POWERLESS #7

POWERLESS

A Composite Graphic Novel exclusive to Absinthe Hour

PAGE SEVEN

“POWERLESS”

1 – Medium Panel.  Chief Harrison sits idly in his office, with a looming depravity about his person which has become the norm for him.  A single desk lamp, lit, angles concavely upon his desk—upon a book in which Chief Harrison writes—slicing through the oppressive darkness of night’s natural veil.  The city skyline behind Chief Harrison offers a broad look at the city at sleep, for most; a few scattered lights from a few illuminated windows tell a tale of the restless nocturnal.

NARRATOR (CH): I’ve been feeling a lot of things lately --

NARRATOR (CH): None of them GOOD.

NARRATOR (CH): Which, as surprising as it may seem, is nothing new.

2 – Medium Panel.  A loosely formed circle of a light blankets a journal, the right page of the journal being heavily worked in Chief Harrison’s pensive script (the words are the narration).  Squeezing for the slightest taste of light from underneath the journal is an edition of the day’s news, offering the risen crime rate and the mysterious disappearance of their superhero.

NARRATOR (CH): But, lately, I’ve begun to feel something ELSE.

NARRATOR (CH): I wish it were something I could EASILY PLACE,

NARRATOR (CH): like the last spongy cardboard puzzle piece to a toddler’s four-piece puzzle.

3 – Wide Panel.  The view of the station’s 15^th floor from outside offers a relatively buzzing office at work; everything is ablaze in incandescence, except for Chief Harrison’s office, which offers a meek excuse for light and as much fervency as a deeply embedded rock in an wide field.  Chief Harrison hunches impertinently over his journal, writing diligently his thoughts into the journal like a prophet hoping to capture every fleeting detail before it wanes from his memory. 

NARRATOR (CH): But, like all emotions, this is as complex as Guass-Newton’s ALGORITHM.

NARRATOR (CH): It’s easy to be lost and hopeless,

NARRATOR (CH): secure or hopeful,

4 – Small panel.  The badge of an OFFICER glimmers under the hazy glare of the police station’s artificial light. 

NARRATOR (CH): and everything in-between,

5 – Small panel.  The officer rushes toward Chief Harrison’s office, his badge rattles upon his breast pocket with each heavy step.

NO DIALOGUE

6 – Small panel.  The officer, hurrying fast, wears a face of fear—his brows angled high upon his face, his mouth agape, lips dry without the care for moisturizing them with the slightest lick of his tongue, eyes weighing heavily, deep under his lids.

NARRATOR (CH): but this is something different.

7 – Medium Panel.  An observation from over Chief Harrison’s shoulder offers James Tulley’s criminal file, a picture of James Tulley with a half-smile clipped to a bundle of papers — various police reports, biographical information, and other files hidden by the steep, clipped stack.  There’s a knock on the door to his office.

NARRATOR (CH): I know how James Tulley must be feeling

NARRATOR (CH): because HE introduced this FEELING to me.

NARRATOR (CH): Something PARALYZING.

8 – Medium Panel.  The officer opens the door to the relatively shadowed room and searches for Chief Harrison with fearful eyes.  Chief Harrison glances up at the officer, emotionlessly, not startled or worried in the least in his unexcited anticipation of the officer’s news.  He simply waits.

NARRATOR (CH): I feel—

OFFICER: Sir?

9 – Small panel.  Chief Harrison reaches for the dangling beaded string under the lamp’s bulb.

OFFICER (O/P): Homicide at Seventh and Walnut.  We’re needed.

10 – Small panel.  The light is out.

THE END