Very Thin Lines | A short film by Jaret Ferratusco.
Featuring: Justine Corner, and Rant.
I discovered my nerves in a closet drawer in your bedroom. Pulled and removed from me at some remote life-point previous, the newly found strands and sensitive ends had all been kept in a small locked box in the closet drawer. When I cracked the tiny box open a I felt at some loss to explain the disappearance. In the removal of all these things, apparently I hadn’t felt a thing, and at some level, I found myself unable to describe the difference. Swallowing these nerve endings and capillaries, taking them back inside myself, I proceeded to dress myself in your clothes. I stood before your bedroom mirror, at once all widened eyes, or then narrowing my vision to slits. Pacing the room, opening blinds like I could reveal the inside of some fabulously infamous tomb, then closing off the whole house to darkness so to reveal only thin glimpses to the vast neighborhood atmosphere’s birds who were fluttering past the window. A bell sounded inside the house and I was abruptly startled from lambent reverie to stand as still now as that shadowed oil portrait of you in the hall which earlier I’d stood in front of for so long just pretending that it was a mirror of wonders I were looking into. In your clothes I answered the front door to receive a notice from your pretty middle-aged landlord of an upcoming holiday celebration in the Hotel Lobby. Inviting me with a jeweled spark of fire in her weary crystalline eyes, I accepted the invitation on your behalf, using your voice and mannerisms. With gratitude I wrapped my arms around the tired sweet-faced landlord and against my own heartbeat I could feel hers perfectly despite the hardened wall of ribs that with apropos professional regard for the situation she barricaded her organs inside of. The scent of her lipstick was like a row of books on a grand library shelf, and down the front of her blouse I could see scarification on her chest from past incidences I’d only dream of being privy to in private conversation within her offices. With a restored fullness in my heart, squeezing her as I hugged, I felt her muscles ripple to fit the shape of my form, and we became one in the empty hallway. Your world, I felt, could never be a more perfect thing if it tried; I went back into your house and stood before the mirror, watching my features change in the swirling shadows, becoming you.