Soul Hunt

(A treatment by Jason Black)

A soft doll with a butterfly pin in her hair sits on the mantle in the den like a distorted trophy. One of the doll’s eyes and both ears are missing; patches are sewn where once there were arms, and scar- like needlework covers its body. Nearby sits a stack of self-help psychology books and an old photograph of Flow’s parents with the glass broken. Flow sits at a small table across the room smashing prescription pills between two spoons, and dumping the powder into an already cloudy glass of water.

The phone rings… She hesitates, but continues smashing and dumping the pills. The doll watches from across the room. “This is Flow leave a message.” Beeeeep… “Flow are you there? Pick up honey, it’s Shannon.” Flow continues working. “Remember that woman I told you about a couple months ago? The medicine woman that does that trance dance stuff? Well guess what? She’s in town, and she’s doing some special ritual tonight! Take a shower I’m coming over.” Flow dumps another spoonful into the glass, picks it up and stirs it on her way over to the mantle. She looks over her shoulder to the front door, sighs, and replaces the doll with the glass of poison.

A seven-year-old girl tears wrapping paper from a box revealing the words “Little Souls for Kids.” Through a clear window in the box a brand new soft doll stares. The doll has in her hair the same glittering butterfly pin, and across her dress in yellow embroidery is sewn- “We Love You Flow.” She runs to her parents on the couch and throws her arms around them.

The little girl walks between her mother and father along the cliffs in Half Moon Bay. The three run forward and the little girl jumps up laughing as her parents swing her high in the air by her arms.

The little girl is half-asleep in bed, her mother reading to her from The Giving Tree. Her father runs his fingers through the little girls hair, staring sadly at his wife.

Her mother and father are on a bench by the sea looking down at her. She is clutching the doll to her chest. There is sadness behind both of their eyes. “Flow.” They speak in unison in someone else’s voice. “Are you ready?”

Flow opens her eyes. A man in white is kneeling beside her. “The vine is ready.” She is dressed in loose white clothing, meditating in the lotus position on a thin, blanketed mattress. She is one of six, their mattresses forming a starburst on the ground surrounding a raging fire. Beside each of them sits a small bucket, a cup and a towel. Two guardians in white sit in chairs facing the starburst watching. Their faces flicker with the firelight, and a slow trance-like bass permeates everything.

The man reaches out and takes Flow by the hand helping her to her feet and guiding her to a cloth-covered altar with three candles burning brightly upon it. Behind the altar sits the medicine woman. She is dressed in brown, candlelight reflecting from the lenses of her glasses. Flow kneels on a pillow facing her, and studies the top of the altar. Nine black stones form a circle around a crystal, a geode, and a ring. Flow places within the circle the dismembered doll. The medicine woman picks up a brown bottle and pours a sticky black liquid into a shot glass. She places the glass within the circle. “Sit as long as you are able,” she says. Flow picks up the glass and lifts it above her open mouth, letting the thick fluid drain completely. She resumes the lotus position on her mattress and closes her eyes.

The bass grows louder before fading into the sound of slow, rhythmic breathing -her own breathing. The woman sitting next to her reaches over and squeezes her hand, before launching into a rapid breathing pattern. In out in out in out in out iiiiinnnnn. Hold. The woman starts to sway, and then laughs hystericallly. Flow closes her eyes and imitates. In out in out in out in out iiinnnn. Hold.

A little girl swings by her arms between her parents. A long hallway passes. A little girl sits by the sea in the distance. Several people are crowded around a table in a dingy room at the end of the hall. The table moves past revealing an ashtray, beer bottles, a white powdered mirror and a teenage Flow cutting a line of crystal meth. Her boyfriend stands behind her whispering in her ear as she takes the line. Flow explodes in laughter, jumping up from the table and throwing her arms around his neck. She holds an armless doll in her hand. He swings her around and kisses her. Conversations fill the room - the pace rapid and drug induced. The pace of the action around the table increases. People move from conversation to conversation to conversation, constantly changing places, sometimes across the top of the table itself. Flow remains in conversation with a girl against the wall on the sidelines of the main action. Her boyfriend separates himself from the melee and watches her. Suddenly the speed returns to normal and Jack storms over to Flow. He grabs her by the wrist and yanks her away from her conversation. He pins her against the wall yelling in her face. She yells back and he smacks her hard across the cheek. The sound of a car crash. A finger rips open the seam of the armless doll. Her boyfriend pulls out a clump of stuffing and swallows it.

The bass has changed, louder now. Flow remains seated, but most of the others are lying down screaming. The woman next to her is throwing up in her bucket. WaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWaWa.

A guardian approaches.

He kneels beside Flow. “Would you like another?”

Again the sticky fluid is drained from the shot glass. The screams from the others grow more intense. “Help me! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!”

Flow closes her eyes again.

Wawawawawawawawawawawawawawawawawa.

Colors, a kaleidoscope of colors.

She opens her eyes and pukes in the bucket. She is the last sitting. She starts to lie down, but stops. She breathes slow and deep and closes her eyes.

Colors, and cities, and masses of people and a little girl sitting by the sea sewing a battered doll. A little girl full of tears sitting by the sea sewing a battered doll. She awkwardly sews up holes where once there were arms. The stitching is loose, and stuffing pokes out between the threads. Flow kneels next to the little girl stroking her hair. They exchange a long look.

Flow stands behind the little girl as her parents gently tear the arms off the doll. Her father kisses the little girl on the forehead and hands her the remains. He picks up his suitcase and with one last look back walks out the front door.

Flow hugs the little girl by the sea. She takes the pin from the dolls hair, pins it to the little girls shirt and kisses her on the forehead.

Colors, wild landscapes, ocean surf, Flow is dry heaving in the bucket. A guardian approaches. “I don’t want anymore.” She lies back on her mattress and starts breathing. In through the nose out through the mouth. In through the nose out through the mouth. Moan. “Oh my God!” In through the nose out through the mouth. In through the nose out through the mouth. “I’m going insane! “ In through the nose moan. In through the nose moan. “I can’t breathe! I’m dying!” In through the nose moan. In through the nose moan. In through the nose moan.

The sun rises, and Flow wakes up on her mattress. She approaches the altar. The doll is there battered and torn as ever. The butterfly pin is gone. She picks up the doll and squeezes it tightly in her fist, then tosses it into the smoldering fire. It catches, and slowly burns. Flowq looks determinedly at you.

End.