An Episode of Remnants.

Episode Content Warnings

Please bear in mind that this work has content some listeners may find distressing, including themes of war, violence, and grief. This episode contains:

Shouting

Sounds of emotional distress

Implied magical abuses of power, in a way

Sounds of physical pain being experienced

Transcript

THE BACKGROUND SOUND IS ODD; FAMILIAR TICKING, BUT ALSO A WET, DRIPPING SOUND.

APPRENTICE
Sir?

QUIET WHOOSH

SIR
Apprentice. I did not expect you.

APPRENTICE
Oh, sorry. Is now a bad time?

SIR
It does seem to be a time. Which is unusual. This suggests something is wrong.

APPRENTICE
It’s not. I can come back, if you want.

SIR
You always do, regardless.

APPRENTICE
Uh. Great. So, um. I’ll go then, shall I?

SIR
What did you want?

APPRENTICE
Well. I have a question.

SIR
Go on.

APPRENTICE
The stuff, here. It’s all remnants. They’re all on shelves. So you’ve sorted them.

SIR
Go on.

APPRENTICE
Amelie, in my rooms. Under my bed.

SIR
Go. On.

APPRENTICE
Where was she before?

SIR
I don’t know what you mean.

APPRENTICE
You brought her to me, the box that is her memory or her, her fucking ghost, or whatever, but you brought it. You knew what it was. You gave it to me with caveats. Same with the train, and the necklace. You brought them to me. You asked me to read them. You knew what they were before. You asked me to judge them again.

SIR
Yes.

APPRENTICE
So, where were they before?

SIR
Elsewhere.

APPRENTICE
Elsewhere here? So then. What’s the point in my judgements if they’ve already been judged? Why ask me to judge them again.

SIR
You were so keen to ascertain criteria before, and you question me getting you to read what has already been read.

APPRENTICE
So there’s a right way. You chose the shelve them all, right? That’s what this is? You shelve everything, don’t you, and you need me to… what? Find the rotten fruit?

SIR
Need is a strong, inaccurate word.

APPRENTICE
So why? Why?

A LONG PAUSE

SIR
That will be all, for now.

APPRENTICE
Will it?

SIR
Yes.

APPRENTICE
Alright, fine, fine! I’m going!

SIR
Very good.

WET FOOTSTEPS

A DOOR SLAMS

APPRENTICE
Hey! Hey, where did you– where did I… what?

DISTANT SCUTTLING

FOOTSTEPS

APPRENTICE
What is that?

MORE SCUTTLING, SOUNDS LIKE FALLING SAND

APPRENTICE
Sir? Hello?

FOOTSTEPS, MORE SCUTTLING

APPRENTICE
What?

SCUTTLING

APPRENTICE
Fuck, it’s– the dust! It– you’re– what is that?

PAPER CRUNCHES. THE SCUTTLING STOPS.

APPRENTICE
You brought me this? What is it?

PAPER RUSTLES

APPRENTICE
You’re dust, you can’t answer me. How can you bring me a bit of paper, you’re dust, and… Oh. It’s a remnant. It’s a piece of paper, and it’s a remnant. So why is that I— I feel like I shouldn’t look at it? My purpose is to read the remnants, and this is one, I can tell, but…

There’s something about it which makes me feel dread.

PAPER RUSTLES

APPRENTICE
Sir?

He’s not listening. He’s usually listening but he’s… he doesn’t listen to this part, this bit of where I’m standing.

FOOTSTEPS

APPRENTICE
When I’ve let myself drift about, I’ve found spots like this before, where I can tell he’s not… here. It’s not that he couldn’t be, I don’t think, and I don’t know how I know it but I do. Or maybe. I… hmm. Is he not here? It’s strange I sort of… hmm. It’s weird.

But I… it’s all remnants. And it’s my purpose, isn’t it, to read them. He said so. He said so.

AGGRESSIVE PAPER UNFOLDING

WHOOSH

I— I wake, in the dark. I know I can’t be seen, here. I hear the fires burning. They call to me. I answer.

I walk against the path. I follow my feet, go where they take me.

I know the way.

I know the—

WHOOSH

APPRENTICE SPLUTTERS AND GASPS

APPRENTICE
That was– it was me! It was mine! A little. A little remnant. Of me.

SCUTTLING

APPRENTICE GASPS

APPRENTICE
Hello?

NOTHING

APPRENTICE
Okay. Okay.

APPRENTICE STANDS UP. HE WALKS. THE CRACKLE OF FIRES GET LOUDER.

APPRENTICE
I wake… in the dark. I know I– I can’t be seen here.

THE FIRES ARE LOUDER HERE

APPRENTICE
Sir, this is… it’s his? Or, not really, but it’s… it’s not like he’s not looking, not like the other spots, I think this place is somehow… secret? It’s… private. It’s not like he isn’t looking. It’s like he doesn’t look. Like this is a place for things he won’t look at. And what is…?

THE APPRENTICE TAKES A FEW STEPS BANGS HIS FIST ON SOMETHING METAL. A METAL HINGE SWINGS OPEN.

APPRENTICE
Huh.

SOUNDS OF EFFORT, CLANGS OF METAL. THE APPRENTICE IS CRAWLING THROUGH A SMALL, NARROW SPACE, HIS VOICE ECHOING AS HE SCOOTS ALONG THROUGH THE GAP, CLOTHES RUSTLING, HANDS AND KNEES SLAMMING AGAINST THE METAL.

APPRENTICE
Mfff. I know the– I know the way— I can’t be— mmmmfffff– seen! Ah!

THE APPRENTICE’S FOOT SQUEAKS AND HE SLIPS FORWARDS WITH A WHOOSH. HE HITS SOMETHING SOFT AND STARTS CHOKING AND SPITTING. HIS VOICE AND MOVEMENTS ECHO, AS THOUGH IN A VAST SPACE, A SHARP CONTRAST TO THE COMPRESSED, TIGHT SOUNDS FROM MOMENTS BEFORE.

APPRENTICE
Fuck, fucking hell, it’s– it’s all dust.

HE WIPES DOWN HIS CLOTHES AND GETS UP. HIS MOVEMENTS AND FOOTSTEPS SOUND ALMOST AS THOUGH HE IS CRUNCHING THROUGH SNOW.

APPRENTICE
Jesus. This place is huge… hello? Hello?

SOMETHING FLUTTERS AROUND

APPRENTICE
Are those moths? No wait, I think it’s… paper?

HE GRABS ONE, IT CRUNCHES IN HIS FIST. HE OPENS IT.

APPRENTICE
Um. ‘I wake in the dark, I walk down the path, I…’ it’s the same as the other one, or. Uhh. No. Not quite. It’s longer.

WHOOSH

I wake in the dark and I see him, or not him, for he is not a thing that could be described by words, cannot be contained by memory, cannot be conceived as whole. He’s a bright light, he consumes all. And I see all the beauty. And then I am gone.

WHOOSH

THE WIND AND THE PAPER FLUTTERING IS LOUDER NOW

APPRENTICE
What?

FOOTSTEPS. SCRABBLING WITH PAPERS.

APPRENTICE
There’s more of them. How is there more of them?!

SOUND LIKE FALLING SAND

APPRENTICE
They’re coming out of the dust! They’re all like this? They’re all like this?! Ah. Ah. Fucking– my head is. Oh Christ my skull feels like it’s cleaving in two.

SCUTTLING

APPRENTICE
Hello? Help me?! Help me?!?!

SCUTTLING

APPRENTICE
Oh no. Oh no.

THE WIND IS STRONGER, THE SOUNDS OF FLUTTERING LOUDER AND LOUDER. SOUNDS OF EFFORT. HE SCRAMBLES TO HIS FEET. HE FEELS ALONG THE WALL.

APPRENTICE
I follow my feet, I know the way, I know the fucking way, there’s a— ah. AH. There’s a door!

A HANDLE IS WRENCHED OPEN.

THE APPRENTICE STAGGERS OUT. THE DOOR SLAMS.

THE APPRENTICE GASPS FOR BREATH, PANTING.

APPRENTICE
Sir! Sir can you see me here, I— ah! AH! I need your HELP.

HE DRAGS HIMSELF ALONG THE FLOOR.

WHOOSH

SIR
Ah. You found a piece of yourself again, did you?

APPRENTICE
What’s happening to me? Why did I know where I– my head. You kept asking about my fucking head.

SIR
This has not been a very successful performance. Time to begin again.

APPRENTICE
Help me, please, help me.

SIR
In good time, dear Apprentice, in good time. I should have known better than not to expect this. So long, you’ve only lasted a remnant or two. This was ambitious of me. For so long, now. Perhaps I ought to give in. Perhaps I am wrong.

APPRENTICE
What are you talking about?!

HE CRIES IN PAIN

APPRENTICE
Oh fuck. The stories, they’re– they’re all connected. Threads, linking them to one another, and to– to me! Who am… what am… What’s happening to me?!

SIR
You are remembering again.

APPRENTICE
What, what am I remembering?

SIR
That is the trouble, you see.

APPRENTICE
These places, these parts of the First and Last Place. You won’t look at them. I go there and I can tell right away you won’t look, why?

SIR
It’s fascinating that ‘why’ is the question you reach for.

APPRENTICE
What, then?! What won’t you look at? Please, I– I don’t understand.

SIR
And I cannot let you.

APPRENTICE
It hurts, please help!

SIR
Again, I say, in time. It is sick of me, I know, to find a twisted solace in these moments. Soon you will see it. I know how you suffer, I have processed it as though your pain were mine a thousand times over. But I know too that each time I wash it away you are a clean slate. Or perhaps an almost clean slate. A slate speckled with dust.

APPRENTICE
WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. FUCK.

APPRENTICE IS SOBBING WITH PAIN

SIR
Cruel of me, if a thing such as me can be cruel. I suspect that in order to do an unkindness one must first be possessed of the capacity to choose, and I lack that. I process only, and you, dear Apprentice? You.

APPRENTICE IS STILL SOBBING WITH PAIN

APPRENTICE
Oh, oh I– I’ve been here. I’ve been here before.

SIR
Yes. Yes you have.

APPRENTICE
And you– you’re— you’re a fucking– it’s you, you’re– unfathomable, bottomless, I— dear god it hurts, it hurts to see.

SIR
It is charming to me that you wish to see it regardless. I do not understand it but you always seem to. I am sorry again that I am letting you linger. I promise you won’t remember it, I promise it will end soon. Selfish of me, I know. I know.

APPRENTICE
Please. PLEASE.

SIR SOUNDS INCREASINGLY DESPERATE AS HE GOES

SIR
Can you hold out a little longer? I have not cast off my veil for you, nor reached out to touch you. You are contending with the memory of the impossible rather than the confronting immediacy of it. Can you hold on? Long enough to remember? Long enough to know?!

APPRENTICE
You– you’re wiping my– you wake me up, you make me read remnants, you wipe my mind, you start me over, like cleaning a slate! You– you’re a monster.

SIR
Yes.

APPRENTICE
You– you’re keeping me here, I— ahhhh. The letters, they’re me, they’re all parts of me, the room, the letters, the scraps of paper, you’ve— fuck. You’ve torn out all my fucking pages!

SIR
Yes.

APPRENTICE
I’m not anything, I’m not a— ah fucking– my head.

SIR
You’re right, you’re not anything. You are something. You are specific.

APPRENTICE
I am hollow. I am nothing. You burned away my— aaaaah.

SIR
No. There is simply a veil.

THE APPRENTICE IS MOANING AND PANTING

SIR
Ah. Lost, now. Too late, too slow. Too much.

THE APPRENTICE IS STILL MOANING AND PANTING

SIR
Again, then? I say, as though there is a choice at all.

Sleep, Apprentice. Sleep and forget.

THE APPRENTICE SIGHS WITH RELIEF

SIR
There we are. I love our little talks. I wonder how long it will be until our next one. Until then, sweet Apprentice, I will tolerate your inane questions. How many thousand times have you asked me why? How many thousand times have I told you the answer?

Once more unto the breach. And you will wake, and I will try to process. Each time it is a slightly different you that I meet and doubtless you will confound me.

Fascinating.

In the end it is simple: a remnant must be read. Even one so difficult as you.

Ah, well.

Until you wake, dear Apprentice. Until then.

END

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