Characters
Sun
Chi is a thirty-three-year-old Asian Black woman. She specializes in Marshal
Arts. She has an MFA in Creative Writing. But her entire life has been given to
subduing her rooted emotions, her uncertainty. She Trains at a Marshal Art
center located on La Cienega and Sunset.
Little
Wise is a young Black Frenchman. He has a M.A. in English with a Minor in
Psychology. He met Sun Chi when he was eleven-years-old. He is now twenty-four.
She has trained him for close to fourteen-years.
Place
Sun
Chi and Little Wise are at The Chateau Marmont. They are discussing their
affair in between lovemaking and growing into a fever. Sun Chi is trying to
believe in kismet, without the daunting rationality of happenstance. And Little
Wise is throwing his being into projecting marriage and joy.
Time
It’s
March of 2020, and Covid-19 has just become publicized.
Sun
Chi: What are we in this location? What are we faced with? Is this not a sign?
Little
Wise: It’s hard to follow you, or desperate to follow you, but you sound
uneven. This virus has nothing to do with our relationship.
Sun
Chi: Doesn’t it? You’re so young! Or you’re so optimistic! But dying seems to
surround us. It’s just the beginning. I am crying without water.
Little
Wise: Let me secure you.
Sun
Chi: Secure me? Or die with me! But it isn’t even enough!
Little
Wise: You do this often. You die before living. Try living in me!
Sun
Chi: I will live away from us. It’s agonizing. It’s unhealthy; as to contend
with self in order to outwit self. I ignore me in a sense to live in you.
Little
Wise: So wise. So tamed. How has wildness escaped you? I see you writhing. Such
dark essence. But life is sweet to you. You have what others desire. I want to
give you more of me.
Sun
Chi: I need patience with us. I desire to break all rulers in me. But I see a
younger soul, fraught by ambition, giving his life to shadows. Some shoji image,
but without a person. While you have yet to taste my despair.
Little
Wise: I see you. You wiggle in place. But you never move. I make love to you.
You watch me. You never surrender. Such passion as screaming. But a second
unrestrained. To come to, begging forgiveness. What is religiosity in an
anti-religious soul, which has become religious? Tell me love as it dies to
blossom.
Sun
Chi: Now you are dying. Please, die with me! I touch a face, but it’s alien. I
grip a buttock, but it’s rigid. Or I taste a man lost in being tasted. Have I occurred
to him? Has he loved some stranger? while I aggravate by being myself. I know
me. I have accepted me. Can you live with the me I disdain?
Little
Wise: I would give more to touch some person in some web if she laughs at my
insecurities. I feel your fabric, such a glowing texture. I hear an ambulance. I
look in panic. I see our faces gasping desperately. The world is burning. Our
minds are sore. I was hell to let you knit our re-torn inhibitions.
Sun
Chi: So softer than reality or covered in sap and yarn. While I must walk to
our funeral.
