“How much time to go?”
A womanly voice resounds from the bottom of a darkened room.
“It’s up to you”
Another, hoarse voice answers from the opposite of the same room.
“But I don’t want it to end.”
“No one does.”
A long silence followed, only interrupted by the unexpected flashing of electric torches outside the house.
Deafening screams, then nothing.
Suddenly, a woman is looking at herself in the mirror of a public bathroom, probably in a service station.
She’s clearly disturbed, has disheveled hair, is sweating, and in spite of her swarthy complexion, her face is pale.
The greenish tile walls behind her in the bathroom are dirty. Maybe they’re soaked in blood.
A voice out-of-frame calls her attention to the door. She turns her head over.
“Hey. We must go. Hurry up.”
The woman gets out of the bathroom, and finds herself driving a Mustang, the hoarse voice still beside her, telling her to stop.
A man is leaning on the guarde rail in a S.O.S. zone along the highway.
The woman gets off the car and approaches him.
“Finally… I couldn’t wait to see you.”
They kiss each other, with her face visibly disgusted.
He tries to take off his cowboy hat, but she stops him.
“Ok” he says.
“Let’s go straight to the point.”
He picks up an object from his pocket, while night keeps warming up.
She takes the spheric object, and the voice from the car shouts something like:
“We don’t have much time!”
The two greet each other. She asks him how will he manage to go back home, since there’s no other car other than hers around, and miles of desert surround the highway.
He just smiles, pulling his hat down to cover his eyes, making impossible to see anything on his face but his hairy beard.
The woman is driving again, only to find herself outside a house in a bunch of minutes, in the middle of nothing.
She opens the door, and hears a voice from the inside soaring:
“How much time to go?”
The hoarse voice, from the car, yells: “Now!”
She drops the spheric object inside the room, and then gets out. Slowly.
Jumps in the car again, and the house blows up.
Starts the machine, smiling, and the stereo sings “Every Last Drop”.
She was alone, all the time.
Beside her, in the car, none.
Mr. Badalamenti should really check this shit out. A lesson in eeriness.
-Marco Guerra Avitabile
01 – Cry For Help
02 – High On Hate
03 – Nightfall
04 – No Funeral
05 – Then Fires
06 – Addicts
07 – The End Is Eternal
08 – Blood Trance Fusion
09 – Ruined Life Continuum
10 – Every Last Drop