If Averie were to be asked who he feared more between Lucifer and Satan, his answer would always be the sa.
Neither.
Of course, that was not the case for the rest of the citizens of Hell. The majority, Averie knew, would choose Satan if they were asked the sa question.
Both were evil beings.
As sadistic as Lucifer was, unlike Satan, he could be reasoned with.
He could be understood, rationalized, and pacified.
But Satan was different.
He was random and whimsical.
In the words of the residents of Hell, he was ’batshit crazy.’
Averie clicked his tongue.
’Why did I rember that psycho at a ti like this?’
Unlike others, Averie didn’t hate him as much. In the eyes of the Hellions, Gene Conti and Satan weren’t much different. So even had the idea that the two were best of friends.
Averie disagreed, but the myriad portraits of the pair lining the walls of Hell served as evidence to the contrary. The depictions portrayed the two of them deeply engrossed in torture and debauchery.
"Are you dazed?"
The voice ca from close by.
Averie looked beside him—at the woman he had his arm linked with.
Josephine Petite was observing him.
"The flashes," she said. "Do they daze you?"
"Sorry?"
"Sotis I try to divert my attention when the flashes beco too intense, too unbearable."
He glanced at the caras around them.
He was in the doorway of the largest cinema in the whole of Berlin.
’Right. I am at the Serenes Film Festival.’
The director and the cast of Lady Ethereal had already entered.
The passing n and won—actors, directors, screenwriters, and producers—shared a greeting or two with their co-stars.
They talked with Josephine, but only shared a curious glance and a courteous smile with him.
’Nobody knows here.’
Those who did were very few.
"Shall we?" asked Josephine.
Averie nodded.
And so, they entered the cinema hall, the theatre, the stage of the visual arts.
It was the morning of the first day of the festival.
In the sea of celebrities making their way towards the main screen of the venue, Averie mixed in seamlessly.
For the next two weeks, everyone in that building would serve as audience mbers for the films competing in the festival.
The velvet drapes, the lacy dresses, and the red carpets felt warr than the company surrounding the actor.
’So,’ Averie wondered, ’what film are we applauding today?’
***
Potsdar Platz was full of posters.
The city wouldn’t have allowed so much paper on the walls any other day.
But it wasn’t any other day.
It was November 15, the day that heralded the start of a prestigious film festival.
Even though the unenthusiastic knew about it, only the film buffs took the ti to educate themselves on its origins.
"So, where did the na co from?" asked Ingrid.
Her Bavarian accent was thicker than usual, as if she did not want to be associated with the good people of Berlin.
Marrie looked at her with distaste. "You don’t know that?"
"If she knew, would she have asked you?" Richard muttered.
His cinephile friends were too passionate for his taste. Thankfully, he only had to put up with Marrie and Hikaru, as Gabriel was too busy listening to music.
According to the Brazilian, it helped him achieve a ’zen state,’ whatever that ant. But for Gabriel, such tranquillity was important before a big event like this. It was a ritual he had grown accustod to, and he wasn’t about to change it.
"Tell her, Hikaru," Marrie said haughtily.
The Japanese man, wiping the dribbling mayonnaise from his lips, looked at her with a look of betrayal in his eyes.
The sandwich in his eyes felt cold and lonely.
"I was eating," he whimpered out a complaint.
He heaved a sigh, tragic as he could look.
"Have you heard of ’Culture and Collapse?’" he asked.
Ingrid looked unsure. "No..."
"It was a film." Shivers ran across the man’s body. "A very unique and beautiful film."
"It’s widely considered the greatest artistic piece in filmography," added Marrie.
"Culture and Collapse wasn’t a popular film even at the ti of its release," continued Hikaru. "But in the underground art scene and among the hippies, who often liked to partake in psychedelic mushrooms, it was known simply as Serenes."
Marrie had a faraway look in her eyes. "The film didn’t garner any attention."
"It’s like one of those paintings that only beco famous after the death of their painter. The artistic society holds it in high regard, but at that ti, nobody spared it a glance."
"So random director bought it from an antique dealer. That’s how the film was introduced to the artistic society."
"Eventually, to ensure such a great artistic piece never goes unnoticed, they created this Film Festival in its honor."
Ingrid looked intrigued. "What’s it about?"
"That’s hard to put into words. You’ll have to watch it to understand."
"When was it released?"
"The sa year, its director, who also wrote it, took his life."
"1976."
The mood was somber as the group of six friends made its way towards the nearest theatre, where the first film of the festival was to be shown.
"It’s amazing, you know," Ingrid muttered. "Showing the sa movie in every theatre across the city..."
She had bought the tickets in advance—not only for the first film, but for every film participating in the festival.
She wasn’t sure she could sit through all of them, but her friends had insisted.
Kate snapped her fingers, watching the enthusiastic tourists. "They won’t be showing any other films, I heard."
Ingrid nodded. "Yeah, it must suck for films releasing today."
"What films?" Marrie snorted. "Every producer knows it’s suicide to release a film while Serenes is on."
"Uh-huh." Hikaru nodded. "Very few films will be released in the next two weeks. It’s a sign of respect."
"And those that do release?"
"They’ll either flop, or they were always ant for a niche audience."
"That’s harsh."
"That’s reality."
"Oh, right," Ingrid uttered. "What was the na of that filmmaker?"
"What filmmaker?"
"You know, the one who made Culture and Collapse. I am thinking of watching it."
"What was his na again, Marrie?"
The woman gave Hikaru a pathetic look before turning to Ingrid.
"Gene Conti."
Reviews
All reviews (0)