Her eyes didn’t open after the second slow blink. She fell backwards, in slow motion, onto the white covers of a bed. A small drop of blood was on the inside of her elbow, beneath the belt. A syringe fell, slow motion to the floor. The sound of late nineties’ Brit pop boomed from the speakers. The screen suddenly went white. The lights came up in the room. The student filmmaker looked at his lecturer silently, but with painful anticipation, like a puppy bursting to roll over for a treat. The lecturer looked at him, shook his head and walked out of the room. The student chased him.
“What? Aren’t you going to say anything? We spent two hundred bucks on that, and you just walk away?”
The lecturer turned and walked back. “The assignment was for a moment of reality.”
“Yeah, well what’s more real than an overdose?”
“You should have done a puppy chasing a stick, or a couple having a fight, or a kid telling a bad joke. This is a documentary class, and whilst I will teach you that documentary can be as fake, if not more so, than any fiction, I asked for a moment of reality. Reality is not well lit. Reality is not slow motion. Reality is not clean and reality does not have a Blur soundtrack.” He turned and walked away, muttering about the ridiculousness of it all.
The student had a shocked face as if he had been slapped. He took a breath and turned back to the fellow students who’d gathered at the commotion.
“It wasn’t fucking Blur. It was fucking Cast.”