Unleash for the Writer's Island
As Tim Burton fell apart, large pieces of him fell into the pool of water that had begun to form around without anyone noticing. One of the cameramen who stood watching silently began to cry, and it may even have been a pool of salt tears… who could tell. As Elvira and Bartholomew edged closer together they became aware of a salt breeze lifting their hair; the walls that had enclosed them were now so insubstantial and smoky that they may have become merely a dream, a memory… something dissolving, dissolving and spinning slowly down the plughole. There was a low rumbling in their ears - otherwise the only sound was the general sobs of the frightened cameraman. The pool of water seemed suddenly to expand and little waves began to bubble and break… still the cameraman sobbed into his red handkerchief and Elvira gripped Bartholomew’s hand, pulling the wizard towards her.
“What’s happening? Where are we?” She muttered breathlessly, feeling the young wizards body close against her own. It felt like a necessary sensation, convincing her of her own reality. Elvira struggled to control her breathing, the words came rushing out, tumbling head over heels. “Where did the sea come from? Who’s pulling the strings? Or… should I say, who’s holding the wand?”
Beside her Bartholomew shook his head very slowly, his eyes still fixed on the crying cameraman - who had begun also to glance, following his directors directions.
“No, you’re wrong Elvira… not wand - but imagination,” he said carefully in a very low voice. “For look around you - everything’s shifting and changing even as we look. Someone else is in control… not a wizard, not a film director, certainly not a paper character like Alice.” Beside him Alice’s line borders fluttered in the sea breeze. The edge of the wizards robe moved silkily against Elvira’s arm as she responded to his words. “I don’t know where we are, or where were going… it doesn’t matter anymore. We’re only characters on a piece of paper after all - the writer may well choose to drop us at any moment that’s the imagination which controls us, the imagination that’s been unleashed… so that it’s absolutely without boundaries of any sort.”
Silence - only the sounds of the cameraman’s sobs and the gentle breaking of the waves. No walls, no boundaries… only a greyness stretching like the Manchester sky. Elvira lifted her face into the sea breeze and smiled slowly, deliciously.
“I feel it… and I want more,” she said quietly, her words sounding almost like a prayer - either that or a spell maybe. “I’m not frightened any more… I love somebody else being in control for a change. So… I’ll follow quite happily.”