A FILM BY PETER WEIR

In the 1975 film Picnic at Hanging Rock , set in Australia in 1900, a party of girls from a local college set out for a day at Hanging Rock, a local beauty spot. The film begins in Appleyard College and introduces us to the girls as they dress, wash their hair and press flowers. They are all very ladylike and it is clear that the college is private and parents have to pay to send their daughters there.

Early on we meet the beautiful Miranda, who is compared to a Botticelli Angel by the French teacher from a book she’s reading. Botticelli was a painter in the fifteenth century. We are also introduced to Marion and Irma who are also pretty, but it is Miranda who steals the film with her looks and also her sadness. She seems to know that she’s not going to live very long because she tells her friend Sara, who idolises Miranda, that she must choose someone else to love because she herself is doomed.

Sara is appalled at this. She is an orphan who is picked on by the headmistress, Mrs Appleyard, because her foster-parent has not sent the money to pay for her lessons and so she is not allowed to go on the upcoming picnic. Irma compares Sara to a deer she found that died, fragile and pale and also doomed to die.

So things are all set up towards some kind of tragedy at Hanging Rock and every time we see a shot of the rock the music becomes creepy, as though some supernatural force is living there. Also, the girls spend a lot of time looking at the sky as though they are thinking about the afterlife and being angels.

At the picnic, the coach driver tells us his watch has stopped: another bad omen that the Hanging Rock is somehow not natural. Miranda asks a teacher if she, Irma and Marion can go and explore the rock. Another girl, Edith, nags them to come along too. She is not pretty but overweight and she always complains, in comparison to the calm beauty of the other three. As they disappear from view, Miranda turns with her long blond hair and waves at the teacher, almost as if she’s saying goodbye.

On Hanging Rock the film becomes less natural. There is a lot of slow motion with weird sound effects and odd camera angles which imply that some unseen force is watching them. Also the girls seem very calm and resigned to their fate. At one point, Marion says, ‘Surprising how many humans are without purpose,’ which I take to mean that she sees no point in living. Also Miranda says, ‘Everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place,’ as though she knows her time is up and she accepts it.